#and being like ‘oh sorry I’m just a bit wobbly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ajortga · 9 months ago

Text

sweet

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: after filming, jenna decides to relax for some coffee, not expecting to meet you and fall in love with girl that makes her knees weak.

word count: 1.9k+

read the next parts here! : part 2 part 3

Jenna can remember meeting you like it was yesterday.

At a coffee shop, not too far from the scream set in New York City.

She roamed around, it was evening, the sun was going to set soon, Jenna could tell the way the sky slightly became yellow, getting the slightest pink.

Jenna liked sunsets.

She had just finished filming for a scene, her headphones were on and she needed some fresh air.

Her noise cancellation was on, walking the streets as she felt her stomach rumble quietly, she was hungry.

She looked around for a place to snack as she looked around, a famous pizzeria was definitely not what she needed.

She turned a corner and she saw a place that was made out of caramel bricks, plants neatly outside with vines hanging from head to toe, she could see the warm welcoming presence on the inside, lanterns hung from the ceiling.

She didn’t really like coffee.

It was so bitter the first time she tried it, of course she didn't know (till recently) that she ordered black coffee with no sugar or creme and almost choked it out.

So she stopped, if anything it added less sleep along with her insomnia.

But she went anyway, the vibe felt comforting. Plus there had to be more than just bitter coffee.

She pushed the door open, a small ding being heard.

Then she could smell the soft scent of coffee and fresh pastries lingering, she felt her hands cold, but her gaze shifts up, and she can feel her whole body warm, like a cozy fire, suddenly, she felt nothing but a daze of love shock.

Her eyes meet your figure, your hair was in a messy bun, a ruffled beige apron tucked around your body over a blouse, pouring creamer in a latte cup, a flower design being made as you traced the coffee with soft hands.

Your focused eyes shift from the cup to her, she can see a small glow in your warmth, they soften as you smile, waving. Softly, but loud enough to hear over her headphones, you saying, “Welcome!”

She can feel her lips twitch into a smile, tucking her scarf beneath the nape of her neck, it was already warm enough here.

She looked up at the menu, so much to choose from.. And so many flavors.

She bit her lip, in thought as she was stuck, there was a lot.

But so much coffee, she may have not liked coffee the best, but coffee with this many flavors could change her mind.

She was there for a long moment, until you spoke up, you were in front of her, thinking she was going to order, she was standing in front of the cashier after all.

“Trouble choosing what you want?” You ask, tilting your head.

That took her out of her trance, taking her headphones off and wrapping them around her neck. She finally realized where she was standing, in front of the damn register.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I can be kind of clueless when I have headphones on, uh, um. Oh yes, I’m not so sure what to get, I’ve never been here.”

You give her a smile, and she can swear she feels her legs wobble, she could drown in those eyes. So pretty..

“Don’t apologize, please. Don’t worry, it’s okay not knowing what you want, to be honest I think you would like a drink. I think you would like our french vanilla or pumpkin spice latte.. With a sprinkle of cinnamon. How does that sound? This is just my recommendation, I could be wrong, but I think I can read what people should get pretty well! They end up liking it. Don’t count on me though,” You breathe with a little laugh. You sound adorable when you laugh. Your lips are perfect. Kissable.

She feels something she hasn’t felt in so long, butterflies.

You were so sweet, something about you made her not want to tell you she didn't like caffeine or the taste.

You just called her love, if anything the color of love was on her cheeks.

“I.. Um.. Yes, I’ll take that. Can you mix those?…”She was going to say your name but didn’t know it, looking down at your name tag, Y/N/L/N. “Uh.. Oh Y/N."

“Of course I can! One french vanilla spice coming up! Anything else you would like? Our pastries just came out of the oven if you’re in the mood for that.”

You were pretty. Unlike any other stranger she'd see on the street before.

Jenna looked at the display, her hand pointing to where her eyes landed, “I’ll take one of your strawberry croissants, I never tried that.”

“You never had these? These are perfectly sweet and soft! They’re my favorite. That’ll be $8.13 please.”

She grabbed her card and swiped it, and you smiled, “Thank you Jenna, give me 5 minutes or so.” You looked at the name of her card.

You look at the names of her customers from their card, how cute. You definitely wanted her. (Or so her delusional brain thought.)

After a few minutes of sitting down and lost in her thoughts from the music, (possibly staring at you preparing her drink the whole time,) she hears you call her name in the distance.

Something about your voice had the slightest softness, she never loved someone calling her her name more than now. Y/N/L/N. Your name is pretty. It'll be even prettier when your last name is hers when you're married-

She walked up to you and you handed her a light brown tray, with her latte in a cup, the design with a pumpkin with a small heart on it, and her powdered strawberry croissant.

“Thank you.” She whispers, taking it gently and going back.

She sits down in the corner of the room, a booth with a pumpkin decoration and vinyls hung, she could see the steam fogging in front of her and just realizes how cold it really is.

She smells cinnamon, a small whiff of it.

She likes the smell of cinnamon. It reminds her of her childhood home on Christmas when snickerdoodles were being made.

She smells vanilla too.

She likes vanilla. She likes vanilla more than chocolate.

Her hands lifts the mug to her lips and drinks.

Immediately she feels the warmth seep through her like a gentle river, she hums at the taste.

The vanilla battles the strong bitterness of the coffee, leaving the smallest trail behind.

The pumpkin spice, she can taste it in the cream, it reminds her of fall.

It tastes comforting. It tastes like the feel of a steamy creamy soup that you have when it’s pouring rain outside.

It makes her feel soothed. Cozy. Like she’s in her own Gilmore Girls show herself.

Her lips press to the mug for the second time, sipping it again and it tastes so good. It’s not too sweet nor bitter. It tastes perfect. It warmed her whole body up, even with the freezing temperature.

She places the mug down on the wooden coaster, she’s never had a strawberry croissant before.

And when she has a taste, she wants to buy the whole shop. Why has she never heard of this before?

There's a sweet fluffy cream in the middle, she can feel powdered sugar coating her lips as she licks them.

It tasted sweet. It was light and delicious, the custard complimenting the sweetened strawberry. Who knew bread could pair with such.

“Is it okay for you?””

She turns around and sees you, it seems like the rest of the customers had to go out before the pouring rain began to crash harder.

“It was more than okay, it was so good. I need that recipe,” Jenna jokes, making you laugh.

“The croissant is my grandma’s recipe. I remember she made it when I first started baking in the kitchen. She thought it was so good that she had to put it on this cafe’s menu. For the latte on the other hand, you just have to know balance and what tastes right.”

Jenna’s slim hands waved a 5 dollar bill in the air, in which you immediately shook your head.

“Take it,” she giggles.

“No, it’s yours.”

"No."

"Yes."

"If you keep it I'll give you my number."

... That was tempting for you.

“I wasn’t a big fan of caffeine in general. It was always too bitter or too sweet. I think it ruined the experience for me to try anymore. Take this as a word that I’ll be coming often,” she gave you a sweet smile, giving you a piece of paper on top of the money.

You looked at her with, a small grin forming on your face as you looked up, “You win. Thank you. look forward to you being a regular. I'll make your coffee extra lovely and sweet next time," you said with a wink that made Jenna blush.

Jenna’s smile never faltered as she left the coffee shop, seeing your number on her phone as she placed it in her back pocket. But as she tried to slide it in, it seemed a bit cramped as she took out the piece of paper that was blocking it.

A five dollar bill. The five dollar bill she gave you.

She sighed, shaking her head with a small laugh, you were a smartass sliding the money she gave you back into her pocket without her knowing.

She folded it in her hands, looking back at the coffee shop, wanting to give it back and run so you couldn’t do anything. But as she looked back she could see the fairy lights on the sign dimming, your face behind the glass. You gave her a small playful wink as you flipped the sign to closed, your breath blew on the glass, putting a small heart on the fogginess and walked away.

Something in Jenna made her heart flutter, wanting to go to the coffee shop every day. Every. Single. Day.

But why? When she goes to restaurants she doesn’t seem excited to come again.

She could feel her cheeks heating up as she realized it was because of you. She wanted to come because of you and see your face, to see you giving her that smile or calling her name, to hear your voice as you talked to her, to see your pretty eyes glance down to her lips every once a while once again.

4:25pm

maybe y/n: sweet seeing you today, hope you didn't mind some money back, this is all i need :)

4:28pm

jenna: ooh. getting sweet already? hmmm, you're sneaky! maybe i'll pay you another visit tomorrow. (you reacted with 💗)

maybe y/n: aww, for me?

jenna: i wouldn't count on ittt but maybe it's a 50/50

4:30pm

maybe y/n: i don't think a customer would ask for someones phone number as an agreement?

4:35pm

jenna: you got me there

maybe y/n: i know i did jen :p

maybe y/n: don't get ahold of yourself, i still have to know you better ml

jenna: then tomorrow is set.

maybe y/n: tomorrow it issss (jenna reacted with a 😗)

She covered her face and let out a small groan as she came home, her back hitting the mattress as she looked up at the ceiling. She could feel a small grin forming on her face as her eyes sparkled, her nose scrunching.

She liked the girl who lay behind the mug of coffee.

