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skeltnwrites · 4 months ago

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S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly.

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual.

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?”

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview.

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.”

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches.

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile.

“What’s the rush?”

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.”

“We’ve got flashlights.”

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.”

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.”

He nods, knowing you’re right.

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before.

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger.

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks.

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.”

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather.

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose.

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–”

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow.

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.”

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?”

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?”

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map.

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost.

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–”

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.”

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.”

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”

“That’s what they say,” you smile.

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat.

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.”

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie.

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.”

He nods, eyes trained ahead.

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return.

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is.

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow.

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.”

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve.

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.”

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again.

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!”

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!”

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee.

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.”

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.”

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours.

“I love you,” you say earnestly.

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off.

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp.

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge.

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls.

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep.

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage.

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face.

“The floor is wet.”

“Where?”

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs.

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items.

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.”

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically.

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours.

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides.

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents.

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face.

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves.

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud.

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring.

“Find me something to wear?” You ask.

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly.

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in.

“What?” You question.

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.”

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out.

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised.

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously.

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn.

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion.

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it.

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.”

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.”

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you.

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck.

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off.

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard.

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.”

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned.

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.”

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer.

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go.

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front.

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat.

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away.

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls.

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat.

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk.

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic

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hengqarae · 2 years ago

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reckless driver

PAIRING ❄ kim mingyu x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 10k words GENRE ❄ street racer au, angst, romance, smut (minors dni), the teeniest tiniest smidge of humor WARNINGS ❄ swearing, illegal activity (drag/street racing), making out, extreme pining, whirlwind romance, smut (fingering, protected sex), not proofread, brief hospital scene

you hate racing and you don't date racers. kim mingyu loves racing, and he finds out that he loves you, too, from the moment that he first lays eyes on you.

PLAYLIST ❄ reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine (ft. ben kessler) / yards / gardens by kate bollinger / btbt by b.i. & souljia boy tell 'em (ft. devita) / notice me by sza / nothing but the love by wrabel / with my eyes closed by cults / anyone by seventeen / angel eyes by abba FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ mingyu, crawling up my bias list because of my own fic that i wrote about him... i am a lizzy stan before i am a human, and the first time that i heard reckless driving, i knew that she was singing about mingyu (or, at least, the mingyu that i would one day write about). i hope that you enjoy reading this, and i hope that you are having a wonderful new year <3

You didn’t know what you were getting into when you visited the track that very first time.

To your credit, you did not visit with the intention of falling in love. Your roommate, Lee Chan, had begged and pleaded for you to accompany him, to indulge, even just once, in this newfound passion of his. He had started racing to pay his bills, but quickly figured out that he enjoyed it. The rush of adrenaline made him feel alive, he’d tell you. You would always follow that up by telling him that he was chasing a high that could kill him one day.

You didn’t support his racing. You hated saying goodbye to him when he left for races. You always found yourself anxiously awaiting news, tossing and turning whenever you tried to sleep, forced to occupy yourself with something to distract you while you waited for a call, a text, anything to assure you that he had finished the race safely and that he would be coming home at the end of the night. The possibility of getting arrested didn’t really scare either of you; you were mostly afraid that you would lose your best friend, and because of your own stubbornness, you weren’t going to be present if, and when, that happened. That’s the only reason that you started attending races with him. You’ve made sure that you’re abundantly clear about that, too.

“It’s s'posed to be a really good race tonight!” Chan was practically bouncing in his seat. You hummed quietly in response, eyes trained on his speedometer. He was prone to driving fast when he was excited, and you were nervous enough at the prospect of him racing at all – your nerves didn’t need to be exacerbated by speeding down the interstate en route to the track. “All of the circuits are having their championships tonight, so if I place, I’ll get to move up to C! All the S racers will be there, too. Choi Seungcheol, Joshua Hong, Kim Mingyu – they're, like, gods in the downtown racing circuit.”

“And which one do I have to thank for bringing you into racing?”

Chan groans quietly, hands shifting their positions on the steering wheel. “Don’t talk to anyone. Even though I love and adore you, and your opinions are very important to me... I don’t know if your anti-racing agenda will be met very favorably tonight.”

“What? I said I was going to thank them.”

“Right.” Chan forces a smile. “Please do not talk to anyone tonight.”

You huff quietly in response, shifting in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. You hope that your phone has enough battery to get you through the night. You were definitely not going to watch Chan race, and you doubted that you were going to meet anyone at the track that could offer titillating conversation; that is, you weren’t interested in talking about racing or cars, and it was unlikely that you’d find anyone that could offer much beyond that. You’d likely spend your time in Chan’s car, scrolling through Tik Tok while you waited for him or until your battery died and you were forced to be alone with your own thoughts.

At least, that had been your intention. When you and Chan arrive at the track, you’re quickly reminded of that saying about best laid plans.

“Mingyu! What’s up, man?” Chan barely bothers to turn off his ignition before he’s bounding out of his car, greeting another man. One look tells you that this guy – Kim Mingyu, you’re assuming, as Chan had already mentioned him – is a racer, too, and you’re spurred out of the car to give him a piece of your mind. Chan only realizes that you’ve come up behind him once Mingyu’s gaze travels to you, and he’s quick to try and jump on offense. “M-Mingyu, this is my roommate. They... don’t race.”

“They don’t like racing, either.” You offer, crossing your arms again, leaning against the hood of Chan’s car. You’re uncomfortable with the way that Mingyu is sizing you up, and you don’t miss the smug countenance plastered on his, admittedly handsome, face. Still, you find it difficult to peel your eyes away from his. He’s... hot. You had made it easier to villainize the sport by picturing all other racers to be stout, middle-aged men with receding hairlines. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Mingyu doesn’t fit that picture.

“Roommates. Is that code for something, or is this actually platonic?” Mingyu keeps his eyes locked with you as he asks, even though you get the sense that his question is directed at Chan. You feel warm under his gaze, unsure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable, or if it’s because you’re finding yourself more and more attracted to Mingyu as you stare at him. Every few seconds, you have to remind yourself that he’s another stupid racer, and for that reason alone, it’s out of the question.

“N-No, we’re just friends. Nothing like that. Why do you— oh, shit, hold on. Hoshi!” Chan pulls away before he can finish his own question, chasing after another man, leaving you and Mingyu still locked in on each other. His smirk seems to grow even wider, and you shift your weight. You wish Chan had stayed and finished his question. You, too, would like to know why Mingyu had asked.

As nice as he is to look at, though, if you don’t speak to anyone else tonight, you’ll at least have told Kim Mingyu how you feel about his and Chan’s stupid racing. You won’t back down, even under the warmth that’s blooming across your skin. “Are you the one that brought Chan into this shit?”

“Dirty words comin’ from such a pretty mouth.”

“A-Answer the question.”

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jackets, Mingyu offers a shrug. “He was already into it when I met him. It was probably...” He looks around after he trails off before focusing back on you. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He only mimics your expression, raising his own eyebrows back at you.

“Well? Who was it? Is he here?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

You scoff. “I-I’m not going to hurt them. I just want to yell at them.”

“Yeah, that’s why.” You knit your eyebrows together and Mingyu’s smirk grows even wider, turning into a full grin now. “I’d rather you yell at me instead. You seem like you’d be hot when you’re mad.”

You’re at a loss. It’s been a while, if ever, since you’ve been flirted with so shamelessly, and as badly as you want to stay mad about your current situation – your best friend refusing to quit racing despite your constant protests and you, inevitably, getting dragged to the track with him – you're finding it hard to keep it together when Mingyu is looking at you like he wants to devour you. “I don’t fuck with racers.”

“I think I could persuade you.”

“I don’t want to be persuaded.”

“I like a challenge.” Mingyu bends at the waist, meeting you at eye level from where you’re leaning on Chan’s car. You scrunch your nose when you catch a whiff of his cologne, telling yourself that no, you do not like how he smells. “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Stop flirting with me.” You snap.

There’s that smirk again. “Okay, angel.”

You groan, rolling your eyes and throwing your head back. When you lift your head back, Mingyu seems to have gotten closer. If you reach out, you could grab the collar of his jacket and pull him even closer. Your fingertips tingle at the prospect, but you refrain. Instead, you take the opportunity to study his face up close, his smooth, tanned skin and his deep brown eyes and his plump lips. You must have been looking for a while, because Mingyu feels compelled to finally break you out of your trace.

“You can look and touch, y’know.”

“Pass.” You scowl, snapping out of it and leaning back, attempting to create some distance between the two of you. “Don’t you need to warm up or something?”

“I don’t race for another few hours.”

You set your jaw. What is this guy doing? Why is he wasting his time on you? You’re sure that, somewhere else within the track, he could find plenty of other people willing to swoon over him, ready to fall to their knees and offer him some pre-race stress relief. You weren’t one of those people. You hate racing. You hate that Chan fell into it, and you hate how you become too worried to function sometimes. You had met him in college, and for him to forsake the degree that he earned for the quick, easy money that he was getting now made your emotions flare. His business degree wasn’t going to kill him. Racing, eventually, will.

The scent of Mingyu’s cologne is making you feel dizzy, enveloped in the scent of him, and under other circumstances, you’d already have him pressed against you. This was one of Chan’s races, though. You get enough of this shit at home from him; you aren’t going to bring any pieces back with you, too, even though you can imagine it would feel really good to touch Mingyu, and to have him touch you.

Mingyu is perfectly content in standing and looking at you. He thinks you’re the second most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, only behind his mother, and if today is the only day he’ll ever be able to see you, he wants to burn the image of you onto the back of his eyelids.

You finally reach out a hand, pressing your palm against his chest and pushing him back. Nevermind how firm his chest is and how strongly you’re urged to grip his black t-shirt and pull him forward instead of pushing him back. He smiles even as you widen the gap between the two of you. “Is this what you want? You want me to go?”

You open your mouth to respond to him, to tell him that yes, he needs to leave, but the words won’t come out. Maybe you don’t want him to go. Not yet, anyway. Maybe you like the way that you feel when he’s looking at you, feverish, skin prickling with a sense of urgency that doesn’t make sense to you. Your insides twist uncomfortably when you look into his eyes, and yet, you don’t want to look away.

Fuck, you wish that he didn’t race.

“Just tell me to go away and I will, angel.”

You can’t. You don’t want to. There’s some kind of magnetic pole within Mingyu’s body, compelling you toward him even though you wish that you could get away. You’re stuck in his orbit, and it’s a little scary.

“You should stop racing.” You respond, finally remembering yourself. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Duly noted. How ‘bout a kiss, just in case I do get myself killed tonight?”

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu laughs, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back at the forehead. “I’ll definitely be dreamin’ about you.”

Your body moves faster than your brain, finally giving into the desire to have him closer. Instead of pulling him toward you, you’re stepping forward. You like the feeling of having your body pressed against his, but more than that, you like the feeling of your lips pressed against Mingyu’s. He smiles that same insufferable, self-satisfied grin against your lips, but even that doesn’t make you pull away. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, fingers twirling in his hair.

He puts his hands, big and warm, on your hips, holding you against him as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. Mingyu groans in response and you take the opportunity to swipe your tongue against his top row of teeth. His grip becomes impossibly tighter, and he slides his tongue fully into your mouth, alternating between licking the inside of your mouth and massaging your tongue with his. Only when your lungs feel tight and burn from the lack of oxygen do you finally detach yourself from him, chest heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. Mingyu flutters his eyes open, and the look in his eyes makes butterflies erupt in your chest.

You untangle yourself from him immediately, running your hands through your own hair this time. “I--we—that--”

“Was that you givin’ me material for my dreams?”

“W-We shouldn’t have done that.”

“We didn’t do anything. You kissed me.”

“I-I know.” You’re still breathing heavily, your mind jumbled with thoughts of how you kissed Mingyu, how you should not have kissed Mingyu, and how much you liked kissing Mingyu. “That w-was a mistake. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip, red and puffy and tantalizing enough that you almost disregard your hesitation and dive in again. “You’re breakin’ up with me already? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Stop making jokes!” You snap at him. “I-It isn’t funny! That—we--”

“All we did was kiss. There will be plenty of opportunities to do it again.” You’re grasping at straws, trying to navigate through the fog that’s collected in your brain for a retort, when Mingyu’s phone goes off. He pulls it out of his pocket and, for the first time, you see him without a smile. “Call me, okay? Promise?”

He backs away without waiting for a response, holding out his pinky finger toward you. You watch him retreat with a scowl on your face that only deepens once he blows a kiss at you, turning his back to you and taking off in a jog toward the racetrack. Once he’s been out of sight for long enough to ensure that he’s actually gone, you groan loudly, covering your hands with your face. Your face is hot, and your hands are clammy, and you keep thinking about how good it felt to kiss Mingyu, soft lips slotting between and sliding against yours, his fingers leaving your skin feeling scorched wherever they touched.

You don’t know why you kissed him. You had been doing so well, holding yourself back and exhibiting some enviable self-restraint. Still, something in you had snapped, and you don’t know how you’ll be able to recover. On the bright side, you might never see Mingyu again. On the other hand, though, he’d shown a determination that makes you doubt he would let you go so easily. You can only hope that he’s just some playboy; that you’re the latest target of his conquest, that he’ll find somebody else and forget all about you.

He told you that he liked a challenge, and unfortunately, you like being chased.

+ + +

Mingyu can’t stop thinking about you. He knew that this was going to be a problem when he first laid eyes on you and, lo and behold, he was lying in bed for the fourth night in a row, staring up into the dark, consumed with thoughts of you.

He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again. He doesn’t know if he’ll see you again. What he does know is that he’s seriously lovesick, and you’re the only thing that’ll be able to cure him. This is not the type of person that Kim Mingyu is, though. Usually, he’s suave and charming, and he gets exactly what he wants... and then some. He’s so good at flirting because he does it so often, and yet, he wasn’t able to charm you completely. You’d kissed him – yes, you kissed him – and then, after his race, disappeared without another word.

He is not a bad kisser. That’s a fact. And, yet, when you had kissed him, you had reacted like you’d committed some kind of grave sin. Mingyu has been with people that think he’s bad news, but that’s never served as an actual obstacle before. This is uncharted territory. He wants you. He wanted you before he even spoke to you; he wanted you as soon as he got his first glimpse of you.

Your actions say that you want him, too, but your words have contradicted that, and Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s supposed to trust. He’s on the hook either way.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he reaches for his phone on his nightstand. He doesn’t even know if this will work, but he’s got to try something. His sanity, and sleep cycle, depends on this.