She liked you.

a/n: wanted to take a small break on requests, i think i should focus on thinking of my ideas instead of doing request one by one from my inboxes, if that makes sense. requests are soon!

i'm not sure if i'll take some because sometimes these requests don't have any of my ideas in mind so it's hard to write something that feels good<3. enjoy this cute long ish drabble that i made a few months back but never finished<3

#wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x female reader

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tinytennisskirt · 2 months ago

Note

a good old fluffy/intimate friends to lovers

stanford art ringing your doorbell at like 3am in the morning, drunk, with a bloody nose and a beat-up, puffy face after a huge bar fight where he was defending you after some asshole made rude comments about u. ☹️☹️☹️ taking care of him afterwards. him literally being on the verge of passing out from both the alcohol and his throbbing face. fluff and intimacy ENSUES. i’m talking like drunken love confession and everything. art would always get vulnerable, lost and sweet when he got drunk which is exactly why he avoided getting drunk often, but you found it sweet. this time things got a little different😊

Wounds and Words

summary: as above ^^^ (with my little twists of course)

warnings: mentions of a fight, blood, wounds, bruising. drunk art absolutely smitten. soft, fluffy, sweet.

The night after finals, you could finally rest. There was no more studying to do, no more late nights. Just summer. With the intention of playing grandma, you decided that tonight you’d stay in, shower, watch a movie, and sleep early. The day was long, but the shower was nice and the movie was good. Your hair airdried perfectly, watching a movie ignoring the sounds of post-final partying on the floor above you. You didn’t mind it, you were just glad to be drinking iced tea and enjoying the lack of stress. You were just about to turn the TV on when there was a knock at your door. It was so quiet you almost missed it.

You, in your loose pajama pants and tank top, turned the TV off and got up, arms crossed over your chest to excuse the lack of a bra. It was completely casual the way you opened the door expecting maybe a fluke or something strange, but it was just Art.

Art Donaldson, the first person you met at Stanford, who had in the absence of your best friend and the absence of his, became one of your best friends. He was sweet, thoughtful, the best listener, and the kind of boy who wasn’t afraid not to seem much of one. He had been susceptible to eyeliner twice just because you asked. He watched your shows with you, tried repeatedly to teach you how to swing a racket, and was always up for coffee in the evening. He was also always there for you, so maybe along the route, you might have fallen for him just a bit. Who wouldn’t?

For the first time in all of the time you’d known Art, tonight was the only night you excused yourself from plans with him. He wanted to hit the campus bar to celebrate, but understood completely when you told him you planned to do nothing, which is why, when you opened the door, the first words out his mouth were, “I’m sorry.”

He was standing just outside your room, holding the side of his face which had endured some sort of trauma. His cheekbone was bleeding and already bruising and there was a cut above his eyebrow. His nose was also bruising and bleeding and his lip looked just a little swollen. “Oh my god,” you said, moving forward. He was in a red T-shirt, but you could see the droplets that had fallen down his chin, onto his collar and the front of his shirt. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’ve been drinking,” he told you, questions aside. You could tell that he had been, it was common sense, celebrating was celebrating. You pulled him into your room, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t topple anywhere. He went with it, and moved exactly the way you directed him, just a little wobbly.

“No, I know,” you replied, concern might as well have been written on your forehead the way you looked at him. “Are you okay? What happened? Come-” You pulled him gently to the bathroom. He was more drunk than usual- when you went out, he was usually the designated driver and when it was just the two of you in either one of your dorms, he was always just a little more sober than you. But right now he was out of it, majorly, beyond what you’d seen from him. It probably also didn’t help that he was bleeding from the face quite a bit.

He was putty in your hands as you sat him on the closed seat of your toilet. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to do anything tonight. I didn’t know I was walking here until I was here.” He said, slurring just a little.

“Art, it’s okay,” you managed a smile as you leaned over and grabbed your basket of facecloths. The whole thing toppled over but one fell into the sink and you turned on the tap. “You’re not answering, though. Are you okay?”

He nodded, a small movement. “Better now.” He smiled back.

You left him just momentarily to grab a cup from the other room and bring it back, filling it with water before shutting the sink off. You looked at Art again, who had his head down, looking at his hands, which you now noticed were beaten up as well. This was the product of a fight, you presumed by the way his knuckles were messed up. Art wasn’t the fighting type, he was one of the softest people you knew. The only thing about him that revolved around impact was hitting a tennis ball. Aside from that, he was always very soft-handed. Noted from every time he moved your hair from your face for you or when he held your hair when you threw up. When he hugged you, he was never too tight with it. He braided your hair once- he watched a video on how. So how he got into a fight was beyond you.

“Art?” You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to him.

He lifted his head, to him, you were spinning. “Mhm?” He was so out of it. “Hi.”

The grin that spread up his face was sweet almost, along with his little greeting. It almost made you want to grin back. “Hi.” You smiled. “Drink this for me?”

“Water?”

“Water,” you nodded, handing him the cup. He took it, drank it, all of it. “I’m going to clean you up, is that okay? It might hurt.”

He nodded back, “Mhm.” He scrunched his nose just a little as you stood to get the wet cloth. You opened your little first aid kid and rested it on your knees. He was putty again, almost limp, eyes closed. You clicked your tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m tired.” He replied. “One too many.”

“Seems like it,” you answered. “This is going to hurt a little-” You pressed the cloth gently against the cut above his brow. He winced, scrunching his nose again. It was cute- you wished it didn’t come from pain. “I’m wondering if you’re going to tell me what happened?”

“You’re so nice,” he cut in, opening his eyes again. They were soft, settled on you with some sort of meaning. “And you smell good.”

You giggled just a little, moving the cloth to clean his cheekbone, keeping the pressure light. “You’re sweet. Thank you. Hold still, please.”

He grinned again, shutting his eyes and letting you clean him up. He was still so pretty even with all the bruising and slight swelling to his face. You carefully wiped away all the excess blood and his nose stopped bleeding. You poured him another cup of water, which he drank gratefully, but it didn’t sober him up much. You tilted your head to the side and dabbed up more of the blood from the wound on his cheekbone. It hurt to see him so pained, but he took it like a champ. “You always take care of me, I feel bad.” He sighed a little as you wiped down over his chin gently.

“You don’t need to feel bad and it’s not like it’s unequal. You take care of me too.”

He hummed just a little, “No. Not like this. Feels unfair.”

“We’re friends, Art, it’s fair. I don’t mind at all, I just want you to be okay.” You told him patiently. His eyes gazed over your face, gently letting the cloth move over his lower lip. His eyes were set on your eyes, your eyelashes, your lips, back to your eyes. “But what would you do without me, hm?” You smiled.

He smiled back, his head falling just a little. If he wasn’t bruising you would have seen the pink flush that took over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to know,” you told him. His grin was boyish and endearing, sincere and oddly happy for someone who had been beaten up in such a way. “Hold still, I have to go over your forehead again. I’m going to hold pressure.”

He held still and you leaned forward just a bit to press the cloth to his forehead. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, so you put your junior lifeguarding skills to work with the pressure to stop it. His face was just a little closer to yours. You could see his eyes up close and he was almost shameless with the way he was looking at you. Drunk, at the borderline of sleep, and major intoxication. Half-lidded, watching the way you bit your lip as you focused on him. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. You looked down to meet his eyes. He kept them trained on yours with laser focus and you felt your heart pick up.

“Art, you’re drunk,” you reasoned, trying to keep in your nervous laugh.

“I’m right.” He said, keeping eye contact. “You’re pretty. You’re really pretty, like model pretty.”

You felt your cheeks turn pink, “Thank you. That’s really, really sweet. Nobody has ever said that to me.” You began to dig into the first aid kid for the small yellow tube of polysporin and the small vial of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect.

“Why?” He questioned, an almost puzzled look finding its way to his face. His eyes were so soft, so innocent in asking. His eyelashes fluttered. It was a shame how bruised up he was getting.

“I don’t know, I just… Nobody has said it before.”

“They should.” He said, voice just a little lower. He hung his head, looking away. “Fuck, I’m so drunk. My face hurts.”

“I know,” you smiled just a little. “Hold still again for me?” He winced as you placed a little cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide over his cuts, gently dabbing. He scrunched up his nose in pain, you inhaled sharply, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Mmm- It’s okay,” his pained voice replied. His eyes opened once the pain passed, and met yours again. Every time he looked at you, you swore he was seeing something else the way his eyes looked so full of wonder. Like he had stars in his eyes. He was pretty too, but you’d rather tell him that when he was sober. Your heart was still beating hard and on top of that, you were still just a little hung up on how this all happened. “Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You returned, dabbing again. He winced, and you cringed. He went back to looking at you the way he was. Slightly puffy lower lip hanging just the smallest bit open. You watched him swallow, looking down before he answered.

“I should wait to tell you what happened until I’m sober, I’m afraid I’m going to slip up or… something.” He told you, the way he spoke was gentle in a way where it seemed he was trying not to hurt your feelings. “I want to tell you, I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to tell you while drunk.” He was candid.

“That’s okay.” You nodded. “A secret.”

“You’re going to make me tell you.” His smile crept back up. “It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking stupid.” You grinned back, giggling just a little at his tone and smile- something light in a room with lots of tissues and cloths and cotton pads covered in blood. He looked at you with that wide grin of his and your heart skipped another beat. The smile fell to a straight line, “Don’t look at me like that.” His eyes fell off yours and moved onto the floor, pulling his shirt collar up to hide in, almost. He was so drunk, you giggled again.

“Like what?” You inquired, taking a break from drying his now-cleaned wounds, and moving his shirt collar down again. His eyes set on yours again. Like they were magnetic to yours like they couldn’t stray for long, evident by small glances at your lips. You caught it, “Art, you’re drunk. I should get you bandaged and to bed, get you more water, I-” You scrambled, but he stayed so still. So focused on you.

You turned your focus to unwrapping the first bandaid. “I think you know what. But it’s… fine.” He said. “I’m saying too much, I think, I’m sorry-” He rubbed over his good eye, his hand then trailing down his opposite cheek. “I just think- I-” Once more, his eyes met yours, then looked away again. “Fuck.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” you smiled. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’ll stay curious for a bit, it’s okay, I promise.” You gently smoothed a bandaid over the cut on his forehead. His eyes were trained on yours, unable to move, it seemed. Followed yours through every movement it took to place the bandage on. “I’m not upset or anything, I can’t be, you know that. I’m just glad you came here instead of bleeding out in your dorm.”

He smiled just a bit more, “Thank you. Hey, your eyes are really beautiful.”

“You need more water.” You said, moving closer to put a bigger bandage on his cheekbone. “You are drunk drunk.”

“Drunk thoughts sober words. Other way around. I am drunk.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“My face hurts,” he sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “Why are you sorry?”

“Just am,” you answered, standing up in front of him to get him more water. “I don’t like to see you this way. So much blood, I… I’m just sorry that whatever happened, happened.”

“It’s okay. Was worth it.” He turned his head shaking into a nod. “I’m so tired. Fuck. I’m going to say something stupid.”

You gave him the water, he drank it. You made sure he got every drop of water, stepping closer to collect his cup. He looked up at you as you reached for another tiny bandage. His hand gently rested itself on your leg. A cool hand on the back of your knee, softly. Your heart picked up for the tenth time. You spoke, the heart in your throat an obstacle overcome, “As if I haven’t ranted to you about the dumbest things drunk. There’s nothing you could say that could throw me.” You told him. “No judgment, I swear.”

“It’s different,” he was dancing around something. “You’re so beautiful. I really can’t-” he was lost, his train of thoughts cut off. “Fuck.” He tried to hide his face again.

“How many shots?” you bat it off. He was out of it, he was gone. He was so drunk. His hand slipped just a little up the back of your leg, then back down. You hoped he couldn’t feel the entirety of your body rise in temperature.

“Too many.”

You were blushing a little too hard, you looked away. “Hey- um- can you stand?” He nodded, hand moving from your leg as he stood. He stood close to you, so close to you. His cheekbone looked worse, but his eyes were still so open and pretty. “Okay, this way.” He let you guide him again but instead of making it to your bed, he sat on the couch. There was no moving him now. “Couch it is.”

“It’s a good couch,” he sighed, eyes shut. “Your pillows smell like you.”

You smiled just a little at that, but sat next to him. “You need to move onto your side, okay? Just so you don’t die in my dorm.”

He nodded, moving onto his side without hesitation, doing just what you asked of him. He was mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear. You gently moved his blonde curls from his face. You knew that spinning bliss and tiredness that came with laying down after drinking too much, Art had been at your side for a lot of those moments, pulling you up off the grass of someone’s lawn and making sure you got home safely. You’d woken up tucked in countless times after falling asleep in that state. You smiled at him, finally getting your turn. Aside from his beaten-up face, he looked peaceful.

Your eyes fell on his knuckles and you quickly went back to the bathroom to get your supplies and as he lay there, softly breathing in and out, mumbling now and then, you treated his knuckles the same way you did his face. “You’re going to be so pissed when you hear about it from someone else,” his voice was only audible for a moment. It made you pause.

“Hm?”

“I shouldn’t tell you, it comes off bad. But I don’t want you to what it from someone else…” He said, his face slightly smushed where he was laying. He trailed off again. You slunk out of your chair and sat on the floor in front of him. He opened his eyes just a little bit. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You replied. His hand was in your own, you dropped the cloth. The wondering what happened was eating you alive. “Art, what happened?”

He groaned just a little, “Just assholes. Talking about the length of your tennis… skirt.” He stretched and yawned. “At the bar.” You could deduct one thing: the fight had something to do with you. You were a little taken aback, but there was nothing you could find in you to say. “Said something about doing things… with you… to you. Made a mistake and told them to shut the fuck up. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake. My face hurts.”

“Art…”

“Don’t tell you I told you,” he sighed, rubbing his good eye again. “I don’t fight, I don’t fight.”

“I know,” you moved his hair again gently.

“He swung first. I don’t fight, but the way he was talking about you-.” He mumbled. “I just didn’t…” He trailed off again, then came back slightly. “Want you to think… I fight.”

You smiled a little more, “I know you don’t fight, Art. I know.”

“I had to,” he replied with another yawn. “Could’ve walked away. I would’ve… if it was anything else, but it was you.” He turned back onto his back, your hand accidentally slipping down his jaw following the movement, your hand previously in his hair. “Always you.” His slightly slurred tone just sounded tired at this point. Your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Art… You should… You need to get some sleep.” You were too flustered to act properly. Should you leave him to rest, say something and hope he didn’t remember sober, or not say anything at all and just wallow in this new fact that his injuries are because he stood up against someone saying something against you? You started to rise from your knees, “I’ll get you some more water.”

“Can you just stay?” He asked, his eyes opening again to meet yours. His hand reached out for the back of your leg again, softly touching. Like he wanted to touch more but everywhere else wasn’t safe. He had those morals, at least. “Please.”

You couldn’t move. You were sure your cheeks were a shade of pink close to full-on red. He was touchy in a friends way, but somehow, his hand on the back of your knee felt more intimate than anything. His face was fucked up because he had to tell someone off for sexualizing you, that was crazy, that was… His hand was soft and a little bit cold and as you sat back down it slipped back to resting with him, but you swore the feeling of it echoed in your body. “I’m not going anywhere.” You reassured him. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” he hummed, propping himself up dizzily on his elbows. His soft eyes would not leave yours, his smile was endearing, lovely, even with the puffy lip. His gaze shifted to different points on your face, and your smile never wavered in return. Once again, he rubbed his good eye, hand sliding down his cheek, teeth showing in his crooked grin. “Did I tell you that you’re pretty?”

“You did.”

“You’re so pretty.” He almost whispered.

“So are you,” you let slip. His grin widened, he looked like he was struggling to stay awake, to stay above the alcohol and the sleep that called to him, was pulling him under. You looked at the bandages on his face. The unhidden bruises. He was beautiful. Always was. You wished he was sober.

He wished the same thing, “You are- I like you so much.” He spilled, slurring slightly, leaning just a little toward you like it was a secret. Your stomach did a small flip, you were sure you were reaching a shade of light red. “For so long, too, it’s been killing me, you’re so… perfect.” He blabbed. “Patrick said I don’t have a chance, says you’re too-”

“You have a chance,” you cut in.

“I have a chance?”

“You have a chance.”

“Tell me that in the morning too?” His grin was now from ear to ear. You pushed your hair behind your ears. “Fuck- I told you, didn’t I? I was planning to tell you at…” He trailed off again, looking at the ceiling.

“Afraid so,” you giggled. He was forgetful, drunk, tired. You could see him fading as he lowered himself back onto his side. “I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. Tell me again soon, you get a re do.” As if his sweet drunk self was any less worth the confession. Your heart was beating against your ribs and you were doing your best to stay mature and hide it.

“Re do sounds good. Mmm- Thank you for patching me…” He yawned. “Up. I’ll see you in the…” He yawned again. “Morning.”

You couldn’t help but smile at all of this. His confession almost dismissed the rest of the situation, but compiled it was a lot and it was all for you. All for you. He was all for… you. He was so sweet, mostly asleep at this point. And he liked you. And maybe he meant it. You clicked your tongue, tilting your head slightly. He liked you, he had liked you, he got into a fight… and he thought you were pretty. “Goodnight, Art.”

“Goodnight,” Art sighed, smiling. You watched him fade, long eyelashes closed to rest. You stood up, hand gently brushing over his hair before getting him one of your fluffiest soft blankets. You draped him in it, then turned off the light, setting a glass of water on the coffee table. You then went to bed thinking about everything… laying awake on your back. For twenty minutes you just tossed, thinking about the confession, the fight, everything. He did something he would never do just for you, to defend you. You weren’t even around and he still wanted your name out of their mouths. It was so out of character but at the same time so undeniably Art. He was so sweet, he was… everything.

So you got up out of bed. Turned the light on and grabbed a marker from off your desk. You slunk into where the couch was, where he was sleeping and on his arm, you wrote a little messily,

‘You have a chance.’

You smiled at that, got yourself a drink of water, and sat on the end of the couch thinking some more. Before you knew it, you were getting more and more tired, and as much as you wanted to move, the end of the couch was pulling you in. So slowly, you sank onto the opposite end of the couch. You faced away from Art’s feet, but you didn’t mind it all that much as you drifted off to sleep. Your bed remained empty for the rest of the night.

You woke with the sun, still well-rested. You were facing the back of the couch, but the light still got in your eyes. Slowly, you moved upward, to a sitting position on the arm of the couch, gathering your surroundings. Art, still peacefully asleep, his bruises set in. You sighed quietly before quietly starting a pot of coffee and setting out some painkillers. His arm was still extended, reading those four words. It was all real. Everything from the night before was real. And you’d just have to sit with that until he read his arm and decided on when to take that re do. You’d wait.