“Hey Siri, call Lee Chan.”

The call gets picked up on the second ring, and Mingyu’s heart rate picks up, too. He releases a breath that he doesn’t even realize he’s been holding when he identifies the voice on the other end of the line. “Chan isn’t here right now. What do you want?”

“I was calling to ask for you, actually, angel.” Mingyu sits up in bed, grinning into the phone.

The silence on the other end of the line drives up his heart rate ever more, but when he hears shuffling, he’s able to relax a little. You haven’t hung up. “I’ll ask again. What do you want, Mingyu?”

“Say my name again.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“N-No!” His face burns at how eager he must sound, but he doesn’t care to play it cool. Maybe with somebody else, but not with you. He has too much to lose to try and impress you. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to ask you to remove the spell you put on me.”

His words cause your stomach to somersault. Truthfully, you’ve had a hard time since meeting, and kissing, Mingyu, too. You know that chalking it up to love at first sight would only exacerbate things. You don’t think it’s merely lust, though, either – you've always been able to restrain yourself. You’re careful with your feelings and your emotions, and there’s something there between you and Mingyu. You don’t know what, exactly, but you know that it can’t be there. You have enough on your plate, constantly worrying about Chan. You can’t add someone else, someone that does the exact same stupid stuff, into the mix. You need this to stop, for his sake and for yours.

“I-It’s late and you’re probably just horny. Call someone else.”

“What?” Mingyu’s incredulousness comes through clearly over the phone, and you nearly cringe at how harsh your words were. Still, you can’t indulge this. You shouldn’t.

You want to.

“N-No, I... I’m sorry.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustrated. “Mingyu, I don’t fuck with racers. I told you that.”

“Your roommate races.”

“Yeah, and I hate that he does that, okay? I worry myself sick over him when he’s off racing. The only thing that I can be thankful about is that he does drag and not streets. But you do streets, too, don’t you?” Mingyu doesn’t respond, and you scoff quietly. “Yeah, I already know that you do. I-I can’t get involved with someone that risks their life all the time for money.”

‘It’d be different if I were a cop, though, right? Or a firefighter? That’d make me a hero, right? This--” You hear him pause to take a breath. “I'm in love with you, okay? Completely and utterly smitten with you, to the point that it’s takin’ over my life.” Your breath hitches quietly at his confession, but Mingyu makes no indication that he heard you. “This isn’t my career. We can’t all tolerate cushy bureaucracy jobs. This is what I do now, for money, so that I can stop racin’ one day and retire, then and there. I want to enjoy my life. It’ll be more enjoyable if you’re in it. There is nothing else that I can say except for I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“W-We just met, Mingyu. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“I like to go fast.”

You don’t know what else you can say. You can’t proclaim that you love him, not right now, but you’re sure that in a few weeks’ time, that’s where you’d be, too. Still, you know better. Mingyu is here today, but he could be gone the very next time that he has a race. That terrifies you.

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Mingyu’s at the end of his short rope. He had called in the first place so that he could hear your voice, thinking that maybe it could help him get to sleep. Now, though, he wishes he hadn’t called. He should’ve just suffered through his insomnia and continued suffering through it. It was better than the rejection he was facing. “Nevermind. Just forget it.”

“Mingyu--”

“No, angel, I—you kiss me, and then you push me away. You tell me to fuck off, then you tell me that under different circumstances, you’d be interested. I’ve shown you all of my cards, and you’re not interested in anteing up, so just forget it, okay?”

You end the call before Mingyu can hear you cry. It’s all too fast, and you’re overwhelmed. You want him, but there’s one part of him that you just can’t accept. You aren’t reckless. You like to think things through, and you don’t do things on a whim. Kissing Mingyu had catalyzed a panic within you that you had lost control, and if you lose control once, you’re bound to do it again. It feels like you’re being backed into a corner with two options to get out: take Mingyu completely as he is or swallow your obvious feelings and leave him as he is. You clutch Chan’s phone tightly against your chest as you sob quietly, hot tears rolling down your cheeks even despite your attempts to stifle them.

Mingyu, similarly, can’t believe what just happened. He’s too reckless. He bared himself to you too early, and the consequences that he’ll reap will not be good ones. He can’t help how he feels about you, and nobody feels more intensely than Kim Mingyu. He knows that he fucked up. He knows that he can’t come back from this, and he needs to cut his losses and find a way to get rid of his feelings for you. He doesn’t know how he’ll accomplish it, but if he never sees you again, that’ll probably be the fastest way he’ll be able to heal. He’s never cared for someone so deeply before he met you. He’s never known so immediately that he’s been in love. You’re it for him, and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s already lost you.

+ + +

You shouldn’t have come. You knew that before you got into Chan's car, but now, with Mingyu’s gaze practically burning a hole into the side of your head, it’s been made abundantly clear.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” Chan whispers while you shift your weight. “You never told me what happened between the two of you.”

“I don’t want to get into it.” You mutter, willing yourself to look forward and not over at Mingyu, watching you from a distance like a predator observing its prey. It’s been weeks since your phone conversation. You were no less convinced that you were going to be able to forget about him, and a small part of you had hoped that you would come tonight and see somebody else draped around his arm, shocking you back into a state of rationality.

That isn’t the case though, obviously, and you had to beg Chan to keep to you so that you aren’t vulnerable. You don’t know what you should expect from Mingyu. He’s reckless and volatile, and the way that you feel when you’re around him is... scary. As brief as your first interaction had been, you left with the sense that, if enough time had passed with you in his proximity, he would have replaced the necessity of air with himself; he would’ve become your air, and you would’ve suffocated without him.

There’s something fantastic about the way that Mingyu has made you feel like you’re breathing and drowning at the same time, with just one little kiss and a simple love confession.

“He's looking at you like you murdered his dog. Now he’s-- okay, now he’s looking at his phone... he’s looking at you again.”

“I don’t need the play by play, Chan, thanks.”

“Tell me what happened!”

You shake your head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, then I’m leaving.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to grab Chan, to pull him back and to keep him as your wall against Mingyu, but he’s out of reach before you’re able to react. In a matter of seconds, Mingyu has crossed the way and is standing in front of you, arms crossed tightly over his chest. You stare at him, horrified.

He just scoffs. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I-I’m not here--”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re not here for me.” His hostility takes you aback, even though you know it’s deserved. You can tell from body language alone that Mingyu is still hurting. His words and tone of voice merely confirm that for you. “I-I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over you when you continue to show up to my races.”

“It’s been weeks already, Mingyu.”

“Yeah? And has the passage of time made you feel any better?” You don’t respond, turning away so that he can’t notice the tears brimming at your waterline. You’re biting your cheek to keep them from spilling. Mingyu knows better, though, and softens. Just a little. “I told you that I loved you, and I still do. I’m willin’ to do anything for you – anything except quit.”

That’s the only thing that you need from him, though. “We barely know each other. You don’t love me.”

“You don't know how I feel. You haven’t bothered to ask.”

“B-Because you tell me even if I don’t ask! You don’t know me well enough to say that you love me.”

“I can say whatever I damn well please.” He scoffs, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “There is somethin’ between us, you can’t deny that, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to foster this spark that we have. That’s love, isn’t it?”

“That’s--” You cut yourself off, groaning in frustration. His words make your knees feel weak, but you’re not ready to let up the fight. “You’re too nonchalant about this for it to be love. It’s supposed to be something bigger. You can’t just look at someone for the first time and decide that they’re it for you!”

“I can, and I did.”

You shake your head, wiping away a stray tear with the heel of your hand. “I-I don’t love you.”

“You don’t, or you won’t?”

“You’re a danger to yourself! If you loved me, truly, then you wouldn’t put me through the risk of losing you every time you get behind the wheel.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to shake his head. “That’s all I am, then, yeah? I’m just a stupid guy that drives fast for money, and that’s all I’ll ever be?” Even when you open your money to respond, he ignores you and continues talking. “You’re doin’ this on purpose. You don’t want to admit to yourself that I’m more than what you’ve chosen to see. You won’t even give me a chance to be anything else.”

The conversation is starting to make you dizzy. You press your middle finger to one of your temples, rubbing small circles against your skin. “It was just one kiss, Mingyu.”

“Then kiss me again and show me that I got worked up over somethin’ that I shouldn’t have.”

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You know exactly what needs to happen in order to prove to him that you aren’t the one, that he should back off and keep searching for the true love of his life, and you also know that you aren’t going to be able to fake it. You don’t feel your emotions as intensely as Mingyu does, but you’re never going to be able to escape this whirlwind if you kiss him now.

You kiss him anyway.

Your hands are trembling as you hold his face, pulling him in and pressing your lips against his. He lets you take the lead, slowly slotting his lips between yours only after you’ve initiated movement. Your actions are impossibly calculated as you try to exercise restraint, but, once again, you forget yourself. Your hands work their way into Mingyu’s hair – it's gotten longer since the last time that you did this – and you grip the strands tightly as you pull him closer. He, on the other hand, remembers his manners. He smiles against your lips before he pulls away, and the soft whimper that he hears from you nearly makes him dive right back in.

“You’re so full of shit.” He whispers, eyes still closed, his lips ghosting against yours. “You love me.”

“I-I don’t.” You respond, breathless.

“Yeah?” He presses his lips against yours again, pulling away when you try to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He’s taunting you, and you hate that you like it. You hate that he knows exactly what he needs to do to keep you wanting more. “Then we’re done here, I guess.”

“No, we’re not.” Whispering against his lips draws a shiver up your spine. “Don’t go.”

“You don’t love me, remember?”

“Come home with me.” Mingyu stills against you, swallowing thickly. He hopes that you can’t hear his heart thumping loudly against his ribcage. “Skip your race and fuck me instead.”

His chest tightens, as does his grip on your hip. “You’re---that’s not fair.”

“I’m in love with a guy that does everything that I stand against. Life isn’t fair.”

“R-Right.” Mingyu presses his forehead against yours, his eyes shut as he resumes his ministrations against your skin. He can’t believe how the tides have turned, but he’s not going to ruin it. Not again. Both of you are quiet as you even out your breathing, but finally, Mingyu cuts through the silence. “Counteroffer. I fuck you after my race when I’m ten grand richer.”

“Get a real job, and then I’ll be impressed by you making money.”

“Like a cop, right?” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss. “Or a firefighter?” Another kiss. “Aren’t men more attractive when they have money?”

You exhale deeply as you pull yourself away from Mingyu. “Look, I—we—there need to be rules if we’re going to... be something. T-Together.” Mingyu raises his eyebrows in anticipation, and you sigh again. “Sex is a reward that you get when you skip races.”

“That’s a punishment for both of us.”

You ignore him and move on. “I don’t want to know details after the fact. Let me know as soon as possible if you’re alive or not.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Okay, I promise I will let you know as soon as I can if I die.”

“That’s... all. For now.” You clasp your hands together, tilting your head as you look at him. “So? Are you skipping tonight.”

“Baby, it’s ten grand.” Mingyu whines, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his. Your heart skips a few beats while he laces your fingers with his. “I’ll skip the one I have tomorrow. Promise.”

“Maybe I won’t want to have sex with you tomorrow.” You lilt your words, looking to the side.

Mingyu sighs loudly, swinging your hands gently. “I’d be content to sit and stare at you, too.”

+ + +

As expected, Mingyu wins his race and the ten grand. As promised, he skipped his race on the following day and came to see you instead. That’s why you’re in his lap, and why his shirt is already off, and why you’re sure that he can feel how wet you are through your shorts. You opted to forego underwear in favor of easier access, and you made sure to encourage Chan to go out for dinner after his own race, too.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease.” Mingyu rasps, sliding a hand under your shirt. His hand travels against the expanse of your abdomen before cupping your breast, settling there to squeeze and knead your flesh as he continues sucking bruises against your collarbone. “Playin’ hard to get but wantin’ me just as bad.”

“D-Dirty words coming from a p-pretty mouth.” You gasp, paying homage to something he’d said to you the first time that you met.

Mingyu smiles against you, the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender spots of your skin making you shiver. “It gets dirtier, angel, don’t worry.”

You roll your hips against his, eliciting a groan. That spurs you on to do it again, pausing to gyrate against his erection, whimpering quietly at its contact with your core. There are layers of clothes in the way, but you know they’ll be gone soon enough. For now, the sweat collecting on Mingyu’s forehead, the parting of his lips, and the grunts and groans spilling from them are enough to keep you occupied. He squeezes your breast in response to the friction, using his other hand to cup your neck and pull your face down for a kiss.

You sigh against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, languid movements that correspond well with the rhythm that you’re using to grind on his lap. He pulls away after only a few minutes, eyes following the trail of saliva connecting the two of you until it breaks, and then he looks at you. His pupils are blown out – probably just like yours – and your stomach flips at the wicked grin that blooms on his face.

“Can I fuck you with my fingers first?”

The words ignite a fire that quickly spreads across the expanse of your skin. You grip Mingyu’s shoulders and lift yourself off of him, hovering above his lap so that he can pull your shorts off. He groans when he sees that you aren’t wearing underwear, and his mouth waters at the prospect of tasting you. Today, he’ll go easy and prep you with his fingers. Next time, though, he wants his tongue buried in your folds until you’re begging him to stop.

“Such a tease.” He says again, laughing to himself. “Turn around.”

You do as he says, and he eases you against him with gentle hands on your shoulders. Your back is pressed against his chest, your heartbeat can be felt so strongly that someone could take your pulse by pressing just about another, and when Mingyu hooks his legs under yours to keep them wedged open, you know that you’re done for.

He drops his chin and lets it rest on your shoulder, watching as best as he can as he slides his index finger up and down against your entrance, collecting your arousal. “I can’t believe you tried to keep this pretty little pussy from me. It’s mine now, though, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes,” You stutter out, gasping once Mingyu inserts his finger. He’s only partially inside, only to the second knuckle, but his fingers are so much longer than yours, and every other time you’ve fingered yourself doesn’t compare to how good it feels to have him inside instead. “It’s yours.”

“Yeah, it is.” He coos, sliding his finger out and then back in. His rhythm is slow, and his movements are shallow, but as soon as he feels you relax, he’ll give you more. Normally impatient, Mingyu has all the time in the world to fuck you properly. He presses kisses against the side of your neck while he builds up a faster tempo, strands of hair falling over his eyes and tickling the underside of your jaw. You exhale quietly, and once he feels your shoulders drop, he inserts his finger completely on the next thrust.