In the meantime, he was still one of your closest friends. He was up not too long after you and you poured him some coffee and gave him the painkillers while he looked at his bandaged wounds in the mirror. “Thank you.” He said a little sheepishly like he was shy about this. Like he was embarrassed by it.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, “What do you remember?”

He sipped the coffee, looking to the ceiling. “Last thing I remember is… Leaving the bar.”

“Mmm, so not much,” you teased. He grinned back at you, trying to hide it with his mug. “You feel okay, though?”

“Hurts to smile, but other than that just a headache.” He replied. “I really- You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“There’s no reality that I wouldn’t.” You shrugged, walking over to your minifridge to see what there could be for breakfast. Nothing. You had nothing. Art leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom. With your hands on your hips, you turned to him. “Do you want to go somewhere for breakfast?” You asked. You knew he’d seen his arm. You knew you’d wait for it, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little fun with it.

He grinned and his eyes fell bashfully on the ground. “Yeah, sure. Somewhere off campus though?”

“And we’ll stop by your dorm so you can change out of your stuff.” You agreed, passing him as you slipped into the closed door of your bedroom from the open area. As you got dressed, Art was looking at the black marker on his arm. You have a chance. Messy as it was, he knew your writing. There wasn’t much he could put together, but he did remember in bits and pieces, the way you touched his face and hair so gently the night before. It came and went in blurry memories so in his head, there was only one form of context for the writing on his arm.

He grinned and stayed grinning as you hopped out of your bedroom, putting on your socks as you went. He washed the mug he used and took one last glance at his face before the two of you headed out. He could not get that grin off of his face. You agreed with yourself to wait, but with the writing on his arm, you had no idea how short of a wait it was about to be.

#challengers #art donaldson #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #tinytennisskirt #mike faist #challengers fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson blurb #challengers fluff

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avocado-writing · 8 months ago

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Hey there, if you’re still doing requests for BG3... I'm terribly angry about something big and outside of my control at the moment. Could you let me know what you'd think the BG3 companions do if Tav started self destructing? Like Tav passing harsher judgments, snapping at neutral NPCs, or fighting more dangerously and recklessly with bad guys?

Oooo the angst possibilities! Fun! Going to write like you’re self destructing due to stress, and you’re picking unhealthy coping mechanisms. Here we go:

Astarion

at first probably thinks that it’s quite funny. We know he enjoys seeing a little bit of suffering.

but, the more it goes on, the more worried you can see him become.

this isn’t like you. He knows you by now. You’re… kinder than this, damn it.

he takes you to the side one day after he’s seen you be short with a friend.

“whats the matter?” “Nothing, Astarion.” “If you’re going to lie to me, darling, you’d better do a better job of it than that.”

you go to snap at him, fire on your tongue, and then something inside you breaks. You just start sobbing. Everything which has been weighing on your mind has finally become too much.

he isn’t good at comforting words, but he does hold you. Runs his hand up and down your back, and lets you know you he’s here for you whenever you’re ready to speak.

helps you centre yourself again, eventually. He loves you. He’ll do what he can to make things better.

Gale

Makes a couple of snide remarks about how you’re acting, suggesting maybe you be a bit kinder, but then he stops to reassess how you’re acting.

there’s something wrong. You’re pent up. Furious, but not with the people you talk to. They just happen to be the ones bearing the brunt of it.

he sees the injuries you nurse on yourself after battles too. You used to be a clever fighter. Now you are a reckless one.

takes you aside one night at camp and presents his findings very matter-of-factly, concluding that there must be something the matter. When he puts it so astutely, you know you have no chance of hiding from him.

tears slip down your face and he is there in an instant drying your eyes. Telling you there’s nothing to worry about. Reassuring you that “the great Gale of Waterdeep is on your side, we’ll find a way to work things out.”

he puffs his chest out, you chuckle and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Yes. You will find a way to work things out.

Wyll

When he first sees you acting out, as it were, he immediately intervenes.

he knows what it’s like to be under great levels of stress. He made his contact when he was a teenager, after all, and had to deal with all the fallout that happened consequently.

he takes you to the side, holds your hand tightly in his, gets you to look at him.

“i love you, you know that, yes? If there’s something the matter, you need only tell me.”

you begin to crack immediately. Damn this sweet man and his emotional intelligence. Why is he perfect.

you let him know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You agree you’re not coping with it very well. He says he’ll help you however he can, but you need to stop being so unkind to yourself.

“you matter, my love. You deserve sweetness.”

holds you close, and you just stand there for a while, together. From then on whenever something is wrong, he is the first one you go to.

Karlach

Sees you snapping at a friend, jumps in.

“whoa, whoa, whoa! Soldier, where is all this coming from?”

you snap to tell her it’s none of her business, she wouldn’t understand… but then you see the hurt in her eyes and immediately feel awful.

“Oh gods, Karlach, I’m sorry…” your voice is wobbly, cracking a bit, and she cups your face in her warm hands.

“hey, hey. it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

you blurt out all your feelings to her in one, long, run-on sentence. She can’t help with a lot of the personal stuff, but she can listen, and she holds you to her chest and rocks you a little. Being engulfed by her embrace is very comforting.

”I’ve got you, babe, eh?” You know she does. For better or for worse.

Lae’zel

She sees the vicious way that you’ve been acting in battle. Strange, usually it’s her attempting to take the big hit, not you. She can take it, you can’t.

She finds you when you’re tending to your battle wounds. Sits down. Stares at you until you instigate conversation.

“what?” “You are not acting like yourself.” “Oh? And how would you know what that is?”

you’re just saying these things to be hurtful, but she’s stalwart. You’re deflecting.

She tells you she’s been enamoured with you long enough to see how you usually are. That you’re kinder, smarter. You’re lapsing into these feelings out of some sort of self-preservation, but you don’t need to.

”if there is something weighing on your mind, share it. I am here to help ease your burdens.”

you don’t love to cry in front of her but that is remarkably… sweet. It breaks you a bit.

You promise to stop being so foolhardy, especially in battle. She says that must be for the best, lest you get rended in half.

“Hey!” but she’s smiling. Your heart swells as you realise she’s trying to make you laugh.

Shadowheart

Lets you get quite far down the burrow of self-destruction before she does anything.

once again, she’s loyal to the lady of loss. Nothing you’re doing is exactly alarming to her.

but it does get worse and worse… she sees you snapping at friends, being harsher to passers-by, and she’s constantly having to patch you up after battle due to your wounds.

eventually one day you snap at her, and that’s her limit.

“I know something’s causing you stress but it isn’t me. I’m trying to help. So you can either pull your head out of your arse or I’m leaving this tent.”

the two of you have a little squabble, but it quickly becomes obvious your heart isn’t in it. Your anger turns to sadness. You collapse in tears and she pulls you to her without a second thought, holding you close.

despite her sharran devotion, she starts whispering how things can get better, how they will change. How the first step is letting people in.

her hand wound throbs as she comforts you. But in this moment she knows she’d pick you every time.

things are easier from then on, knowing she is with you.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x you #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel x you #astarion x tav #shadowheart x tav #lae'zel x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x tav #wyll ravenguard x reader #karlach x tav #karlach x reader

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tinyluvs · 1 year ago

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i saw your post and i’m here with fluff suggestions 🫡

cuddling in bed after spencer gets home from a long case and you just have to debrief about what’s been going on in your lives all tangled up in each other 💀💀💀 i hope this is good, just an idea but i completely get the not being in the mood to write smut thing

you’re a real one for this, tysm, ily & this idea & you were so quick with it too like 🫶🏻 anyways hope you enjoy! soft reid and even softer reader are my faves ♡ xo

the corner of the bed dips and startles you slightly, not that you were asleep but instead, just dozing. "spence?" you mumble, squinting at the shape of your boyfriend whilst pushing yourself up onto your elbow

"hey sweetheart, go back to sleep, sorry for waking you," he whispers, looking over his shoulder with a soft smile. after a second he stands, moving to your side of the bed in one big step, "sorry," he repeats, bending to kiss your forehead, then the tip of your nose and finally your lips

"stop saying sorry, i wasn't even sleeping," you hum, pushing up on your hands to steal another kiss before he stands straight again, "i didn't think you were coming back tonight, i would've waited up," you pout at him slightly as he disappears across to the other side of the room

you watch him as he gets undressed, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor while he rummages for his pyjamas, "we weren't supposed to, last minute thing," he explains, trailing off slightly at the end

once he's redressed he practically races across the room, flopping down on top of you before you could even put your arms out for him, "hey," you sigh with relief like you do every time he comes home safe, your fingers brushing gently through his hair

"hello," he answers simply, his voice muffled where his face is hidden against your neck. his hands slide underneath your body, colder than you'd like them to be against your back but you don't complain, "i love you,"

before you can respond his fingers tickle over your waist, "no! spence, don't you dare!" you gasp, eyes widening and hands grabbing at him in attempts to push him off of you, it doesn't work

spencer grins at you, "say it back and i won't," he offers with a small shrug

"i was going to anyway," you huff at him lightly. he raises an eyebrow at you, hands squeezing at your waist in warning, "okay! i love you too, please,"

he hums with satisfaction, dipping for a kiss through a cheeky smile before rolling off of you, his back hitting the mattress with a small bounce, "come here,"

without protest you wiggle across the bed while he switches off the lamp. the space next to him, under his arm was made for you, your body slotting against his like you're a two piece puzzle

your head rests on his shoulder while your legs tangle with his, both of your bodies using muscle memory to get comfy. his fingers trailing up and down the dip in your spine while yours trace patterns over his heart

"how's your week been?" he asks, turning slightly towards you, his cheek smushing against the top of your head, "do anything fun?"