You whimper against him, back arching, and he uses the opportunity to wrap an arm across you diagonally, cupping your other breast through your shirt. “Don’t run away from me. I want you to be all stretched out and ready for my cock. You want my cock today, don’t you?”

“Fuck.” You groan, tilting your head back to rest against Mingyu. He’s gradually picking up speed, and the way that you clench at his words only encourages him to do more; to say more, and to add another finger. So that’s what he does, slow as he brings in his middle finger, starting at just the second knuckle so that you can adjust to the feeling. “I want your c-cock.”

“I know you do.” He presses his cheek against the side of your head, his lips positioned right against your ear. “You’re gonna get my cock. You’re gonna take it, all of it, everything that I give you tonight.” He punctuates his words by sliding both of his fingers into you fully, and the curl of his fingers makes you cry out involuntarily. He grins to himself and goes again, reaching for that same spot inside of you, grinning even wider when you cry again. “There we go. That’s where my baby likes to get fucked, yeah? Wish my tongue could go that far.”

“Y-Your cock can reach.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, stilling his fingers inside of you to stroke your g-spot again and again. “That’s true. I’ll make you cum with my cock next. Sound good?” You’re trembling in his arms, your legs having tried to clamp shut several times. He falls into a rhythm of cramming his fingers inside, hooking them and nudging your g-spot with them, and sliding them back out, and he gets so focused on making you cum that he furrows his brow, lips parted in the concentration.

You’re panting loudly now, thrashing as best as you can in his hold, unable to run from the pleasure that’s edging closer and closer. “M-Mingyu--”

“Fuck, say my name again, baby.”

“K-Keep—fuck—M-Min--”

“You’re doin’ so good. My pretty baby, such an angel.”

It’s the praise that finally sends you toppling over the cliff; that, and his thumb kneading your clit, which you hadn’t even noticed until he stills his movements. You clench around Mingyu as you orgasm, and his ego grows three sizes at the ironclad grip that your pussy has on his fingers. He brings his free hand up to stroke the side of your face as you come, still pinning you against him with his forearm to keep you from slumping forward. “You don’t wanna let me go, huh? Want to stay like this forever?”

“N-No.” You sigh, the stars in your vision finally subsiding. Your chest heaves up and down as you work to catch your breath, leaning back against Mingyu and turning your head to place a kiss against his cheek. “You promised to fuck me properly. Unless you’re too tired...”

“Angel, if you’re implyin’ that I’m all speed and no stamina--”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m wondering why your dick is still in your pants and not inside of me.”

Mingyu stares at you, then blinks, and then smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile, not his signature smirk or crooked, self-satisfied grin. He tilts your chin up to place a proper kiss on your lips and then reaches behind him, blindly feeling the top of your nightstand until he finds the condom he’d brought. He eases you off his lap and fully rolls off the bed, offering you reprieve while he brings his cock out of his shorts. You watch with half-lidded eyes as he pumps himself, rolling on the condom with haste you haven’t seen from any of your previous sexual partners before.

“We’re gonna go slow, okay?” He asks, slotting himself between your legs. He’s careful as he maneuvers himself around your limbs, groaning to himself once you wrap your legs around him and cross your ankles. You’re so eager now, but just yesterday, you almost rejected him for the second time. “Th-- y-you’re not going slow, angel.”

“I thought you liked to go fast.” You draw out your words, lilting your voice. Mingyu ignores your comment, just this once, and grips you by one of your hips. He’s concentrated as he lines himself up at your entrance before letting go of his cock and swiping a finger against your folds again. You furrow your brows, sitting up as best as you can to look at him.

He has the finger in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. He only notices you staring at him once he pulls it out of his mouth. He grins, a little bashful, as he looks back down and grabs his dick again. “I forgot to taste you.”

You clench around nothing at his words, groaning softly, but when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your slit, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You do your best to lay still as he inches inside of you, stopping every time that he feels resistance against him, but the tip of his cock nudges against your g-spot when he finally bottoms out and your back arches. Your hands flail around, looking for something to hold, something to keep you anchored, but you just have to settle for gripping the sheets on either side of you. You crumble the fabric in your hands, eyes squeezed shut, letting yourself adjust the feeling of Mingyu inside of you.

Maybe today will be fine, but you can easily foresee having an insanely hot boyfriend with a big dick as being a problem in the future.

“Let me know when I can move, baby.”

“Can’t we just stay like this forever?” You sigh, lolling your head to the side and looking up at Mingyu. The sight makes your heart flutter; his hair is sweaty, pushed back at the forehead but with strands still obscuring parts of his vision; the different scratches, bruises, and bites that you’d given him while making out were finally starting to bloom red on his skin. He’s looking back at you, and the look in his eyes makes you think that he’d be content with that, too. “You can quit... y’know, your job... and just become my trophy husband. Keep the house clean and fuck me through my Zoom meetings.”

“Sounds like a dream. Did we really go this far just so you could cockwarm me, though?”

“No.” You laugh, reaching out for Mingyu. He meets you halfway, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You can move now.”

You don’t hear it clearly, but you swear that Mingyu whispers Thank God to himself before he slides his hands just above your ass, hoisting up your hips for the best angle. His initial pace is slow, painstakingly slow, but the string of moans that falls from your lips spurs him to speed up. At first, he sheaths himself completely inside of you before pulling almost completely out, leaving just the head of dick inside before thrusting back up into you. As he continues, though, he’s more urgent. He wants to minimize the amount of time he spends not inside of you, so his thrusts become shallower. He’s soon thrusting into you at breakneck speed, slowing every so often to make sure his angle is right and that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

“How we doin’, angel?”

“I want to ride you next time.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu groans, sliding a hand up to caress your calf. The room is quiet, save for the squeaking of your bedframe and the sound of Mingyu’s balls slapping against you with every thrust. Every so often, he thrusts perfectly, and you’re brought up from the bed again. Mingyu curses himself that he didn’t ask you to take your shirt off – this would all be even better if your tits were bouncing in his face. “A-Are you close? What do you need from me?”

You hold out your hand, and he grabs it. You’ll be able to show him better than tell him. You lead his hand down, pressing his thumb against your clit again. He immediately gets to work, rolling the nub between his thumb and index finger, and you hold onto his wrist as you gasp for air. His touch is cool against your feverish skin, and you tell yourself that you’re royally fucked just as Mingyu’s thrusts become staccato.

“I--I’m--”

“Inside, Mingyu, p-please.” You sigh, using your free hand to caress his bicep. “Cum inside of m-me.”

“A-Are you s-s--”

You draw him in closer to you, and the squeeze his body against yours, and the squeeze of your pussy around him, does exactly what it should. He’s loud as he cums, his body spasming as he shoots inside of you. You’re disappointed at the lack of warmth, warmth you would’ve felt if he hadn’t worn a condom, but there will be time for unprotected. For now, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself to orgasm while Mingyu rides out his own.

You’re afraid that you’ve lost it, but Mingyu recovers quickly enough to resume his ministrations against your clit. For good measure, he leans down and kisses you, and all of the sensations – his cock still inside of you, his fingers on your clit, his tongue shoved down your throat – are enough to bring you back up and back over the cliff. Your whimpers are drowned out by Mingyu’s grunts as you squeeze around him. He lowers himself onto you completely as you ride out your orgasm, trembling and spasming underneath him until you’re finally able to go still. He finds enough energy to lift his head and look at your face, laughing when he notices the tear that’d rolled down your cheek.

“Cute.” He reaches up and brushes it away with his finger, letting his arm drape across you. You don’t know how long the two of you lay like that; Mingyu, pressed on top of you, his cock still nestled inside of you, one arm draped across your body with his face nuzzled into your neck and you, pinned against the mattress, one hand caressing his back while the other cards through his hair. It feels like it’s been mere seconds, but an eternity could pass, and you’d still feel like it wasn’t enough time.

+ + +

It’s the call that you always expected, but simultaneously, always hoped you’d never get.

You’re numb as you rise from your bed, rifling through your drawers in the dark for clothes to change into. It doesn’t feel like you’re responsible for moving through your bedroom, getting dressed as best one can when they can’t feel anything. Chan is already waiting for you at the front door, unwilling to look at your face as he leads you out, locking the door behind the two of you and following you into the elevator just as the doors start to close. He must’ve gotten a call, too.

It feels right to drive in complete silence. You’re unable to convince yourself to bring your eyes into focus. Maybe, if you don’t look, then this won’t be real: you aren’t actually en route to the hospital’s emergency room, and you didn’t actually get a call from an unknown number, telling you that Mingyu had crashed during his race and that he was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Chan isn’t actually driving you, speechless and quiet for the first time since you’d met him. You aren’t actually being led through the tiled corridor of the hospital, harsh fluorescent lights guiding your venture down the endless hallway toward your boyfriend’s room.

Mingyu is drinking from a juice box when you finally set eyes on him. That little fucker.

All things considered, he looks fine. His left arm is in a sling, and there’s a deep horizontal gash underneath one of his eyes, and there are bruises starting to bloom along the crook of his neck. Otherwise, though, he’s fine. He isn’t intubated, and actually, the only other things attached to him are an IV and the heart rate monitor clipped onto his finger.

Chan enters the room a few seconds after you, letting out a huge sigh of relief at the sigh. He holds a hand to his forehead before swinging back around and stepping outside. He knows that he doesn’t want to hear the words you’ll choose to say to Mingyu.

“I love you. I love you so, so, so much.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, drawing in your arms and crossing them over your chest. He knows that he deserves this, but he still winces at the venom dripping from your words and the daggers that you’re shooting at him with your eyes. “I thought that you died, you fucking asshole! You—I am so fucking mad right now, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry. I-I was careful, I promise.”

“You’re a fucking liar! You’re in the hospital, Mingyu. Careful people don’t go to the hospital!”

You sit on the chair in the corner, purposefully away from your boyfriend, even though you didn’t miss the way that he scooted to the side in his bed to make room for you. You’re able to see his face better from this angle. He looks... tired. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he doesn’t look happy following one of his races. Figures, since he’d crashed his car. Still, there’s something different about him today.

“You must’ve been worried. I’m sorry, my angel.”

You sigh loudly, shaking your head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be my boyfriend that works a shitty job. Hell, you don’t even need to work. We can survive on my income, and I can come home to you every day and that’ll be enough, because I’ll be happy, and you’ll be alive.” You take a breath after your monologue, exhaling slowly. “Because that’s the bar that you’ve set. I’m just happy that you’re still breathing.”

“I have somethin’ to say, too.” You look up at him, raising your eyebrows and clasping your hands together. Mingyu chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before he sighs, too. “I’m a racer. I’ve been racin’ for... God, I don’t know. I’ve been racin’ for a long time.” You let your head fall, anticipating what he’s going to say. “All that I’ve ever cared about is going fast and makin’ money. And then I met you, and my priorities... shifted. A little.” You squeeze your hands together, willing yourself to calm down. Mingyu was proving your assumptions wrong with his words, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“You... I think I’d rather die than lose you. I-I guess, if I died, that I would lose you, but th—that's not the point. I started fallin’ in love with you the very moment that I first saw you, and since then, I haven’t wanted to take my eyes off you. You’re everythin’ to me now. Racin’ is... I’ll quit. I’m sorry, and I love you, and I’ll quit if it means that we’ll stay together.”

Hot tears are already rolling down your cheeks, and as hard as you try to keep that from Mingyu, your sniffling gives you away. He coos from his place in bed and starts to throw his blankets off to approach you, but you hold your hand up and he stills. Offering another sniffle, you rise from your chair, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed. He looks at you, expectantly, and you, begrudgingly, reach out a hand. You weren’t expecting to forgive him so quickly.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

“Not right now.”

“Angel, please.” Mingyu takes your hand, trying to tug you closer to him. “Look at me. I just... you’re doin’ that thing again, where you let me bare my soul and then don’t really respond.”

You shake your head, tears flying from your eyes and landing on the hospital blanket covering Mingyu’s legs. He scoffs, using his other hand to reach forward and tilt your chin up. Seeing you cry makes his heart split and shatter, and tears start to form in his own eyes.

“I’m so fucking mad at you, Mingyu.”

He bites his tongue to refrain from cracking a joke, as he normally would. Instead, he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “And I want to stick around, so that I can keep makin’ you mad.”

“You promise?” You ask, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty. “You’re really done racing?”

“I don’t break my promises. Not the ones that I make to you. I promise, I swear, that I’m done.”

+ + +

“Baby, it’s late. Can we just go to sleep? Please?”

“I’m making room in your closet for my clothes, Gyu.” You scoff, pulling out another jacket. You glance over it before flipping it around, showing it to your boyfriend. “Do you wear this?”

He furrows his brows, thinking it over before dismissing you with a wave. “Not really.”

“Okay.” You toss the jacket into the box you’d designated for donating, dropping the hanger on the closet floor. Mingyu yawns loudly, stretching out in the middle of his bed. You know what he’s doing; he’s trying to entice you into joining him. He wants to persuade you to stop doing the task that he’d already put off for weeks in favor of crawling into his lap, maybe going to sleep or maybe not. Still, you’re not ready to quit yet. You pull out another jacket and repeat your actions, holding it in front of you for Mingyu to inspect it.

“Donate.”

You nod, silently agreeing with his decision. You reach back into the closet, reaching for the next jacket to pull out, but your fingers freeze when you realize what you’re touching. You pull out the leather jacket slowly – Mingyu's racing jacket. It’s the one that he was wearing the first time that you kissed him, and the second time. He wore it for your first date, claiming that it was ‘good luck,’ and he even wore it that one time that you let him fuck you against the hood of his racecar. You hold your breath as you turn around, and Mingyu’s expression darkens when he realizes what you’re holding.

He doesn’t know how to play this. It’s been months since his accident, which means it’s been months since he quit racing. He misses it sometimes, but you’re more important to him. He lets each day drag on so long as they promise, that at sundown, he’ll be able to come back to his apartment and you’ll be waiting, smiling, happy, healthy. That jacket means a lot to him.

“Donate.”

You mean more to him.

“Aw, really?” You whine, looking back down at the jacket. Mingyu scoffs and pushes himself further up on the bed, watching closely as you run your fingertips along the leather. “You looked so good when you used to wear this. I think my mouth was watering the first time we met.”

“Fuck off.” Mingyu laughs, waving you away again. “You keep it then, angel. I looked good in the jacket because I’m good looking. Please don’t attribute my good looks to my jackets.”