"i went to the park with will and the kids, jack included," you whisper, "that was fun, we got ice cream and swung on the swings until we felt sick, will was a bit concerned,"

spencer chuckles while you giggle quickly, recalling the way will had pleaded his own two children, you and jack to get off of the swings for a while, "i bet jj will tell me about this when i see her," your boyfriend smiles, his cheeks rising causing your head to wobble slightly

"oh i bet, will won't ever let me hang out with them again!" quietly, you cry out, dramatically throwing your arm upwards before letting it smack back down onto the bed before giggling again

"m'sure he will, now, what else did you do? besides traumatising will," spencer yawns which makes you suddenly very conscious of the fact that it's the early hours of the morning and he must be exhausted

"we can talk about it tomorrow angel," tilting your head up, you rest you chin just below his collarbone, your knuckles ghosting over his jawline and slight stubble, which you adore

he looks down at you through his lashes with a slight frown, "no, please, carry on" he pauses to kiss your forehead, "i slept on the jet, hold on," in one movement he readjusts both of you, so you're laying on your sides, facing each other, legs still tangling together

"okay," you trail your fingers up his side, pausing to let him shiver as his body familiarises itself with the gentle touch before carrying on, "i finally took the disposable camera to get developed, tried a new coffee place that i think you will like," you start to list off, listening to spencer humming after each thing

"uhm, i made that recipe rossi gave me, it turned out amazing," groaning slightly as you remember the pasta, "oh! the guy in the flower shop gave me free sunflowers after i told him they were my favourites!" you gasp slightly

spencer gasps louder, his filled with offence, "i told you he had a crush on you," he hums, matter of factly while drumming his fingers against your hip bone. you lightly tap him with your hand, unable to fight the smile that passes over your lips as he laughs

"he does not!"

"oh, he does sweetheart but you're all mine," he grumbles through gritted teeth, squeezing you slightly too tight but only for a second before you're settling back against the warmth of his body, "did you finish that book you were reading?"

"i did! it was great, you can read it if you want," this time, you start to yawn, eyes becoming heavy against your will, "hey, have you got the day off tomorrow?" you ask

spencer pulls the duvet up, shimmying his shoulders until he's slightly further down the bed, "i do, i was thinking i could read that book over breakfast, we could go to that coffee place you were talking about, maybe the book store and get the ingredients for that pasta," he explains

"sounds perfect to me," with a soft sigh you allow tiredness to start taking over your body, your head lolling against his chest as your eyes flutter shut and all your senses fill with spencer

"and we are stopping by the flower store,"

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

#❥ my works #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #❥ spencer reid fic rec #❥ spencer reid drabbles #❥ spencer reid #❥ my spencer works

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oddinarylani · 10 months ago

Text

"you don't want me" | skz | pt. 1 | chan, lee know, changbin, hyunjin

9:51 pm. bang chan.

it was past midnight by now. the moon wasn’t shining. she was hidden behind great big storm clouds that’d been crying since noon. the dirt turned to slush, the pavements now a dark gray - different from their softer brighter colors underneath the sun. the only sound that triumphed through the room was the white-noise sound of the rain - beating down on the roof, on the windows, on cars outside, and on the earth.

empty. just empty. and tired. so tired. there wasn’t a way to describe it; and you were tired of trying. you hadn’t the drive for much anymore, not for work, or friends, but you still stood out for chan. you always would. you just haven’t been good at it for the past few weeks - and he was worried to bits which was the last thing you wanted.

maybe silence and the dreadful exhaustion of not even trying to communicate would fix things. maybe he’d get the right idea and move on. this couldn’t be good for him, no, surely not. there was better in the world, it just wasn’t the home of your arms.

“would you talk to me?” he asks, his voice shaky - brows melted together and worried sick. and he was truly worried sick. checking his phone for any texts from you or updates, laying awake when he let the worry eat him up.

you look up from your hands, realizing you were lost in thought. “o-oh, yeah. sorry.”

“sorry? i just want you to talk to me. you don’t have to apologize.” he grabs at your hands, a slippery grip that shakes his stable hold, he eventually steadies his hold and looks at you with a kind of wavering certainty. he’s trying desperately to be the strength you need, but his vigor is faltering. he sees all the hope in the palms of his hands being to melt away and he hadn’t the time to sort through the hundreds of thoughts forming in the terrorous wake of that.

your hand falls slack in his own, failing in your grip of his desperate grab of your hands. chan watches every microexpression that graces your face, seeing your brows bleed together. doubt strikes your features, and you slide your hand from his grasp, shaking your head before the words leave your mouth.

all you had to do was muster the strength to speak the words, but even then, swallowed by a kind of grief, completely blindsided by false-truths, but even then it hurt to say.

“y-you don’t want me,,” your watery eyes can’t even meet chan’s - he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces all over the floor.

“you’re all i want, all i have ever wanted- what do you mean.” and his voice wobbles, he wants to reach out, grab you, stabilize you - shake the sense into you, because what do you mean he doesn’t want you? he’s wanted you so terribly for so long that he let it tear him up inside.

“i’ve been in love with you for years- i-i love you so much, you’re all i want.” he does reach out now, bracing your arms in his gentle hands when the tears spill over your cheeks and you crumble in his hold.

“b-but i’m like,,, this- i-i don’t-” he brings your body into his arms, your chest meeting his as his big arms wrap around you and hold you tight to his body. he’s warm, and his embrace just fills you up so much you don’t know what to do with it.

“i love this part too. i promised you that and i do. i always will okay?” his hands hold the sides of your head, over your hair - and he pulls away to look you in the eye when he says that. he knows you need to hear it, knows you need to look at him when he does.

you fold and buckle, only able to nod to keep your voice from wobbling and cracking. you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest.

“i’ll never stop telling you i love you.” he presses his plushy lips to the top of your head, his hands smoothing over your back gently. “i’ll tell you more.” he promises.

“i-i’m scared i’ll push you away, that i’ll scare yo-you off or that i’ll hurt you. i-i can’t-” you shake your head against him and frown, his t-shirt soaking up the wetness from your cheeks. “i can’t hurt you, chan. i can’t do that to you.”

“you don’t hurt me, baby. you never have, i promise. just wanna be here for you.” he mumbles against your hair, his hand cradling the side of your head. his lips leave tingly kisses along your hairline, and his promises to you fill you with love that you’re unsure what to do with.

you nod against him, and he smooths his hands over your head again, “okay? i love you.” he pulls away, his eyes soft and brows melted together as his sights washed over your tear stained cheeks and face. “love you too.” you mumble, his thumbs swiping your under eyes and drying your cheeks.

8:12 am. lee know.

soft cuts of sunlight filtered in through the lines of the blinds and you’re immediately met with the warmth of the bed beneath you. the shirt you were wearing wasn’t yours, and your hair still seemed done from the night before - with a wandering and curious gaze, your eyes filter over to the sight next to you, and your lips part in surprise.

minho, laying like an angel, as always. sleepy, soft skin blanketed by a thick comforter - lean muscle beneath. his hair was sprawled and he was still wearing makeup but if he wasn’t the prettiest sight in the world you didn’t know what was.

only problem of course, he was your friend. a long time friend. and you’d been into him for far too long to let this slide.

quickly, your legs slither out from the comforters, your toes finding the wood floors with ease as you move quietly to slink out of his bed, your gaze fixated on his sleeping face the entirety of your attempted escape. you pull on your skirt from the night before, grab your shoes in one hand before they slip from your grip and clatter to the floor quite ceremoniously.

your face winces up, shoulders and spine tight as he stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

he leans up on his elbows, eyes squinted as they adjust to the mild morning light coming from behind his blinds.

“what’re you doing?” he asks tiredly, slumping back into the mattress as you gather your shoes in your hand once more.

you push your hair from your face, huffing to gather your breath as you look at him. “i have to leave, minho.” you explain, feeling the tightness in your chest gather at the thought.

“you don’t, come back to bed-” he groans, stretching, his hand gently offered to you as he laid back down, eyes sleepy and voice croaky.

all of your hurt, after all of these years comes back to the forefront of your brain. the nights you spent crying, realizing he’d never want you, the years spent in pain in realization you’d never have him. and you can’t stop yourself from blurting what you truly felt, tired and defeated.

“you don’t want me.” you shrug like it’s easy, like there was no other way, only acceptance of what you’d manage to convince yourself of. your chest aches at the sound of your own statement, but you grip your shoes a little closer and swallow the dryness in your throat.

he leans up, slow. the crinkle of the comforter as he does so only fills you further with nervous anticipation. his eyes are still tired, angeled and low and he seems so pleased with what he says.

“i do want you.” his brows lift for a moment. not for a second does his eye contact waver - and you knew, a small but very true part of you knew he wasn’t lying but you couldn’t accept it. no it wouldn’t be that easy, and maybe it meant something different to him.

“no you don’t.” it’s gentle, defeated, barely rolled off your mouth when you say it and he feels your hurt - feels a bit of his own too though he wouldn’t like to admit it.

“i do.” he presses. his expression changes, one of understanding that melts at the ache in your chest. he softens, his hand now more of an extended invitation. almost like he was silently pleading with you to just take it - take it and trust him.

your fingertips tingle with the twinge of need that extends in your touch; they act before you can control them. the back of your hand raises, the supple skin of your palm meets his, and he wraps his hand around yours the moment you touch.

it feels so right - god it feels right. it nearly takes the breath away from you - even this was enough. just this.

he pulls you closer to him, his arm lifting to circle around your waist like it was the first time he’d ever done so; his touch and hold almost chivalrous. never for a second does he let his eyes leave your own, your face. his skin awakens prickles in your skin, your lungs take in breaths shakily - like every bit of you trembles at his touch.

he takes your hand, swallows it in his grip because he wants to ground you - just think of me. it’s like he says. i’m here. a promise. what he can’t muster to say in words - he tries desperately hard to say in the way he floods your senses. it’s bracing, whole.

“have for a while.” he admits softly, as your knee comes to press into the softness of his bed, getting closer by the second.

“why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, sitting with your legs folded over his own cloaked by the comforter.

he shakes his head gently, brows raised again, for a moment. “don’t know.” he musters, smiling for a second at the realization of his own sheer disbelief. why hadn’t he? fear? doubt?

“i should’ve said something too. ‘s okay.” you squeeze his hand before softly pulling it from his grasp, knowing he wasn’t the biggest fan of skinship. but to your surprise, he reaches back out for you.

he pulls your hand to his cheek, leaning into the touch with soft low gaze. his skin is warm, his guidance of your hand to his face is gentle, and you feel your heart lighten at the action, a small understanding smile on your lips. your shoes are disregarded, hair messy, but all you see is him. and all he wants is you.

3:43 pm. changbin.

“your friend,” your mom begins. “the one with the…” her voice drifts off, her hands gesturing in long strokes of her fingers from the top of her head to her mid-waist, repeating this action until you understood. the long hair, she was meaning.

“yeah,” you follow with their name.

“their parents were at the recital - did you know she’s going off to a performing arts high school?” and you swallow because of course you knew this, the whole school did. and now your hands were wringing together because you were nervous, anxious. and you just didn’t want to hear her actually say it or it’d confirm everything.

“why don’t you do something like that?

it was a frightening feeling and not at all fleeting. no. this sat with you, cooked inside your brain and marinated in a venomous concoction of long-lasting insecurity and self-doubt.

being loved by and loving changbin was a catalyst and returning friend of a face you said goodbye to some time ago. comparatively, you and changbin were very different people. a world-renown producer and artistic creator to one of the most popular kpop groups to ever rise in the industry, and you.

little you.

with nimble fingers half-good at crochet, a homemade recipe for lemon ginger tea, and a smile you convinced yourself most days was nice, you didn’t compare. it wasn’t sad, it took no convincing on your end, it just was.

suddenly consciousness regains in the forefront of your mind - and it slips from your lips before you can stop it.

“you don’t want me.” it’s said into the phone pressed against your cheek, you’re driving, and you’re nearly home. the rain is still falling from the morning - shining and wetting the roads up for traffic lights to reflect their bright colors on the throats of puddles.

on the other end of the line, changbin’s voice dies in his throat - too thoroughly stunned in the moment to even try speaking. his lips part, his brain thinks over the words you’ve just said to him, and he can’t puzzle himself as to why you’d ever say that.

“w-why do you want me-” a sharp intake of breath past your lips, a shudder, the slam of your car into park as the doors unlock and his very first instinct before anything else is to be there.

he says your name, speaks it with ease - familiarized himself with the way it feels in his mouth, and he stutters before speaking again.

“of course i want you- are-are you okay? talk to me, baby what’s going on?” he stiffens up in his chair and chan leaves the room to grab a call from an executive. right now the music doesn’t matter, the hours of work spent trying to delicately assemble a new track doesn’t matter, the only thing he can think about is you. why you’re saying this.

“i-it’s been-” you sniff, wiping your face at the pathetic notion of your own tears. “it’s been on my mind lately and i can’t stop thinking about it, bin.” your hand shakes with the grip on your phone, voice failing as you succumb to the tears. your shoulders shake, and you put a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise - as if you could hide it from changbin.

“baby, i’m here, i’m here, it’s okay. let me wrap this up with chan real quick and i’ll be over okay? you at your place?” he asks, voice soft and turned away from the mixing booth as chan walks back into the studio.

you nod, humming and confirming.

“i’ll be on my way in a minute, okay? i’ll text you when i’m headed over, baby.”

he leaves a minute later, driving like hell to get to you quick enough - and when he sprints up the stairs to your apartment he walks in to find the lights low and your form sitting on the couch - head resting in your hand.

“i’m here, baby. what’s wrong.” he doesn’t miss a beat - immediately he kneels at the couch, his hands coming to stroke your upper arms, coaxing you soothingly to open up to him. you shake your head, lips wobbling.

“god- it’s pathetic really, bin-” you almost chuckle in hindsight. “just…” you look down, feeling the warmth of his hands as he circles you.

there’s a brief intermittent pause. a realization. it washes over you and steals the words from your mouth and the thoughts along with them. his hands pause between your bodies as if he’s afraid - afraid to touch you - afraid to upset you. more big wet tears cascade down your cheeks, face flushed with heat and red, and you wish more now than ever that he’d just hold you.

“i-i don’t,,, i can’t-” you sniff. “compare to you.” it angers you to even speak it, knowing it’d hurt him. why.

“y-you don’t,,” you shake your head, your eyes filtering up to meet his own that look at you with such disbelief it’s almost sobering.

you were telling him this. like it was a fact, like it was your decision to make. he thinks maybe that’s why it hurt so much to hear you say it. like there was no alternative in your mind, nothing you could tell yourself to soothe this particular ache. like your mind was made up.

“baby, baby-” he stands to sit next to you on the couch, gently grabbing your legs to toss over his own, his hands coming to stroke the wetness from your cheeks. every touch of his skin on your own is terribly grounding and sobering, and for a moment your tears slow a bit as he cradles your face in his calloused hands.

“all i want is you. all i want. okay? i want all of you, on your best and worst days.” his arms circle you, hand resting at the back of your head to urge him into your shoulder. there’s where your tears fall now, arms grasping onto him and his shoulders. “there’s nothing you or anyone else could say to change my mind either. you’re perfect and i love you.”

you nod against him, breathing in shaky. “i love you. i love you so much.” you know he’ll say it as many times as he must before you accept it.

“love you too. love you.” you’ve become something like putty in his arms as he holds you. his hands soothe over your back, and you hear it; hear him. and believe him.

1:03 am. hyunjin.

your fingertips shake, fluttering over the textured fabric of the dress sitting daintily from your figure. a breath released, a breath inhaled, and in the next moment - it all comes crumbling; the image of yourself you brave for yourself. the falsities, the fabrications. in the reflection of the mirror you watch peripherally your face drop, turning to the side to run your hands over the curve of your body, trying to make it fit, trying to fit this idea into a box.

your hands drop slack, hitting the sides of your legs. your composure weakens and you feel a buckle in your ability to withstand it.

“fuck,,” you whisper, turnin away from the mirror with your hands on your face - fighting with might only a god could match to keep from crying.

too many tears were shed because of this very same reality, you didn’t want to give it the satisfaction of succumbing to it.

but your knees buckle - submitting to it, and you’re right back at square zero.

hyunjin was going to be home any moment now, this fact had drifted away from your thoughts as hot tears welled up in your eyes, only when you hear the door unlock do you tighten up like board was tied to your back. you stand, walking to the closet to change quickly. just as your fingers unzipped the back, tears rolling over your cheeks and jaw, hyunjin announces he’s walked into the bedroom with a soft, “i’m back, baby.”

his voice was soft, and he was completely oblivious and safe from the torrent of thoughts within your skull. he slinks in, your hands pause from unzipping your dress. “ah,” you sniff. “hey honey.”

his head turns in your direction at the sound of that.

he doesn’t have sights on you, you’re hidden behind the closet doors, but he makes his way over quietly, making a questioning type of humming noise, as if gently asking, “what?”

you keep your lips sealed, unable to conjure an excuse quick enough - he’s suspected you already and you know if he finds you like this, it’ll be a torrential downpour you won’t be able to stop - hyunjin had that effect.

“,,,babe? what’s-“ “d-don’t-“ your hand stops him from opening the closet door, you didn’t mean for the action to come across as aggressive it was - but you couldn’t let him see, and your heartbreaks at the idea.

“what’s wrong, angel? i won’t judge you, i promise.” he relaxes his hands on the closet doors, his eyes darting over it’s surface. there’s a bit of anxiety boiling up now for hyunjin, he hadn’t a clue what was going on but he expected the worst by far. all he wanted was to be there for you - know why you were upset and help.

“the dress i-… it doesn’t look good.” you sniff again, on the very edge once more as tears build more, faster.

“i’m sure you look beautiful, baby. it’s okay. can i come in?” he doesn’t press the door, but instead waits for your consent.

“s-some of the beading came off while i was putting it on and the seams look stretched-“ you take a breath shakily from your nose, “hyunjin-“ you say his name with reason, like saying it would be enough to soothe you. hyunjin feels his heart ache deep within his chest, his bottom lip pushed out slightly as he hears your hurt.