You put the jacket back into the closet regardless, finally shuffling across the room to the bed. You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the mattress, groaning as Mingyu rolls you onto your stomach and then tugs you closer to him. You let him do all the work, only shifting once he’s positioned underneath you. You let one of your hands snake underneath his shirt, resting on his abdomen and applying pressure, just for good measure.

“Do you miss it?” You whisper, cheek smushed against his cheek.

“Sometimes.” Mingyu whispers back, tracing shapes against your back. “I think it suited me. I was good at makin’ split-second decisions, and it worked because the only person affected by those decisions was me. And then...” He trails off, considering his next words carefully. “Then I met the love of my life, and they tried so hard to hate me and push me a—hey!”

He whines as you pinch him, prying your hand off him. He tsks at you, shaking his head before continuing his story. “As I was saying, the love of my life wanted to push me away ‘cause they didn’t want to be attached to someone with so little regard for their own life. And I couldn’t blame them, y’know? I wasn’t happy about it, though, so I kept tryin’ and, somehow, it worked.”

“I already know the story, Gyu.” You grumble. Still, you’ll never get tired of hearing him refer to you as the love of his life. You still have no idea how he knew, from that very first moment, that it had to be you, though. “I love you too. I don’t think I say it enough.”

“I didn’t want this to become sappy.” He sneers, pinching your cheek. “I was actually hopin’ that you’d ride my face.”

“I’m tired.” You yawn, replacing your hand on his chest, over his shirt, and rubbing up and down along his abdomen. “I could give you a hand job, though.”

“Don’t want that.” Mingyu groans.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise. Your boyfriend, turning down a hand job? You lift your hand up and press the back of it against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, though.”

“You’re annoying.” He scowls. “You just told me that you don’t want me to eat you out, and I’m not makin’ a big deal of it.”

You let your hand drop from Mingyu’s forehead, tracing your fingertips along his jaw. “If we’re both tired, we can just fuck in the morning.”

“We don’t fuck in the morning.” You offer him a quizzical look. He wraps both of his arms around you, squeezing you and rolling both of you until you’re on your back and his cheek is pressed against your stomach. “In the morning, we make love.”

“Didn’t you call me a slut the last time that we made love?”

He lifts his head up, narrowing his eyes at you. “You liked it.”

“Yeah, I did.” You sigh, easing your fingers through Mingyu’s hair and forcing his head back down, onto your stomach. “Where do you think you’d be if we hadn’t met?”

“Wildly unhappy.” He scoffs. “Dead. What about you?”

You hum quietly, scratching against his scalp. “Probably... also unhappy. Well, I don’t think that I wasn’t happy before I met you, but I think, right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been.”

The two of you lapse into silence. The sounds of the neighborhood – dogs barking, cars honking – seep through every so often, but you hardly noticed, aware, instead, of your boyfriend’s presence. When you first met Mingyu, you knew that he would find a way to infiltrate your life, to become the oxygen that you needed to breathe. When you first met Mingyu, you felt like you were breathing and drowning at the same time. Nowadays, you don’t feel like you’re drowning, but you aren’t breathing normally, either. It’s the same for him, you’re sure; it’s all about him, even when it isn’t. You could be focused on something else, but you’ll never be able to fully attend to anything else.

It’s for this reason that you’ve had to scold him, on so many occasions, to keep his eyes on the road when driving. He just can’t seem to focus on anything but you, and somehow, his recklessness has worn off and you find yourself in the same predicament.

Just as you finally shut your eyes, you feel Mingyu twitching against you.

He’s laughing. “It’s a good thing that you decided to fuck with a racer, huh?”

#mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #svt x reader #mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #hengqarae #1k #1.5k

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myownwholewildworld · 4 months ago

Text

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 6

chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 7

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after months in the wilderness, you finally arrive at chicago. adapting to this new life has its cons, but also its perks. joel's birthday is around the corner, and you have planned for a couple of things you hope he likes...

a/n: hiya! here's chapter six!! it's packed with a bit of everything, especially drama because why not? 🤷 i want to thank you all ― i just realised that the first 3 chapters have hit over 100 notes each! i'm so damn grateful to all of you, honestly. as much as i'm writing for myself, i'm loving how hooked some of you are with this story 😳 also, i'd like to apologise in advance if i have butchered chicago's layout or its history, i did try my best doing some research. as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. mention of Sarah's death. angst. fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). irresponsible use of contraception (don't do that). consensual somnophilia. dry humping. unprotected piv. masturbation (m and f). creampie. pussy slapping. fisting. squirting. cum play. a bit of assplay. makeup sex. sir kink. “bar” fight. alcohol consumption. blood. stabbing. swear words. mention of past racist events and the precursor to the chicago race riot of 1919. soft!dom!joel. a bit of aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is now 37 (🎉!). no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~6.9k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz

Chicago was definitely not what you had expected at all. Shit had gone down really badly in this place. It took you a week to cross the southwest area, keeping close to Interstate 55 as a reference. The worst you had seen was Chicago Midway International Airport. Airplanes had crashed on the runway, the esplanade was a makeshift cemetery even almost a year after Outbreak Day. Bodies piled on top of each other, fires would break out in the adjacent buildings. The control tower was completely dilapidated. And the grounds were full of clickers.

Tommy, Joel and you made it through the worst neighbourhoods. As you covered more miles, Tommy and Joel realised that this had not been the best idea. But you were already there, so the best option was to move forward. You all had to defend yourselves, and each other. Although the Miller brothers took out many attackers ―humans and infected alike―, you also had your good share of action. You didn’t like it, but you were good at shooting. Your clothes were stained with blood and sweat. You endured, and you survived. That was what mattered.

The whole city was in shambles, divided by two different groups: the government and the rebels. The government held the north side of the Chicago River, from River North Gallery District all the way to Old Town ― basically everything to the east of Interstate 90. The rebels, on the other hand, controlled the south ― all the movable bridges along the whole Wacker Drive, from New Eastside to Chinatown. Anything further south or north, and between Interstates 55 and 90, from Little Village to Naperville, was no man’s land.

You ended up on the rebels’ side randomly. Tommy was not very happy about it, blaming the communists for overpowering the government, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. If you tried to cross any bridge to go northwards, you would be shot at with no warning. From both sides.

It took a while to convince the Rioters ― that was how the rebels called themselves. Two weeks later, on the 20th of August, you were given a place to stay near the Art Institute of Chicago, which was also the operations base. You did try to integrate yourself in this society as you knew it was better to have more friends than foes. The Millers, however, kept to themselves ― Joel more than Tommy, as you had expected. No surprises there.

The flat you were in was in urgent need of repairs but was better than sleeping rough. You and Joel fixed as many things as you both could, while Tommy took cleaning very seriously. It wasn’t much, but it was the place you called home for the last month. The only downside was that it only had two bedrooms, so Joel and you sadly had to share the only double bed available, while Tommy had his own room.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself ― the last four weeks had been pure bliss in a sense. Waking up every day besides Joel had become a delightful habit. He had awakened you many a times either in the middle of the night or in the early morning to give him a hand. Literally. And you had done exactly the same thing when you had needed it. You were sure Tommy was sick and tired of you two, but you didn’t care.

You stretched out, still lying in bed. The morning light had not come through the curtains yet, but it soon would. You rubbed your eyes and then let your arms drop to your sides dramatically. You were not a morning person, but your sleeping schedule was all fucked up. You rolled to your other side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Joel was sleeping on his right side. You had noticed he usually did in the same position. When you had asked him why, he had explained his hearing in his right ear was messed up since his suicide attempt. You wished you could have been faster that day to prevent the gun from going off. Ah, the regrets you both had…

His back was towards you, him facing the door. Despite the repairs you all had done to the flat, it was still not the safest. Every night one of you would make sure all locks were engaged and would bar the front door. A few days ago, someone attempted to break in. Since then, all of you would sleep with a firearm nearby.

Today was Sunday ― 26th of September. Which meant it was Joel’s birthday, as well as the first anniversary of Outbreak Day. The anniversary of Sarah's death would be tomorrow too. You had tried to talk to Joel about today, but he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrating at all, which you completely understood. As much as you wanted to do something, you respected his decision. You had only planned for a couple of low-key things, which you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

He had fallen asleep only with his briefs on, the bedsheet draping around his legs. You couldn’t see, but you were damn sure he had his arms crossed at his chest, always on guard. Your eyes dwelled on his upper body, two perfect dimples on his lower back. His shoulders were broad and toned, his waist smaller. He was not the most muscular guy you had ever seen, but he was perfect the way he was. His calloused hands had shown you multiple times how good he was for you, despite what he thought of himself.

You couldn’t resist, your mouth dry. Your fingertips traced the curve of his neck, then his left shoulder down to his elbow. Your hand caressed his left hip and slipped down to his front, following his V line. Your fingers touched the elastic of his briefs ― and something else.

You gulped down the knot in your throat, your heart beating harder in your chest, when your fingertips brushed over the damp tip of his cock. Joel’s morning wood was so prominent, his glans had slipped out of his underwear and was showing. You wetted your lips as you stroked him carefully. A deep, almost guttural growl flowed from Joel’s chest.

You got closer to him in bed, your nipples grazing the skin on his back even through your pyjamas. It probably wasn’t the best time ― you knew he was tired, but you wanted him so badly. Liquid fire was pooling in your furrow, knowing his erection was right there for you to play with.

Your internal battle didn’t last long.

You pulled down his briefs to free his warm dick. You didn’t need to look to know his shaft was resting against his happy trail, the head touching his belly button. With no hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing him delicately. Then you slid your hand down his meaty column, holding him firmly, in a very slow but strong pump.

He groaned, still asleep as far as you could tell, as you started pumping him ― more heat and excitement gathering in your pussy. You dunked your fingers in your panties, touching yourself. You were already wet, the mere thought of making him yours was enough. You kissed his left shoulder at the same time he uncrossed his arms ― his left hand over yours, feeling the rhythm you were imparting on him.

He was awake.

Joel didn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he was sure it wasn’t this. When he looked down and saw your tiny hand trying to muffle his cock, he closed his eyes with a sigh. That felt damn good. He was knackered after last night’s patrolling shift, but this was exactly what he needed to decompress.

He turned around, his back flat against the uncomfortable mattress. His eyes were pinned on yours, your sweet hand upping the speed. You leaned towards him and invaded his mouth with your devilish tongue. Joel moaned in the middle of the kiss ― his brain completely switched off. He could not think straight when you were handling him like that.

Quickly letting go of his erection and mouth, you got rid of your pyjama shorts and your underwear. Then you doubled down your efforts with the handjob ― his throbbing cock was calling for you. You could see a few drops of precum sliding off his veiny shaft, which you swiftly gathered with your thumb to rub them against his leaking slit. You felt his dick pulsating hard for you ― your cunt palpitating at exactly the same time, anticipating. Your bodies were fully synchronised.

You then climbed on top of him, his balls welcoming the touch from your puffy lips. You rolled your hips against his, looking for that friction you so much loved, and took a deep breath before taking off the top of your pyjamas, throwing it to one side. You bended down, your mouth looking for his, so thirsty.

“Good morning, handsome”, you whispered as a greeting.

“Mhmmm”, was the only thing he managed to hum, sleepy.

You smiled and broke off the contact, straightening your back. His rough hands slid from your knees, across your thighs, to your butt. He clasped your ass cheeks with assertiveness. With no more words than those, you took his steely cock in your hand and lifted your hips. You glided his glans over your damp fold a few times, your cunt beseeching to be stuffed.

You guided his tip to kiss your entrance and descended on his dick slowly, very slowly, the palms of your hands flat against his lower abdomen to steady yourself. You closed your eyes, head tilted backwards, and whined loudly. Each inch was a blessing. Once his cock was entirely inside of you, you peeked back down at him and did a circular motion with your hips. His eyes were so intense you couldn’t look away while you started riding him.

Joel closed his eyes unwillingly when the muscles in his lower belly cramped. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this, so forced himself to open them again ― he loved seeing how the pleasure transformed your beautiful features. Your half-lidded eyes, your lips parted, a river of pearly sweat coming down in between your bosom. Your perfectly round breasts bouncing in front of him. He was a lucky bastard.

He liberated your ass, his hands drifting to your bust, holding your tits. While he kneaded that tender flesh and coddled your nipples, you covered his hands with yours. You were still jumping on top of him, albeit more erratically, as you felt an orgasm hit you with full force. You mewled as your needy pussy discharged the seed of your pleasure all over him, hugging his hard erection, strangling his cock, encouraging him to come with you.

Joel was so damn close to coming, his nuts contracted with equal parts of pain and lust. He could feel your gush soaking his dick. He was about to lose his goddamn mind ― he needed to stop. His hands abandoned your breasts to place them on your butt to help you lift it up, so you would release his cock before it was too late.

“No, it’s okay. Fill me up, please, sir”, you wailed, your palms against his chest, your hips grinding against his.

Joel glimpsed at you with doubt. It was like you could read his mind, because you knew what he was thinking. You smiled softly, your wet pussy palpitating around his cock. You forced your inner walls to contract against him as you leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’ve got the morning after pill. Please, please, Joel, come inside, I beg you. Trust me”, you wept, laying down on top of him.

He thought himself mad for believing you, but he did. Because he was mad for you, regardless of what he tried to convince himself of. He lifted your butt up off his lap with his hands ― with the help of his legs, the heels of his feet against the bedsheets, he thrusted into you like a madman while you remained still on top of him. Drilling your weeping cunt, as hard and fast as he could. He just wanted to know how it felt just once; he wanted you to milk him dry.

Joel fucked you like there was no tomorrow, the room echoing with the squishy sounds and the impact of flesh on flesh. He was fucking you so hard that you came again at the same time he spilled his spent in you ― Joel groaned like you never heard him before. The slick warmth you felt inside made you smile, your face buried in the curve of his neck, your nipples brushing his. With his pulsing dick still inside of you, you bit the skin on his neck, leaving a mark behind.

“Happy birthday, sir”, you whispered in his ear.

That was your gift to him. And to yourself, because you had wanted this from the very first time he impaled you in the forest. You had had to trade a few bits for the morning after pill, but it was worth every single one of them. You felt your cave so clogged with him and his cum, you thought you had descended to hell.

You both stilled, catching your breaths. His dick was still twitching, housed by your greedy, soaked cunt.

A minute later, he sat up on the bed, bit your mouth and lifted your butt up, his cock becoming free. He quickly laid you down in fetal position ― resting on your righthand side, back slightly curved, head bowed, your knees bent touching your breasts. He placed a hand on your left hip and tilted your pelvis a bit forward, so he could inspect your heart-shaped ass and your puffy, reddened pussy framed by your inner thighs.

Just in time to see his cum gushing out of your hole, dripping across your perineum and then going downwards, skidding through your butt cheek. One of his digits caught the semen before it hit the bedsheets, retraced its steps back and shoved the cum back inside of you with the push of his finger.

“You can’t waste my gift to you, baby, it’d be so fucking rude of you”, he purred in your ear, his voice coarse and warm at the same time.

He laid on his side behind you, moving his index in a circular motion, looking for your g-spot and finding it. He stroked it dextrously, sliding it in and out slowly. You closed your eyes, and fisted the bedsheet in your hand, trying to hold onto something. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ when he bottomed out, quickly adding a second finger. And a third. Then a fourth.

It didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust to such delightful intrusion ― your inner walls felt like clay, reshaping around him. Joel could feel you relax around his fingers and took the chance, introducing his thumb in your pussy too. Now his entire hand was buried in your fluttering cunt, down to his wrist. He remained still for a hot minute while your muscles loosened up to house him.

Then he slowly started to pump his fist inside of you, back and forth, building up a steady pace. Joel bit your shoulder and then kissed it ― his tongue tasting the saltiness of your sweat.

By that point you couldn’t stop moaning very loudly ― the whole building was probably listening to your whoring screams as Joel fisted you relentlessly with his whole hand. Each push propelling his cum further inside of you as if he wanted it to take. He was thrusting you so harsh, your entire body was rocking back and forth on the bed. He was fucking you senseless just with his hand ― and you were loving every single second of it.

Your sticky cunt couldn’t take it for much longer ― it was wet, pulsating, contracting, overstimulated, yearning… Your pussy literally was his, and only his. The orgasm had been building up for so long now that when you let it go, weeping at the top of your lungs, it hit you like a motherfucking truck. Your whole body went into shock while you squirted ― you were shaking due to the force of your own release. For fuck’s sake, you could barely breathe.

You whimpered again when he removed his hand and rubbed your wetness all over your delicate folds. Before you could form a coherent thought, he spanked you on your crotch so firmly it tingled ― you almost died and went to heaven right there and then, biting into the pillow underneath your head. He kept on slapping your quivering cunt until your sensitive clit twitched one last time with devastating pleasure, contracting your uterus so the last trickle of cum oozed out of you. He caught it with his thumb and brushed it gently against your asshole, caressing the tight ring, until you fully relaxed.

You sighed, unable to move. You even felt dizzy. Your limbs felt so limp you didn’t think you could sit up, so you just stayed there, melting against the bedsheets. You hadn’t realised your eyes had welled up until a few tears ran down your cheeks. Tears of complete, utter joy ― there was no other way of describing it.

You were so damn grateful for this man, you swore to yourself you would never let him go. You had been with others, but none of your sexual partners had been so fucking attentive. Joel would always make sure you were completely satisfied, without fail. And that said a lot about him.

You rolled onto your back to look at him, wiping away the tears with a satisfied smile and dreamy eyes. He was still lying down on his side, his elbow against the bed, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He returned your smile ― such gesture transforming his rugged face. So gorgeous it tugged at your heart.

“Y’know, it was supposed to be all the way around today ― me fucking you until you begged”, you confessed, although it was not a complaint.

He grinned, his hand possessively cupping your mound. You parted your legs slightly so he could massage your sensitive furrow. It felt so calming after all that pussy-slapping he gifted you with.

“As redundant as it sounds, plans rarely go according to plan, sweetheart”.

Understatement of the fucking year, you thought.

You just laughed while his hand was still kneading your sticky flaps. Joel kissed your forehead before he took out his hand from in between your legs, your damp, intimate skin being swept by the cold air.

“The morning after pill?”, he asked a minute later.

“I got it from Kelsey, it’s in date. Don’t panic, it’s okay. I have three days to take it. Which made me think… I don’t need to do it straight away, right?”, you glanced up at him, a wide smile on your lips.

“Mhmm, I mean, it would be a waste otherwise, I guess”, he replied, tucking a stray hairlock behind your ear. “But I need a minute here, darlin’. You work miracles, but even I have limits. Wait up”, he mumbled grumpily as he palmed his left wrist, and then got out of bed while he tucked away his member back in his briefs.

Joel headed towards the en-suite bathroom. He came back out only a few seconds later ― you could see panic in his eyes. You sat back up on the mattress quickly.

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked with worry, kneeling on the bed.

“My wristwatch, I can’t find it. I am sure I left it by the sink before I came to bed last night. I can’t lose it. I can’t”, he was now frantically searching his bedside table, panic growing in his tone.

You bit down your lip, because you knew where it was. In the drawer of your nightstand. You had taken it in the middle of the night because your second present was getting it repaired for him today.

“I have it”, you whispered, shrugging with an apologetic smile.

“What? Why?”, he approached you, extending his hand towards you, his tone so serious. “Give it back now”, he almost growled at you.

His reaction took you completely off guard. Why was he so possessive over a broken watch? Trying to understand the sudden change in Joel, you opened the drawer and took it out.

“I just wanted to get it fixed for you, as a gift”, you didn’t understand what was happening.

“You have not fixed it, have you?! Because if you have―”, he snatched it off your hand, inspecting it.

You frowned ― his attitude towards you was completely off. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking things, is that clear?”, he snapped.

You looked at him blankly, speechless. Then your own temperament started to shimmer under the surface.

“Wow, wow, wow ― Calm the fuck down, Joel. It’s just a broken, useless watch―”, you stopped yourself because of his perplexed look.

“Shut up. It’s not just any watch. You don’t fucking understand”, he yapped.

“I would try and understand if you just fucking explained it to me?!”, you shouted at him while you got dressed. “What is your fucking problem, Joel? What’s up with that watch? I don’t read minds!”.

“Forget it”, he grumbled, strapping the watch to his wrist before putting his trousers on and grabbing a T-shirt, heading towards the door.

“That’s it? You just up and leave?”, you repressed the urge of throwing a pillow to his head.

“I’ve got stuff to do”, he muttered.

A few seconds later, you heard him opening the front door. Then he slammed it shut.

It was around lunchtime now and you had not seen Joel since this catastrophic morning. While you had the impression that Joel’s reaction was due to something he would not speak about, he had no fucking right to treat you that way. You were just trying to do something nice for him, that was all.

You walked through the main hallway of the Art Institute of Chicago. It was rammed with people running around ― some armed, some not. You didn’t think that humanity would prevail in big groups in such circumstances, but it did.

The Rioters had established some sort of order. People had tasks to do, everyone working together to build up a community. Chores were allocated according to people’s skills. Joel had been put on patrolling shifts, Tommy was helping with carpentry and other building jobs, and you were in the hunting group. As much as you hated pulling the trigger, you were a very good shot. All thanks to your good old Texan father.

You were on your way to check with the group if there were any plans of going out today when you got interrupted.

“Hey”, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Joyce?”, you looked at the older woman when you turned around.

Joyce was around fifty five years of age, maybe more, and was the kindest soul you had ever met. She had welcomed you to Chicago like a mother a daughter. Joyce showed you around, explained how the Rioters worked and guided you in the right direction. Because as good as everything looked, there was still darkness lurking around.

She was also the best cook ever. Like, no jokes, she could transform a tasteless rabbit in the most flavourful stew your tastebuds had ever been in contact with.

“I just finished cooking, do you want some stew?”, she asked with a warm smile.

Your stomach growled at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah”, you replied ― your duties could wait, surely.

“Watch your language, kiddo”, Joyce reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry”, all that time you spent with Joel was showing.

You followed her to the canteen and patiently waited for Joyce to pour some stew in a bowl. You then went with her to a table where more people were sat down. You didn’t know any of them, so Joyce introduced you. You were damn sure you weren’t going to remember one single name by the time you walked out the door.

“So, you’ve never heard the story of Eugene Williams?”, one of the men asked rhetorically to a younger fellow across the table, who shook his head in reply. “He was a black kid in 1919, when racial segregation was still in place here in Chicago. The summer of 1919 was so hot the kid wandered off to the white side of Chicago beach without realising. A man threw stones at him until the kid drowned and died. That was what ignited the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 ― and why we, the resistance, go by the Rioters”.

You listened to every word while you ate your meal. After hearing that explanation, many things made sense. Although they named themselves the Rioters, there were no riots in the streets ― actually, people seemed happy here, given the circumstances.

“That’s right, Walter, younger people need to learn about the past, so those mistakes are never repeated again”, said Joyce.

The conversation then moved on to present times, the people talking about the continuous fight against the so-called government.

Joel got the afternoon patrolling shift that day, which he thought was a killer, considering he did the night shift last night. But it was good in a sense ― it would keep his mind occupied. You had angered him so much this morning, it had set his mood for the rest of the day. The thought of you erasing that memory had maddened him so bad, he had to walk out before he said something he would later regret.

That watch was the only anchor chaining him to what little remained of his humanity. A gentle reminder of what could have been but wasn’t. Every day he wondered how Sarah would be doing in this new world. And most days, he was just somewhat grateful she wasn’t here to see what had become of civilisation. The unspeakable horrors she would have witnessed and suffered but didn’t ― it was very little consolation to a father, but it was better than nothing.

He absentmindedly touched the watch on his wrist, ensuring it was properly fastened.

Joel was stationed with other people in front of Bataan-Corregidor Memorial Bridge. In those long, never-ending hours, there was no activity on the other side of the bridge, but they had to remain vigilant nonetheless. By the time the next group showed up, it was already half eight in the evening.

Joel headed towards the headquarters to sign off and go home. He was already on edge, thinking about what he would say to you to appease you. Because he was damn sure you would be waiting for him, ready to pick up the fight where you both left it. As Joel walked past the canteen, he heard a familiar voice.

Tommy was on his feet, yelling at a man, his accusatory index pointing to the guy. Joel rolled the eyes to the back of his head ― he was sure his brother was so drunk he would probably not remember any of this the next day. Joel shook his head with disappointment ― some things would never change, not even when the world had gone to shit.

He planned to ignore the situation and get back home to you, when a fight started. Joel groaned in despair, debating what to do. But a man chose for him ― he saw how a bloke approached Tommy from behind, knife on hand, and he knew he had to do something. Joel quickly closed the distance in stride and grabbed the man from the neck of his shirt, pulling him backwards until the dude stumbled with his own feet.

Madness broke out, the whole canteen becoming a battling ground. People were fighting each other over absolutely nothing, throwing punches in the air.

“Tommy!”, he shouted angrily, while the younger Miller turned around and simply smiled.

That fucking pissed him off big time.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? How much have you been drinking?!”, Joel wanted to punch his brother so bad, he really had to control himself.

“Not enough”, he babbled.

As Joel approached his brother, ready to fight him if necessary, the man he had pushed away from Tommy tapped his shoulder. When Joel turned around, the dude punched him in the face and then stabbed him in the lower stomach.

Joel froze for a second, his back slightly curved, his brain coming to terms with what just had happened. He looked down while his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He knew not to remove it because it was the blade what prevented him from bleeding out. Then Joel glanced back up at the same guy and, without thinking, he removed the knife from his flesh and sticked it on the man’s shoulder with a growl.

Joel’s wound started to bleed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Not that he noticed anyway, because hell literally broke loose.

It wasn’t late late, only ten in the evening, but none of the brothers was around when you returned home, which was weird. You could understand if Joel was avoiding you, but Tommy? You frowned as you called for them, shutting the main door behind you. Nothing, no reply at all.

Before you could walk to the living room to see if there was a note or something, someone knocked on the door.

You looked through the peephole. Joyce was standing outside, worry wrinkling her aged face. You opened the door.

“What’s the matter, Joyce?”

“It’s Joel, he’s in the infirmary”, she whispered while placing a soft hand on your forearm.

You just stared at her, bewildered.

“Huh? The where?”, you repeated, while her words started to sink in, your stomach contracting with fear.

“Come with me, kiddo”, Joyce took your hand, guiding you through the apartment building.

The next time you blinked, you were in an outbuilding outside the headquarters. Joyce palmed your hand with hers, in a calming gesture, while she took you to the far end of the shelter. The old lady planted you in front of Joel’s bed, and let go of you with a “take care”.

You stood there for a long minute, still trying to grasp what the hell had happened. He was asleep, his head slightly tilted away from you ― or so you hoped he was. Joel had no shirt on, a bloody bandage covering the right side of his abdomen. You got closer, your heart pounding in your throat.

“He’s fine, it’s just a scratch”, you looked up, befuddled.

Tommy was sitting in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was crouching forwards, his elbow against his knee, head pressing against the palm of his hand. Tommy then smiled, which completely perplexed you.

You were about to reply, but suddenly Joel did instead.

“Fuck off, Tommy. Get your ass somewhere else”, he gritted his teeth.

You hadn’t noticed it yet, but you had been holding your breath, because suddenly you felt a stone being lifted off your chest. You glanced at the younger Miller, who had gotten up with a smile. When he walked past you to go outside, you smelled it. The stench of alcohol made you wrinkle your nose unconsciously.

Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist to get your attention, so you turned around to look at him, so confused you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel had already adjusted the pillow on his back so he could be somewhat sat up.

“It’s alright, no need to cry”, he said raising one of his hands to sweep away your tears.

You had not realised you were crying. Giving it a second thought, you probably had been since you left home. You pursed your lips and nodded, quietening your sobs.

“What…?”, you muttered, resting your cheek against his palm before placing a kiss on it.

“Tommy got into a fight in the canteen. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. A man tried to stab him, and I got in the way ― that’s all, sweetheart. No serious damage, just some stitches”, he tried to calm you.

You wished Tommy was still in the room, because you would have loved to slap the shit out of him for being so irresponsible. What the hell was he thinking? Joel was hurt because of him, and he had just left smiling as if it wasn’t so serious.

“Just leave him be, it’s worthless trying to speak to him in such a state”, something in Joel’s voice told you this wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Joel, please, don’t lie to me―”, you mustered, trying to keep your tears in check, as you caressed his cheek.

He heavily sighed as he scooted over to one end of the tiny bed, leaving enough space for you to join him. You got on the gurney quickly, nestling against him, your arm across his chest in a half embrace. His body heat calmed your nerves a bit, although your hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m not lying. They won’t let me leave yet though, the nurse said I need to stay here for a couple of hours, until she’s certain the bleeding has stopped”, he explained, his fingertips tracing the shape of your right shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere”, you said with a small voice, your left cheek against his chest.