“you won’t… you won’t want me.”

it absolutely tears him up inside the way you say that.

he pushes the door with no fighting from you, eyes first and only meeting your eye contact. “all i want is you, okay? i want you.” he promises, hands a bit shaky as he smooths over your hair and holds your face, his movements a bit sporadic as he tries everything he can to get you to focus on him, on what he was saying.

“i love you.” he exhales. “i love you.” his hands shake your face the slightest amount to just try to get you to believe him.

“and you look so beautiful, baby.” he mumbles into your hairline, pulling you into his arms, his own eyes closed tight. his hands flatten against your back, running his palms smooth over your exposed skin. “you are so beautiful.”

in his arms, your crying slows. and the only reason he lets you go is to make a point.

“come. follow me.” he grasps your hand, letting you follow behind him with as he stands in your mirror.

“look at you.” he smiles softly, holding your hands in his own. “so pretty,” he whispers as if in thought, looking over your form as if it was a book to study.

you wipe your face, feeling hyunjin begin to walk behind you, his hand kept only our waist as he now towers behind you - warm hand resting on your hip. “i knew when i bought this you’d look beautiful but,, it’s more than that.” his voice is soft, only shared between the both of you.

you shake your head gently, feeling his hands steady on your zipper, stabilizing your side as he begins zipping you up - his eyes thoroughly focused on your form in the mirror as he does so. he says it like he doesn’t doubt it even for a moment. there’s not a moment he doesn’t think you’re outstanding, and not a moment he wishes to quiet his claim of your beauty.

“look at me,” he asks, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes in the mirror. you let his soft touch gently guide you - his thumb swiftly drying a stray tear. his hand settles on the other side of your waist, holding you in his hands. his look is all too knowing, chin dropped, fully expectant on you understanding what he was thinking - and all you can do for a moment is chuckle, wiping your cheeks.

“you look so pretty, baby - this was made for you.” he promises, admiring the texture of the dress under his hands as he gently strokes your sides and smiles.

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pitchsidestories · 3 months ago

Text

Doctor II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze

masterlist I word count: 1642

summary: Ona loves to tease Lucy with her doctor title but underneath the banter she misses her girlfriend while being away at the Spanish nt camp.

Doctor Lucia Bronze had a ring to it, Lucy had to admit.

Being awarded an honorary doctorate was a great feeling. Not as great as winning trophies with a football team though but it was still a special moment for her.

One that she was devastated not be sharing with her girlfriend.

But Ona called, of course, as soon as the ceremony was over and Lucy was back at her new flat in London. The English defender took the video call while she slipped off her incredibly uncomfortable shoes and flopped herself onto the sofa.

“Good evening, Doctor Bronze.“, Ona grinned at her through the screen.

Lucy rolled her eyes with fondness: “Ona.“

“What?“, she asked innocently. She knew exactly what Lucy meant.

“You don’t have to say that all the time. I’m not a real doctor.“

“Oh, but I can tell you kind of love it when I call you that.“, Ona smirked back at her.

Lucy wasn’t the type of person who turned red at such comments so she studied Onas face in the small screen and shrugged nonchalantly: “Maybe.“

Ona let out a laugh and then disappeared, the screen wobbled like her phone was being passed around. Lucy knew this could only mean one thing: Ona was still in the dressing room after training and the other Barcelona players were listening.

Salmas face now greeted her with one raised eyebrow: “Congrats, Lucia. Onita hasn’t shut up about your doctorate ever since.“

“She exaggerates!“, Ona protested. Her cheeks were slightly blushed as she wrestled the phone back from her teammate.

Lucy bit back a grin: “Oh, does she? Because you sounded very excited for me.“

Ona glared at her but before she could say anything, Irene reminded her: “Don’t talk too long. It’s almost dinner time.“

“Sorry. They’re so annoying.“, Ona apologized, shaking her head about her teammates.

Lucy smiled but it never reached her eyes: “Don’t tell them but I miss them being annoying already.“

“Speaking of it, now I remember why I called. The Chelsea interview with you and Millie. You said you were calling your mum? Seriously, I’m not your mama!“, Ona laughed.

Lucy only replied with another eyeroll.

Millie and her had done a Mini mic interview to announce her transfer to Chelsea. She had said hat her mum was the last person she called when in fact, they both knew she was on the phone with Ona only minutes before they filmed the interview.

It was just a silly video for the fans to get to know the new player better, so she didn’t think her answer mattered much.

“You know exactly why I said that.“

“Yes but everyone could sense that you were lying.“, Ona replied and she definitely sounded proud about the fact that she had been the most recent phone call.

“No one can prove that!“

“Thank god.”, she whispered gratefully, thinking about how people were ready to interpret everything they did and said which could allude to their relationship. In this case the mum reply was the safest for everyone.

“Only we know the truth.”, Lucy told the younger defender.

“And the truth is I miss you.”, she confessed with a sad smile. The Spaniards unhappy expression didn’t match the special smiley necklace her girlfriend had gifted her.

“Oni..”, her lover began empathetically. The older woman heart sank seeing her in this state, especially when she couldn’t reach out to embrace her.

“Hm?”, Ona tried her best to keep the upcoming tears at bay.

“I miss you too, but we talked about this.”, the English player reminded the younger one softly.

“I know and it’s the best for you.”, she let out a deep sigh.

“We’ll be fine. Promise.”, Lucy vowed seriously.

“I believe you, amor.”, the Barcelona defender answered.

“I’m a doctor, you can trust me.”, her lover winked.

Automatically her lips turned up into a smile, it didn’t matter that it was a bad joke.

“So, what do you recommend against longing and yearning, Doctor Bronze?”, Ona asked her girlfriend, running a hand through her open hair which fell in soft waves.

At that sight Lucy had to close her eyes for a second, oh how she wished to be that hand touching it, the urge was almost overwhelming.

“I’ll prescribe you calls with your girlfriend everyday and some distraction by your teammates.”, the older woman smirked.

“Good advice, come on Ona dinner is ready!”, Leila interrupted them grinning.

“You heard her.”, the younger Spanish defender groaned.

“Enjoy your meal, pretty girl.”, Lucy nodded amused.

“Enjoy London, doc.”, she responded cheekily.

“I’ll.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”, Ona promised, blowing a kiss to the screen of her phone. Ignoring the laughter, she received by doing such a cheesy gesture by the younger players.

“Can’t wait. Good night.”, she bid farewell.

On the next day it was Millie who realized that her new club teammate had something on her mind.

“Oh, hello Doctor Bright.”, Lucy greeted her with an absent-minded smile.

“Hi Doctor Bronze, is it missing the girlfriend hour?”, the blonde assumed.

“It’s. She’s struggling quite a bit with the move.”, she admitted, biting her lip.

“That’s sad, but understandable.”, the Chelsea captain remarked.

“I think she’ll get used to it.”, Lucy said optimistically.

“Do you think you’ll surprise her with a short visit?”, Millie wiggled her eyebrows.

“I might.”, she revealed.

“That’s surprisingly romantic for your standards, Bronzey.”, the Blonde teased her.

“Shut it, Bright!”, the former Barcelona defender demanded, shoving the teammate playfully.

Millie laughed in reply: “Never, you should know that by now.“

Ona was engrossed in a conversation with Patri when Barcelonas training ended a few days. She frowned when Patri suddenly stopped talking about her newest coffee preferences and instead stared at a point behind Onas shoulder with her eyes wide.

“Ona!“, she said with urgency in her voice.

“Yes?“

“Look!“, Patri said, her face lighting up in excitement.

The defender rolled her eyes: “I don’t fall for that again, Patricia.“

This time it was her teammates turn to roll her eyes: “I mean it this time.“

“You’re just joking again. I know it.“

“Fine…“ With a sigh, Patri grabbed the defender by the shoulders and turned her 180 degrees.

Onas jaw dropped once she spotted Lucy walking towards the training pitch.

“Oh my god…“, she mouthed.

Lucy grinned at her: “Surprise.“

“You’re really here.“, Ona said quietly as if she had to remind herself.

“Of course I am.“

Finally, a smile spread across the Spanish defenders face: “Wow, I can’t believe it.“

Patri pushed her towards her girlfriend: “You know, she’s not a projection or a hallucination. You can go hug her.“

“Go, Oni!“, Aitana cheered from behind her.

“Sorry.“, Ona laughed slightly embarrassed and crossed the few steps to hug Lucy.

“Hi.“, Lucy whispered, holding her girlfriend close.

Ona fully relaxed in her arms: “Hi, good to see you.“

“Good to see you too.“ Lucy replied and pressed a kiss on the top of Onas head.

“Wait, let’s go somewhere more private.“

“Please.“, Luca agreed.

Ona took her girlfriends hand and pulled her with her towards some empty rooms under the watchful eyes of her teammates.

“Here it’s just the two of us.“, the Spanish football player smiled as she closed the door behind herself.

Lucy took a step towards her: “Finally.“

Without another word, Ona grabbed Lucys face and pulled her in for a passionate kiss. She had already missed her girlfriends lips on hers. She was starving for her, she never wanted to come back up for air again. But she had to and when she did, Lucy smirked at her: “You really missed me, huh?“

“I mean what I say.“, she shrugged while her arms were snaking around her girlfriends waist again.

“And you kiss like you mean it.“, Lucy grinned.

“Good.“

The English defender kissed her once more. This time it felt less like satisfying a craving and more like pure indulgence.