Joel didn’t fight you on that, so you stayed by his side. His left hand was resting just below your face, his broken watch strapped around his wrist. You bowed your head a bit and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry about this morning, I thought fixing your watch was a nice thing to do, considering it’s been broken since I met you”, you tried to explain yourself, but Joel hushed you by cupping your chin so your eyes would meet his.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you meant well. It’s just…”, you heard him gulp down, as if the next words were extremely painful to say out loud. “Sarah fixed this watch for me on my last birthday. It’s been stuck at 2.40 AM since… since we both got shot. One of the bullets broke it”, he recounted in a husked voice, his brown eyes focused on the timeless sphere.

Then it hit you. That was Sarah’s time of death. And, unknowingly, you almost ruined the last memento Joel possessed of his daughter. His most precious treasure. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of being responsible for such a thing. Had you known, you would have never even considered doing what you had planned.

“Gosh, Joel, I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know”, you breathed out desperately.

“I know, baby. I should have told you that instead of getting angry and for that I apologise, but I just couldn’t…”, he clenched his jaw, and you tried to soften his expression with the touch of your fingers.

“Don’t apologise, please”, you kissed his bearded jaw and remained in comfortable silence for the next two hours, until Joel was finally discharged.

The next day you both stayed home. Tommy had tried to apologise when he came back to his senses, but Joel was having none of it. The younger Miller eventually understood that his brother just needed space until he decided to forgive him and gave up in his efforts. You were alone with Joel all day, making sure he was okay and helping him clean the wound. Those stitches were going to leave a nasty scar on him, but it was better than the alternative. It was healing well, no signs of infection, for which you were so pleased ― probably more than him. You almost had to tie him to the bed so he would stop fidgeting around ― Joel was going to get the wound open again if he didn’t remain still for a bit.

You knew Joel was just trying to keep his brain busy because this day marked a year since Sarah was wrongly snatched from his life. That was why he was so taciturn and quiet today, and you let him be for the most part.

When he sat down on the couch in the afternoon, you just nestled against his body, in silence, his arm affectionately enveloping you.

Nighttime came around soon enough, and you both got into bed. Joel spooned you as soon as he laid down behind you, his right arm hugging you, his chest against your back. You soon fell asleep in his warm embrace, feeling protected and content.

Joel woke up a few hours later, one of his recurrent nightmares haunting him. He grumbled in displeasure and got out of bed to change the dressing over the wound. He did so efficiently and returned to bed, slipping under the bedsheets quietly.

Another hour went by, and he was still awake, his eyes on the ceiling.

He rolled onto his left side and saw you sleeping peacefully, in the exact same position you fell asleep. You had not moved one inch. Joel smiled softly as he got closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and dragging you over to him, looking for your soothing warmth.

Unconsciously, you wiggled your hips to bury your butt in his bulge, and Joel contained a pitiful moan. Your perfectly round ass was innocently embedded in his groin. Now he was sure as hell he was not going to be able to fall back asleep. Irremediably, he pressed his manhood against your buttocks again, looking for that friction.

Joel felt his cock tense up, an erection taking hold. He freed his manhood, slowly pumping himself ― his leaky tip brushing your asscheek until a wet patch adorned your panties. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t resist. You were all curled up, drooling on the pillow, faintly snoring, your knees slightly bent. He cut the distance between you and shoved his dick in your thigh gap, his shaft rubbing against your pussy covered by your underwear.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he rocked his pelvis back and forth, your thighs sweetly compressing his cock ― the tip feeling cold when it overhung on the other side. Joel kissed your shoulder, his hand gently placed on your hip to steady himself.

“C’mon, baby, wake up”, he husked near your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe.

You hummed, half awake. You felt your body being rocked, your eyes fluttering open and looking downwards. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Joel’s glans sticking out through your thigh nook, then disappearing from sight to reappear again. You smiled pleasantly, shutting your eyes, as you felt your needy cunt melt for him. You pursed your lips with delight.

“Can I have my birthday present again, sweetheart?”, he whispered in a constrained tone.

You nodded, scatterbrained.

You were drenching your underwear so bad, there was a visible damp, darken spot right in the middle. Joel pulled back from in between your legs and pushed the bridge of your panties to one side. He lodged his cock in between your puffy lips, sliding it through your entire slit a couple of times to douse himself with your fluids.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”, he muttered as you let out a soft moan when Joel pressed his tip against your dripping hole, your flesh parting as the Red Sea.

Then Joel slowly pushed his hard cock in inch by inch down to his balls. His right arm hugged you, poising you in place and sneaking his hand under your pyjama top to hold one of your full breasts. He stilled for a second, feeling your cunt sheathing him like a warm glove. He thrusted once, twice, thrice. You lost count after that, Joel plunging into you from behind, gaining erratic speed. You grasped the bedsheet in your fist, your spit pooling on the pillowcase.

You placed a hand on your mound and a few seconds later, you slipped it under your panties. With the palm against your clit to cause some grinding, you could feel Joel coming in and out of you in between your index and middle fingers. Your gushing cunt started palpitating around his slick cock, your inner walls squeezing him hard as you came, mewling like a kitten in heat.

Joel quickly followed you, his cum filling you up, breathing roughly behind you. You tilted your head towards your right to look at him over your shoulder. He kissed you, first gently, then more demanding, while his dick was still throbbing with the last wave of his release. Joel pinched your nipple before freeing your mouth.

“There you go, sweetheart, so you don’t forget who you and your tight pussy belong to”, he groaned as he pulled out of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you said gratefully.

Joel put your underwear back in place and pressed the palm of his hand against your wet panties, his cum trickling out with yours and swamping the piece of clothing even more, saturating it, almost as if you had pissed yourself.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’”, he kissed the nape of your neck, his hand still lodged in your thigh gap, hard pressed against your satisfied, clothed pussy. You loved how possessive he was of you, literally claiming your cunt for himself at every chance he got.

With a pleased sigh, you tucked your hands under your head and fell back asleep within seconds.

The earth was round again.

117 notes · View notes

transit-fag · 1 year ago

Text

I should be let into the road sign factory, I would write

"Are you sure this journey could not be done via train" on every single green interstate sign

299 notes · View notes

quizzicalwriter · 1 year ago

Note

HIIII!!!

ok since you said in your a03 comment you enjoy fluff and angst, by any possible chance would you write angst with dal👀👀

My Love Mine All Mine

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a fun night out, yet somehow Dallas found himself carrying your limp body into the emergency room.

Warnings: Angst. Descriptions of violence, blood, injuries, and puking. Repressed feelings. All that jazz.

A/N: Oh how I love to break my heart with angst, thank you for the request!

Word Count: 5.1k

It had happened in a second; Dallas had been driving you both home after a night spent with the guys, the night having been spent laughing and reminiscing over memories you all shared over the years. You might've drank a bit, but Dallas had stayed sober, save for one beer.

Dallas had driven you back to your apartment enough to do it with his eyes closed, not that he ever would, but he certainly could if someone dared him to. You had been talking about your plans for the upcoming weekend, and how you were excited to see Dallas again. He wanted to reply and tell you how he had enjoyed spending the day with you, how he hoped to have you to his lonesome, a day with only you.

But he couldn’t. Something had stopped him, and as he turned to give you a silent smile, he saw it - that damn truck veering off the side of the interstate, barreling over the midline and directly toward you. All he’d had time to do was press his forearm against your chest, his eyes meeting yours with enough fear to scare you.

Neither of you had felt the impact, not truly. The truck hit the passenger side of Buck’s T-Bird with enough force to send it careening into the guardrail with a sickening screech of torn metal. Just your luck, right?

The persistent tick of the turn signal woke Dallas’s groggy mind, the sudden rush of consciousness sending him into a near-blinding state of pain. He groaned, squeezing his eyes further shut as he tried to gather his bearings, hands fumbling with the tattered remnants of his seatbelt.

Heat covered his face, wet heat. He knew it was blood, he’d had his eyebrow busted enough to register blood the second it touched his skin. With a quiet groan, he wiped the back of his hand over his brow, using all of his strength not to cry out at the burning sensation of an open wound being touched.

“The fuck-“ He whined, eyebrows screwed together as his eyes blinked open, vision slightly blurred from what was undoubtedly a concussion. The car was ruined, there was no doubt about that. Out the passenger side window, he could see the other car, their fucked up bumper and busted windshield, headlights flickering on and off in the midnight air.

It took him a moment to notice you, crumbled up against the dashboard. He knew the car had hit your side, he’d known that before he passed out from the impact, but seeing it - the damage, you, with your hair sprawled across your blood-drenched forehead, glass coating your clothes.

“Hey-“ He whispered, wincing inwardly as he turned toward you. From your position he couldn’t tell if you were breathing, there was no glass near the dashboard to fog up, no windshield, nothing. Panic rose in his chest as he brushed your hair from your face, taking in your state.

“C’mon, kid.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, this was supposed to be a calm night where he showed you a good time - not a night where he’d inadvertently gotten you killed. With a shake of his head, he pushed himself from his seat, using his shoulder to push the door open. The air reeked of gasoline and burnt rubber, the scent an assault on his senses as he clamored over to your side of the car.

The passenger side was wrecked, wholly and utterly. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pry open the door, but he tried anyway. He didn’t want to risk dragging you over the center console, not with how twisted your body was, the glass - all of it, he couldn’t risk hurting you more.

His heart thudded in his chest, hard enough to be felt in his throat as he pulled at the passenger side handle, knuckles white with effort. The sound of metal on metal creaked in the night air, causing Dallas to wince subtly as he continued his attempt at pulling your door open.

Adrenaline seemed to be his friend, aiding in his efforts to jerk your door open, even as blood poured from the gash across his forehead, blinding his right eye. Despite the burn, the deep-set ache in his bones, all he could focus on was you and his desperate need to help you.

He braced his foot against the back passenger side door, giving himself a moment to catch his breath before pulling with as much of his body weight as he could muster. The sound of metal on metal filled the air once more, loud enough to make Dallas groan as he finally made leeway, opening the door enough to maneuver himself between you and the broken window.

“It’s okay-“ He whispered, words catching in his throat as he choked back a mixture of bile and tears. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to you or himself, either way, you weren’t conscious to hear it, not with the way your head rolled in his grasp as he gently lifted you into his arms, the scent of blood overpowering your once sweet perfume. “It’s okay, doll. We’re fine, see?”

You were limp, reminding him of a ragdoll he’d seen Two-Bit’s sister playing with, how the limbs dangled freely, lifelessly. He knew it was bad, he could tell from the sharp wheezes that left your lungs as he began the walk down the interstate.

Whether it was morally gray to leave the man behind in the other truck, Dallas didn’t know, nor could he bring himself to care, not with you in his arms. He’d tell whoever he came across about the crash, but from the looks of the truck, he didn’t gather that the man was living.

It was nearly a twenty-minute walk to the nearest hospital, that Dallas knew of for sure, he’d been to damn near every hospital in Tulsa enough to know their location like the back of his hand. He could feel every breath you took in, your lungs crackling with a mixture of blood and spittle that caught in your throat.

Halfway through the walk, he felt warmth soaking his stomach, his forearms, steadily dripping down the front of his jeans. He didn’t have the strength to check if it was his own, or, God, yours. The thought made him nauseous. Dallas had been in fights, he’d been knocked silly hard enough to leave him whining in the grass, begging his head to cease the feeling of his brain swelling. He’d been cut, hell, Dallas knew pain - and by association, he knew blood.

“You’re bleeding.” He mumbled, more so speaking to himself than you, but he found himself hoping you’d reply, talk back with your usual joking tone. “You hear me, kid? Bleeding all over my shirt.”

His words ended in a laugh, but not one he found himself meaning. He was exhausted, judging by the way his vision kept giving way to a blurry mess of black dots and smeared lights, he knew he was in a bad way as well, but he’d rather die than stop walking.

It seemed like hours in his mind before he saw the familiar fluorescent sign of the local hospital. The parking lot was borderline empty, save for three cars parked near the entrance. He continued walking, his grip on you tightening, hoisting you up further onto him.

Your breaths fanned across his neck, ever so featherlight, almost as though you weren’t breathing at all. The thought terrified him, twisting his stomach and its contents into something sour as he pushed his shoulder against the entrance door, tracking blood and grime underneath his shoes across the white tile flooring.

“Help-“ He called, catching the attention of a nearby nurse and doctor, both paling at the sight of you both. Dallas found himself thankful that he didn’t have to scream for someone, he didn’t think that he could, his throat felt as though he’d swallowed glass.

“Jesus Christ-“ The nurse whispered, quickly moving behind the counter. The overhead speaker buzzed to life, calling for everyone available to come down to triage. Dallas looked over to the doctor who quickly approached him, his arms outstretched, wanting to take you.

He found himself freezing, not wanting to let you go. His fingers dug into your side, the feeling pulling a wheezed-out cough from your unconscious body. Only then did Dallas relent, eyebrows furrowed together in an emotion he couldn’t put into words as the doctor rolled you into his arms. He seemed to whisper something to you, but Dallas couldn’t pick it up, not over the sound of feet hitting tile, followed by shouted medical jargon that he couldn’t even begin to repeat even if he wanted to.

“Sir?”

A gentle hand against his shoulder snapped him from his following gaze. He looked down, finding a much shorter nurse standing before him. She spoke to him, hand gently wrapped around his forearm as she tugged him to a nearby bed.

Throughout it all, he watched you. Another doctor had come around to check on him, telling him that he was in a state of shock. But he couldn’t listen to them, not when two men tilted your head back to push a tube down your throat. You didn’t move, your facial muscles didn’t twitch, nothing.

And then they wheeled you away.

Dallas jerked from his bed, quickly finding a firm hand against his chest, the same doctor who had told him only moments prior about him being in a state of shock.

“Sir-“ He started, eyes filled with a genuine level of concern that Dallas had never seen from anyone besides you and the guys, it made him pause. “You need to be seen, do you understand me?”

All he could do was nod as he sat back down against the hospital bed, letting the doctor and nurse hook him up to a nearby machine, before snipping his clothes off. He could’ve taken his shirt off himself, but the words wouldn’t move to his mouth. He watched the doors you left in, waiting for you to return as they wiped down his chest with something that made his skin flush with pain.

“Is there anyone we can call?” A nearby woman asked, her hands nervously fumbling with a clipboard. Dallas stared at her for a moment, in a way she reminded him of Mrs. Curtis, those same eyes, he was sure the guys would agree.

“Yeah, I-“ He replied, clearing his throat halfway through the words, the motion causing a fresh sear of pain in the back of his throat. “My brothers, I can write their number.”

Time passed in a murky fashion once Dallas had been admitted to a nearby room. They had taken him down the hall for an assortment of tests, none of which he’d had the mind to pay attention to the results for. He’d only heard a few words; concussion, eye damage, fractured ulna - whatever the hell that was.

All he knew was they’d patched him up well after shining enough lights in his eyes to leave him seeing circles for the next fifty years. They gave him medicine through an IV, telling him how lucky he was, how they’d seen much worse out of much less. He gave them scowls as he debated on whether or not he should tear the tubing from his arm, after all, how lucky could he be when he was left to rot in a damn hospital room with no knowledge of your wellbeing?

The morphine was nice, he’d quickly made friends with the steady drip being mainlined into his veins, scouring any pain that attempted to surface. It felt like hours before Dallas saw another face, but in truth, it had only been roughly thirty minutes.

Darry was the first to poke his head into the room, his face twisted in worry at the sight of Dallas laid up in a hospital bed, wires connected to his chest and his arms, left arm wrapped tightly in a concoction of gauze and medical tape. Dallas would’ve smiled, truly, he would have. But morphine weakened every fiber of his being, leaving him only able to quirk up the side of his lips.

The others poured in after, all of them whispering words to Dallas as though they were afraid being any louder would injure him. He didn’t want well wishes, he wanted you. With a grunt, he sat himself up, half-heartedly shoving away Two-Bit who moved forward to help him up.

“How is she?” He asked, knowing damn well they’d all been briefed on your condition before they headed down to his room. “Tell me, man. I’m goin’ crazy here.”

When they all turned to Darry, Dallas felt his stomach sour just as it had when he saw them wheel you away. He felt his chest lurch, throat tightening with a gag that ripped its way from his mouth. Johnny fumbled for a nearby container, holding it steady for Dallas as he vomited up the remnants of his drink he’d had hours prior, mixed heavily with enough stomach acid to leave his eyes watering.

The taste was acrid, causing him to groan as they moved around him, tossing Ponyboy a cloth. Ponyboy quickly handed it to Dallas, murmuring something Dallas didn’t quite pick up over the sound of the plethora of machines he found himself hooked up to. As he wiped the cloth against his mouth, he looked at Darry, eyes begging for the truth.

“Ain’t lookin’ good, Dallas.” He replied, moving forward a step to pat Dallas’s calf. “They said somethin’ about internal bleeding, got her hooked up to a machine that’s breathin’ for her. It’s supposed to help her recover.”

Whatever composure Dallas had tried to secure for himself was lost the moment Darry uttered those words. His brows furrowed in confusion and frustration as he grumbled about you under his breath, hands tearing at the bedsheets to move to his legs. Every effort was met with one of the guys pushing him back, trying to calm him down, it didn’t help that his legs didn’t seem to cooperate.

“Dallas-“ Darry stated, tone stern enough to pull his attention. He motioned down to his legs, hands gentle as they pushed him back into the bed. “You can’t go see her, none of us can. You need to rest, you hear me?”

He didn’t want to, none of him wanted to admit that Darry was right, but he reluctantly agreed with a slow nod. The rest of the night passed slowly, filled with quiet conversations and a few held-back retches on Dallas’s part.

Once visiting hours were up Dallas found himself alone, yet again, listening to the nonstop hum of life outside of his room. The nurse's station bubbled with gossip, some of which Dallas inadvertently listened to as the hours passed him by.

Only when the sun began to peer through the window blinds did he feel an inkling of exhaustion. He gave into the feeling, willing himself into a dreamless sleep in hopes of seeing you sooner.

It had only been two days, two damn days and Dallas had decided he hated the sound of his heart monitor more than he had ever hated anything in his entire life. Was it dramatic? Sure, but he figured he had a damn good reason to be dramatic. The day before he’d spoken to a kind doctor, an older man who kept eye contact throughout the entirety of their conversation.

He was cleared to go home within the week, albeit with a cast and a prescription for pain medicine, but still - he had a set discharge date. He had asked about the pain medication, and if he could be taken off of it sooner, which earned him a low laugh from the older male doctor who only patted his calf and uttered something about him not being able to tolerate the pain.

It was bullshit. Maddening bullshit.

All he wanted was to see you, to hear about how you were doing. He had somehow managed to get on a nurse's good side, she gave him infrequent updates on your condition, but they were frequent enough to keep him from ripping the wires from his body to go check on you himself.

As if God himself had answered his silent prayers, that very nurse walked into his room, a smile perched on her thin lips. She moved over to his bed, taking a second to check his vitals as he looked up at her expectantly, each second of silence only adding to his existing impatience.

“They’ve moved her to another room.” She stated, eyes focused on a nearby monitor. “I can take you today if you want. She won’t be awake, but you can see her.”

He nodded before his mouth could form the word, “Yes.”

You were a painful sight; lying on your back, tubing down your throat, skin ashen. The only thing that seemed different was your hair, no longer mottled down by aged blood, but instead clean and brushed from your face. Your heartbeat was steadier than his had been, the beep almost maddeningly slow.

Bruises lined your skin, deep, as if ingrained into the etches of your face and throat. Blankets were draped over you, something he found himself appreciative of, at least you weren’t cold. You’d felt cold when he had carried you all those miles, so cold that he’d considered wrapping you in all the clothing he’d had on him.

The nurse pushed him closer to your bed, giving you both a moment of privacy as she stood near the door, facing outward toward the nearby nurses station. He lifted his hand, placing it against your hospital bed, willing himself to hold your hand. With a shaky breath, he brushed his hand against yours. You were so warm, skin still soft despite the wires connected to every stretch of bare skin.

“You look rough.” He croaked out through a laugh, shaking his head halfway through his sentence as he moved his hand from yours, feeling a pain he’d never experienced before ripple through his chest like wildfire. “Fuck-“

His eyes burned, just as they had that night when gasoline filled his lungs and the stench of burnt rubber nearly blinded him - it was all too much. Dallas wasn’t a weak man, he wasn’t. He’d seen horrible things and hadn’t shed a tear, but you - you would stick with him. Even if you recovered, the sight of you connected to seemingly every medical device known to man would haunt him until the end of his days.

He wiped at his eyes, pawing hard enough to see stars behind his eyelids as his breath caught in his chest. Warm tears coated his skin, trickling down the inside of his wrists as he continued batting at his face, willing himself to stop crying.

Not in front of people, he thought. Not in front of these people.

It didn’t work. Tears dripped down his cheeks and he found himself choking on his breath. The sound alerted his nurse, she quickly moved to his side, a move he rejected with a harsh pushback of his arm. She didn’t lecture him, instead, she moved back, watching with a saddened look on her face as Dallas tried desperately to shove back the tears that kept spilling.

In a move fueled by sheer desperation, he grabbed your hand, holding tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He watched you through bleary eyes, blinking away stubborn tears as he willed you to be alright. In his mind it would work, you’d wake up and you’d be alright - he could tell you what he’d wanted to that night, and he wouldn’t choke up like he had.

“C’mon, kid.” He urged, shaking your hand as he gave it another squeeze. “C’mon.”

A flutter, something he might’ve missed if he hadn’t been holding your hand so damn tight. Your fingers twitched in his hold, your thumb brushing against his. And for the first time in days, Dallas smiled. His hand squeezed yours again as his thumb brushed against the back of your palm.

“Hey-“ He whispered. As the word left his mouth your eyes shot open, wide and full of horror. “Kid?”

Your chest lurched, a horrid sound torn between a retch and scream tearing its way from your chest as your hands scrambled to your face. A nurse held your arms, loudly pleading with you to calm down. The nurse that had wheeled Dallas in smacked a button on the nearby wall, and it seemed as though every medical practitioner in the hospital poured into your room.

Dallas could still hear your ragged gasps for air as someone wheeled him from the room, muttering something about giving the doctors enough space to work. He couldn’t focus, not with the sound you’d made rattling his mind, the look of pure terror in your eyes as your hands wrapped around your intubation tube. If it hadn’t been for the pain medicine still coursing through his veins, he would’ve scrambled to his feet to be by your side - yet there he was, stuck out in the hallway as your legs twisted up, kicking at the thin sheets draped over your body as every doctor in sight pleaded with you to calm down.

And then it was silent, your body went limp. Dallas felt his throat tighten in panic, but everyone in the room seemed to take a collective sigh of relief.

“Sedative administered.”

He didn’t fight back as they took him back to his room.

Dallas refused pain medication after he visited you. His inability to move to his feet, to do anything to help you, it bothered him enough for him to shout at any doctor who tried to push the mind-numbing medication onto him. The doctors had been right, the pain was blinding, enough for him to catch a crick in his jaw from clenching it nonstop.

It was worth it in his mind. The next time you needed him he wouldn’t be bogged down, he’d be alert, he’d - he’d be better than he had been when he was driving you home. That’s all it boiled down to, really. The guys continued to visit the both of you, spending enough time at the hospital to be known on a first-name basis by all of the night-shift staff.

It had only been four days after he witnessed you choking on an intubation tube when he got the news that you were awake, awake and alert. Darry had been the one to tell him, both him and Sodapop sitting adjacent to his hospital bed as Ponyboy and Johnny no doubt chatted your ear off.

“You want to see her?” Darry asked. “She’s awake. We already went and saw her, figured you’d want to know.”

Dallas shook his head. He didn’t know why he did, but he did. The thought of seeing you terrified him, he had heard nurses babbling about how certain patients would perk up a day before their death. What if you were like that? Why would Dallas get his hopes up just to lose you all over again?

“Dal-“ Sodapop whispered, words crudely interrupted by a glare from Dallas - one that Darry quickly shot down with a look of his own. Sodapop cleared his throat then. “Dallas, she’ll want to see you. This- this ain’t your fault, you know that.”

Dallas furrowed his brow, grimacing at the words as though he could taste them on his tongue. With a look over to Sodapop, he replied, “How could it not be my fault, Soda? I drove- I, Christ, I drove the damn car!”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, hell, Sodapop was the kinder of the guys. But he couldn’t help the emotions bubbling in his chest, nipping at his heart and mind in a ruthless manner that left him restless.

“You couldn’t have known.” Sodapop responded, eyebrows raised as if he couldn’t believe what Dallas was saying. But Darry stayed silent, a knowing look on his face. Dallas looked to him as a kid would an older brother, a silent plea for help, for the truth, for anything other than a blind rationalization of what had happened.

Darry sighed, smoothing his hands down the front of his jeans. “I blamed myself for what happened to my folks. It wasn’t right, I figured I could’ve done somethin’ to prevent it, somethin’ to stop it.” He took a moment to rub at his face, a faraway look in his deep-set eyes. “I still do sometimes. But there’s a difference between us, Dallas. She’s alive.”

There was truth to Darry’s words, enough to leave Dallas silent as he sulked, not wanting to admit his foolishness. Darry noticed his silence, and with a quiet grunt, he moved near Dallas’s hospital bed, placing a firm hand against his shoulder.

“She ain’t dead, so don’t treat her like she is.”

With a curt nod, he shrugged off Darry’s hand.

The feeling of being back on his feet was beyond what relief could provide. Pain medicine be damned, he’d grit his teeth if it meant he’d be able to walk to your room instead of being accompanied by a too-kind nurse.

Nobody moved to stop him as he maneuvered through the halls, mumbling the passing numbers under his breath until he reached your room. The door had been propped open, yet the curtains were drawn, shielding you from anyone who might pass by. His hand, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, trembled to hell as he grabbed the curtain, slowly pushing it to the side to reveal you.

Flowers adorned the tables beside your hospital bed, wildflowers, surely having been picked by the guys to make you feel more at home in a room drastically different from everything you’d grown accustomed to. He cleared his throat as he pushed the curtain further, hardly exposing the left side of his face.

It may have sounded foolish to anyone who didn’t know Dallas, but you recognized the cough as soon as it left his lungs. After years of friendship, you knew him instinctually, the beat of his heart, the rumble of laughter that’d echo in his chest - it was him, and you knew him better than you knew yourself.

Your eyes, albeit bruised, searched for him. He saw you before you had seen him, carefully taking in your fragile state. It wasn’t like you, to look as breakable as you did in that hospital bed. He could sense the frustration, the worry lines evident on your forehead as you struggled with another wire connected to your chest, the tape pulling at your stitched skin.

“They suck, don’t they?” He asked, the sudden noise having startled you enough to show a spike on your heart monitor, the sight pulling a genuine laugh from Dallas as he closed the door behind him. He pretended to not notice the way your heart rate steadily increased the closer he got to your bed, but he’d be a lying fool if he said his wasn’t doing the same.

Despite it all, you were still you - and God, if you didn’t have his heart skipping right out of his chest.

“Hi, Dal.” You whispered, a smile so bright on your face he was worried it hurt your lips. He moved to sit beside you, hands gently helping you further over in your bed so he could hold you close.

You didn’t stop him, why would you? After you’d woken up the first thing you’d asked for was Dallas. The nurses and the guys had done you a courtesy by not telling him, but you were sure he had an inkling of it by the way his arm wrapped loosely around you, carefully minding the wires attached to you.

His scent calmed you, although it was mute compared to how it usually was, it was still him - that familiar scent of cologne and tobacco, it was heaven in a world filled with rubbing alcohol and flickering fluorescent lights.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead in between each word. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head back to look at him, your hand raised to cup his jaw. He found himself leaning into your touch, having missed your warmth as though he’d been starved of it for years.

“Why are you apologizing?” You asked, shaking your head as though the idea made you sick. He looked down at you, shocked by your lack of anger.

“I-“ He started, stuttering over his words. “I drove, I could’ve, I-“

You placed your thumb over his lips, clicking your tongue against the back of your teeth. “Dallas, that wasn’t anybody’s fault, alright?”

For once he found himself at a loss for words. He didn’t back away from your touch, instead, he watched as you lifted yourself, a slight wince flashing across your features as you moved your thumb, placing your lips to his a second later.

His eyes fluttered shut as he savored the feeling of your lips on his. Nothing could have prepared him for the relief he’d feel in that moment, knowing you were safe, awake - alive. It was almost too much for him to bear, but you kept him grounded, lips soft enough to leave him craving more of you.

You pulled away with a gentle smile, a giggle passing your lips at the sight of Dallas’s eyes fluttering open, pupils fully blown. You lifted your hand, brushing his hair from his forehead, fingernails gently scratching at his scalp as you brushed the tresses back.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed out quietly, shaking your head as you spoke. “Stupid for thinkin’ this was your fault.”

He nodded in reply, a laugh of his own joining yours, filling the silence in between the racket of medical machinery. Everyone in the damn world could have told him the wreck wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t have believed it unless it came from you.

“I would’ve been, too.” You whispered, as though admitting a secret. “We’re alright.”

He leaned forward, placing a kiss on your forehead, letting the moment linger as he closed his eyes, thanking every deity that may have been listening to his broken prayers for your health for the past several nights. You were alright, as was he.

“Yeah,” he breathed, placing another kiss on your forehead. “We’re alright, doll.”

A/N: My first angst on here! I hope you guys enjoyed it! I’ve been writing this one for a while, I think it might be my longest writing on here (not counting chapters.) I’m pretty dang happy with this! As always, thank you all for the continuous love and support you have shown me and my work! You can find all of my stuff over on my AO3, “Unscriptural.”

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mikobeautifulheart · 9 months ago

Note

I hear you take requests and here I am👀 it might be a bit long so please bear with me🥹 So a Satoru × fem reader angst plus spicy without smut plz! (haha can I be more obvious?) So the reader was classmate of Satoru and they teach at jujutsu high together now! They are very close with each other and Satoru loves to annoy her. (Imagine like how he is with Nanami but he is actually fun with her and reader doesn't mind his teasing) Everyone knows they are closer than friends but not exactly lovers so they have will they won't they situationship!

Well well trouble comes in paradise when a new temp sorcerer comes to jujutsu high for some mission and she needs Satoru's help with it. She has some interesting curse technique so Satoru takes an interst on it. Slowly Satoru unknowingly starts spending less time with reader. Everybody but Satoru notices this and Reader asks Satoru out to hang out or go on mission with her but he is always busy. (Really he is an idiot cuz he doesn't realize what he is doing lol) Some time pass and after few days Satoru realizes that he hasn't seen reader so he looks for her but can't find her at school so he tries to call her but he can't reach her so he goes to Shoko to ask about her. Shoko has seen how reader has been feeling down due to Satoru not paying attention to her so she makes up a little white lie and tells reader has been injured during mission so she is resting. Truth is, reader WAS injured. A little cut that just needed 3 stitches. She is just at home binge watching shows and eating her favorite food because she just needed a break. Well Satoru doesn't know that so he comes to her house worried out of his mind just to come and see her chilling at home in pajamas with a little bandage. AND HE STILL FEELS BAD because regardless of how small the injury is, it took him this long to realize he hasn't seen you so he apologizes and then things get heated when you both realize how much you missed each other? (Sorry that was sooooo long😭😭😭 also I'm not good at spicy part so do what you want with it!)

No pressure. Write it if you feel like it because I'm just not sure where this whole idea came from lol.

Thanks!♡

OMG YES. OKAY HERE WE GO. (Sorry for making you wait so long I got caught up.) Apologies rn it seems like a bit of a slow burn.

Gojo×(fem)Reader angst

TW: Angst, some spice (but not smut), stitches 🥲

Unedited 1000ishh wordssss

"SATORU" You screamed watching him get stabed and absolutely murdered by Toji.

"no-" you said, your voice broken

You stood frozen, not even being able to move toward him. You felt useless.

He laid motionless on the ground. Toji steped back with a smirk, admiring his work.

He started to walk when he walk right past you.

"What are you gonna do now that your little boyfriends dead?" He said laughing hysterically.

He kept walking on. You wanted to go and kill him. You wanted him to pay but...if Gojo died to him, he would be no match for you. You thought.

Slowly your foot takes one step forward. And another. And another, reaching Gojo.

Your knees weakend so much you fell to the floor in a puddle of Gojos blood.

Your fingers dung into your palm, you didn't know how to do cursed technique, but you asked Shoko how to do it and she told you. But no after how many attempte you tried over time it never worked.

With tears in your eyes you held onto Gojos arm.

"Come on Satoru, remember what Shoko said. Uhhh you spin it then you channel it? And then you uh..." You tried your best to break it down as much as possible.

"Please Satoru" You said hunching your back over his face, your tears spilling now he, wasn't coming back.

You felt a twitch in his hand and some cursed energy flow through your body.

You gasped. The blood around you started to pulse. He was doing it.

"SATORU, PLEASE, YOUR SO CLOSE" you yelled as you saw his wounds slowly heal up.

"Awww man, I got a major headache" He said sitting up.

You could help but wrap your arms around him.

"Wow looks like someone missed me"

"How'd you know?" You said trying to mask your tears in his blood soaked uniform.

"And that's how I met your mother!" You heard Gojo say to little kid Megumi only giving an eye roll.

I thought you said you never wanted to babysit again? Is what you wanted to say but with Megumi there you didn't want him to think you were trying to get Gojo to get rid of him. Even so, it was obvious that Megumi favoured you way over him.

"Hey! You might wake Megumi!" You whispered harshly as Gojo caged your body between his and the couch.

"Hes dead on the inside, plus I don't think he'd care."

His head leans down slowly locking eyes with you when he's only inches away a small voice comes out of no where.

"Ewwww get a room."

"And that's how we trumatised Meguimi!" You heard Gojo telling the first years.

God he was the devil, when he wasn't bugging you, it was Megumi, poor kid.

"Hey stop embarrassing Megumi" you said giving him a slap on the shoulder.

He looked back at you with a wicked smile.

"So when you stab you want it to be right in the neck and pull all the way down yhe torso and just rip it all the way. I know it works because it killed Gojo-"

"And Y/Ns little heart, she was devastated!" Gojo budded in coming from nowhere.

"I'm teaching here." You said. As soon as he arrived you could feel tensions change, you just didn't know why.

"SENSEI CAN I PRACTICE ON GOJO SENSEI!" Maki said with a cursed object in her hand, looking at him like she was going to do more then practice.

"Fine but if you kill Gojo Sensei then I would-"

"Miss him very dearly and be heart broken forever. Then I'd have to burn all our wedding photos." Gojo finished your sentence for you, how kind.

"Were not even married-"

"Yet. We're not even married yet."

" Are you getting this guy Yuta? He's totally pushing it. No way he deserves y/n." Maki said aiming her knife at Gojos head before throwing it.

He caught it.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T DESERVE HER? WE HAVE A KID TOGETHER- I WORK MY ASS OFF EVERY DAY JUST SO SHE CAN TEACH YOU!"

"So he is useful for one thing" Panda said.

"HEY"

"And that's how we became engaged!" Gojo was said, explaining 'your relationship' to the new sorcerer who transferred from Kyoto to Tokyo.

You didn't understand why the needed another sorcerer here but you thought it would be good so Gojo could have more time off (as if) and heck you guys might become friends.

"Hey wifey, this is the new transfer sorcerer."

"Hello" you said with a smile reaching your hand out for her to shake.

"I don't see a ring on that finger" She said

"Oh yeah, were not actually married" you said with a nervous laugh

"Interesting" she said shaking your hand.

"I got a bad feeling about her" Maki said seemingly appearing out of nowhere making you jump in surprise.

"Maki? Well, we just met her okay, we can't make these assumptionsabouther right now." You sighed.

"No, shes deffinatly up to something" Nobora said making your head whip around your other side seeing her with her arms crossed.

"Oh common, maybe that's just the vibe she gives off"

"Yeah people who plan evil things give off that vibe" Panda said behind you.

"Alright okay all we have to do is tolerate her, don't have to like her, but tolerate her at least."

Sure enough not long after that you'd walk around campus and see her clinging onto Gojo's arm laughing at all his jokes. Maybe your students were right.

"No, no your doing it wrong, you go from the torso and rip it right up"

"Yeah right lady, let me just do my thing and you do yours." Maki said annoyed at the woman 'correcting' her.

"Well I'm actually a teacher now so I'd think that I am qualified to mentor you." She said with a grin.

"After all the Zenin clans failure should get all the help she can, right?"

"WHY YOU BITC-"

"Maki? What going on here?" You asked seeing her trying to hold back on staring the woman.

"It seems they aren't very open to criticism" she sranled looking away from you.

"She insulted me about my clan like the little maggot she is, getting under my skin like that. Gross"

"I was just saying the obvious." She rolled her eyes.

"Look, don't insult my students, Maki is one of the strongest sources I know and she worked hard to get here." You said looking at her pissed.

How dare she insult your students. Who dose she think she is?

"Look Miss..."

"Oh you can call me Mrs Gojo."

Your eye twitched. You got to be kidding me.

"If were going to have problems i'll have to tell you to just stay away from my class."

"Oh nobody told you? Well since I moved here Satoru was kind enough to help me get a position in teaching, now your class is my class."

"What? No they can't just do that?" you said now furious

"They can and they did." She said with a smirk.

"Have fun in the feild!" She said looking at you walk away all the way to Yaga's office.

"EXPLAIN YOUR SELF!" You shouted pulling open Yaga's door with pure anger running through your vains.

"We need you out on more missions Y/N, there's been a sudden rise in curses and we need you to help."

"So send the other damn woman!" You said fist slaming down into his desk.

" Your a special grade, shes not even close compared to you."

" Thanks but I don't take flattery as a form of persuasion, give me back my class, I'll work twice the missions after if thats what it takes-"

"No, It's no good to over work yourself" A voice said behind you.

"Satoru, did you know about this?" You said turing your head to him feeling betrayed.

"Hes not wrong y/n there are more curses now, more then even I can handle right now."

"Traitor" you mumbled as you aggressively pushed your way past him bumping his shoulder.

"I hope your right about this" Yaga said looking at Gojo who has his head down.

You were in no power to over turn both Gojo and Yagas decidion so you ended up drowning yourself in missions and everyone you took, the more carless you became. You just let whatever happen happen, a scratch on you? Whatever. Stitches? Okay sure. Cast? what a downer.

Nothing seemed to bother you anymore, nothing motivated you.

"Thanks Shoko but its okay, I'll just put a bandage on it. Wouldn't want to waste your time, plus I got another mission to get to."

"Are you kidding me y/n, its bad enough you don't smoke at all but also the fact you keep coming here almost every hour with a different injury." She said taking a deep inhale of her cigarette.

"Well you know, I got no students, No class room, teaching assistants..." You think of the time Gojo spent dropping into your classes daily and how it would always be a joyful atmosphere. But that rat took your place.

"You know what Y/N? I'm sending you home for a full week, and you have to stay home the entire time. No missions, no Jujutsu. Doctors orders." She said writing a note on her clip board.

You sighed "Thanks Shoko." Even though you didn't want to your body felt so exhausted and so did your mind.

So you got up and walked out of Jujutsu high, when you walked out the field you saw Gojo and ... that woman with your students all on the oval making your heart throb in you chest. You clutched at your shirt hoping this choking feeling would go away.

"Hey Shoko, have you seen Y/N lately? She hasn't spoken much, plus the kids started skipping class since she left."

"When haven't I seen her? She comes here after every mission with a new injury, man you should have seen the last one, nasty, nasty gash just pouring blood every where like she was a fountain" She exaugurated.

"WHAT?!"

"Eh ya'know Y/N stuff, she stopped caring about her self so I ordered her to stay home for a week after her, lets see, 15th visit IN AN HOUR." She said placing a clip board down beside her.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION THIS EARLIER?!" Gojo said teleporting before Shoko could even respond.

Knock Knock

You almost missed the sound of the knocking, you had the T.V on a high volume to buzz out your reality. You get up and walk through the door, hand on the door knob before you stop.

"If that's you Gojo, i'm busy, I have a mission in 2 minutes." You lied hoping you could drive him away.

"No you don't, Shoko told me the prescription. No curses for a week." He said.

"Now open the door."

Slowly you turned the handle and pulled the door open. There Gojo stood just staring at you. You couldn't physically see him stare but you could feel it, all 6 eyes.

"Was that it?" He asked gesturing toward the small Cinnemaroll bandage on you head.

"Yeah, can you believe it, a week off for this" you said trying to put on a playful tone but it died in your throat.

"You and I both know that that's not the reason for the week off"

"And? You and I both know the reason it happened in the first place. You betrayed me, replaced me, what for? For that...that woman!" you said anger starting to rise.

"Oh is someone jealous?" he asked trying to lighten the mood.

"Look Gojo just go tell that lady your jokes if your trying to crack any, i'm sure it boosts your ego to when she laughs." You sigh going to close the door on him.

His arm reaches out holding the door open before walking into your room.

"Y/N I'm telling you right now, on my life, there is nothing i want with that woman, she just sticks around a lot and is kind of helpless, so we out her in teaching"

"Yeah. And she thinks that to huh? Calling her self Mrs Gojo and all huh." You said watching as he closed the door behind him.

"What? She did? besides the point okay, you want the truth? I dont like her, I even told Yaga to send her back to Kyoto, your not you right now but you need to see that it hurt me to-"

"Why? because she took your spot as the strongest or something? Replaced you? She-"

"Because I like you."

The room fell silent.

"Its not worth keeping anyone around if their going to drive you away from me. Because I really do want to be more than just what we are now, whatever it is." He said leaning closer to you, making you move all the way to the arm of your couch.

"Well maybe you should have thought about that before, because I always...I always waited for you, but every time you just turned it into a joke, I don't want to be a joke to you Satoru but you make me one"

He takes a bigger step forward, wrapping his arms around you, making you fall onto the couch backwards.

"I'm sorry" He said moving strands of your hair aside and kissing the bandaid.

"I just...I want to move on" You said feeling his hand slowly travel down your head to your neck, gently drawing patterns on it.

"Why?" he said now leaning down and kissing the nape of your neck.

"Because- you'll never need me, when theres something, some one new i'll just be cast aside again." You said feeling tears pool in your eyes.

He hovers his head above yours.

"That's not true." he said before brushing his lips over yours.

"The problem is- I can't move on from you" You said finally feeling his lips on yours.

He pulled away wiping the tears from your eyes.

You heard his breath hitch as he went back down and gave you another kiss, but this one was more passionate, filled with all emotions. One of his hands glides up your thigh while the other went behind your head trying to get his tounge in deeper.

"I'll never hurt you again, I promise."

Your arms wandered up his shirt feeling the out lines of his chiseled abs. Slowly you could feel his chest rise up and down as things got more heated and you found your self pulling him closer to.

That night you almost forgot about the past few days as Gojo just kept littering your skin with kisses and hickeys. You wished the Kyoto lady was still there so you could show them off.

AUTHORS NOTE: @mo0nforme I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, USUALLY IM FAST-ER. I just got busy for a few days but now i'm back to posting regularly so, yay? Hope you liked it thanks for reading. reblogs r goot

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