“I hope this will last you until I can come visit again.“, Lucy smiled mysteriously.

Ona stared at her for a moment, trying to read her facial expression until she understood: “Wait, you’re joining us in Paris?“

Laughing, Lucy shook her head: “No. But I will come watch you.“

“That’s amazing.”, the younger woman beamed at the older one.

“See, you don’t have to wait that long.”, she noted.

“The best news.”, Onas’s grin deepened.

More serious, Lucy put a hand to her girlfriend’s cheek, looking into her brown eyes to see her immediate reaction to the question she was about to ask. “What do you think? Can we handle the long distance?”

The Spanish defender didn’t need to think long. “Yes, I think we can.”

“I think so too.”, the older woman agreed calmly.

“It’s worth it.” A deep sigh escaped Ona’s lips.

“What’s wrong?”, the English defender asked with worry in her voice.

“I’m just glad you’re here.”, the younger player answered honestly.

“I’ll stay for a bit.”, Lucy assured her, smiling warmly.

Suddenly Leilas head loomed into the room, a smirk was playing on her lips. “Will she stay forever?”

“Forever?”, Lucy repeated laughing.

“I thought you liked Disney movies or is it just the Lion king.”, the Manchester City player teased her.

“Let’s just say, I might not stay here forever. But I’ll stay forever in her life.”, the new Chelsea defender declared lovingly.

The way she looked at her made Ona feel warm and fuzzy inside. With her doe brown eyes, she glanced back with the same intensity as her girlfriend. “I think forever sounds perfect.”

“Forever is good for me too.”, Lucy whispered into her ear, ignoring the gagging noises Leila made. This moment was undoubtedly meaningful to them. They’d be able to handle everything the long distance, the yearning and the longing, their love was strong enough for it.

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weird-is-life · 10 months ago

Note

I’m actually obsessed w Spencer Reid rn. Please can you write something really really cute and fluffy and reader gets drunk while out meeting Spencer’s team, and starts getting really jealous and protective of him, clinging to his waist and scowling at any girl, (or boy, because reader explains that her boy is so pretty that she bets men love him too), that come anywhere near him. The team tease the two lovingly, but when reader gets so overwhelmed and clingy that she starts to cry, Spencer melts. He starts massaging her hair, cuddling her close to his chest. He’s praising her and telling her how much he adores her and only her.

He drives her home, and it ends in the two falling asleep whilst spooning each other <3

Hii, ty for the request🥰! Hope this is okay. Sorry it took me so long. Warnings: use of pet names, mentions of alcohol, jealous!reader, fluff (0.9k)

It's not your first time meeting Spencer's team, so you definitely aren't shy to have a good time along with some drinks.

But eventually, one drink turns into one too many and you end up drunk. And it's not just you, it's everybody, except for the drivers of the night. Meaning Spencer, he's your driver for the night, so he sticks to a soda for the whole night.

And actually, Spencer goes to get you a soda as well, not wanting you to get anymore drunk. He knows, you'll feel terrible in the morning with how many drinks you've had already.

When he comes back with the sodas and sits next to you, your whole face lights up at the sight of him and you immediately make yourself comfortable on his lap.

"Wha- Oh, okay, "Spencer doesn't get the chance to say anything as you sit in his lap. He only chuckles at it and so does the team.

"W-what?" you cluelessly giggle along with them, a bit confused why they are all laughing.

"Nothing, "Emily answers for all of them and chuckles some more.

You frown drunkenly, but the frown dissappears just as quickly as it came, when you feel Spencer squeezing your thigh (lovingly).

You look at him, your expression completely lovesick," you look so handsome tonight Spence," your attempt of a whisper is very, very far from actually whispering.

"Just today?" Spencer actually whispers with a teasing smile.

"Noooo," you drag the 'o' for a bit too long, " y-you always look v-very handsome."

Again, you fail to whisper, so the team hears your answer clearly.

"He really does and I think some other people here think it, too " Derek chuckles and his eyes end up on a table at the back of the bar, the people there are visibly ogling Spencer.

When you notice it, you scowl. It's surprising, that you can even see that far back with your kind of blurry vission, but you do.

It looks quite comical, how you drunkenly glare at them. But you can't help it, why are they looking at Spence, your Spence, like that?

"Woah, woah, woah, babe, you're gonna kill someone with that look," Emily teases you, she's just as drunk as you, so she finds her comment very funny and laughs. You, on the other hand, glare at her, as well.

"You guys are being so mean," you slur as you point at the team and they just laugh some more. You can't help, but to giggle with them, too. You can't even remember why you were upset a few seconds ago as you laugh with them. Spencer only shakes his head at how ridiculous you all are, although there's a smile on his face, too.

Once the laughter dies down and everybody starts a small talk of their own. Your endorphins seem to run out of your system and your ecstatic mood dissappears.

Spencer notices it immediately, your sad face and dejected sitting position tell him enough. He knows, it's time for you and him to go home and get some sleep.

He asks you if you want to go home and you just tiredly nod.

Spencer gently pulls you up onto your wobbly legs and says goodbye to everyone for you both. He walks you to the car (or more like he carries you there, because you put your whole bodyweight on him) and he even puts on the seatbelt for you.

Before Spencer can even start the car, you are sniffling softly with big tears running down your cheeks.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Spencer instantly worries, taking your face into his hands and wiping away the loose tears.

"I just....I just l-love you so much," you hiccup as you respond to his question. And Spencer swears, he couldn't love you any more after hearing your adorable answer.

"Yeah? Is that why you're crying?" he gives you a warm, amused smile.

"M-maybe," you don't really know why you're crying. Spencer thinks, it might be the alcohol in your system messing with your hormones.

Spencer would laugh at your answer if you didn't look so damn sad about it. Instead he just says, "come here."

He hugs you and you very eagerly hug him back. Spencer runs his hand up and down over your back until the sniffling stops and until he can't feel anymore tears wetting his t-shirt.

He pulls you away from him carefully, "are you feeling better? Should we head home now, huh?"

You nod sluggishly, " y-yeah, but w-will you hug me some more at home?"

"Of course, however long you want, sweetheart," Spencer smiles at you and raises your intertwined hands towards his lips to kiss the back of your hand.

You smile at him, happy to hear Spencer's promise of cuddles and you contentedly look out of the window, while Spencer starts the car.

By the time Spencer parks the car, you are out, fast asleep in the front seat. He can't blame you, the roar of the engine would lull him to sleep too if he was just as tired and just as drunk as you.

Spencer, though unwillingly, wakes you up. You wake up, confused as to where you are, but you smile sleepily at Spence, when you realise it's him.

"Come on, love. Let's get you inside," you lean heavily on him as you walk to the apartment.

Once, you're inside, Spencer helps you change into comfy pyjamas and removes your make-up (you are half asleep as he does that). He prepares a glass of water and painkillers for you on the bedside table for the morning.

When Spencer finally joins you in the bed, you are sleeping again. He pulls you towards him and cuddles you close, you sigh happily into his chest. You two stay like that the whole night, Spencer hugs you tightly just like he promised, he would.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid

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whispersingojo · 6 months ago

Text

Always an angel, never a god

Content ✮ sad angst from Satoru, comfort, fluff, teen!Satoru x teen!reader

Summary ✮ after a rather emotionally taxing mission, Satoru comes back thinking about who he is, what he was. He starts to break down in your arms…unable to cope with the answer.

Inspired by ✮ this beautiful tiktok edit

Word Count ✮ 958 (short and sweet)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satoru wobbled his way to the curb of jujutsu high. He fell onto the curb, throwing his hands into his hair. His heart raced deep in his chest. He tried taking a deep breath, but it felt like his body wouldn’t allow him. The breath he let out was extremely shaky, unable to release fully.

He gripped his hair, letting himself fall into his back. His heart finally started to calm down, allowing him take in full, deep breaths.

Satoru’s arms fell out, laying out wide. He felt numb for a moment, staring up at the bright blue sky.

“What am I even doing…” he sighed, closing his eyes. The blood on skin skin began drying in the sun, staining his skin.

He laid there for a while with his eyes closed, listening to the birds singing. He was enjoying the peace around him, the wind blowing through his ears. He wanted to lay here forever, to never do any of this again.

He thought about leaving jujutsu high multiple times. What would happen if he left? How many people would die because of him? Would people hate him if he just got up and left? All these thoughts ran through his mind.

Satoru sighed again, opening his eyes. When he opened, he saw you standing above him watching him.

“Hi ‘Toru,” you laughed, smiling with your eyes closed.

“Creepy much?” He chuckled, pushing himself up, “what’s up?”

“Oh I’m just here because I heard you got back,” you sat next to him, “how was the mission?”

Satoru sighed, leaning his head onto your should, “tiring…they’re sending me out on so many missions.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, love. If you want I can help get you get cleaned up while you rant to me?” You leaned your head on top of his.

He didn’t respond, his eyes closed again. Just being with you always calmed him down, and you know that. You let him him lay on you for a bit, enjoying the peace together.

“Yeah, sure,” Satoru responded after a few minutes, removing his head from your shoulder and standing up. He reached his hand out to you and helped you up.

You two began walking into the building. Nothing was said between you, but you did glance over at him. It was easy to read his expression without his glasses. He looked sad, numb. You were worried about him, so you were happy to clean him up.

When you two made it to his room, you told him to sit down while you grabbed a rag and a small bucket of soapy water.

When you came back, Satoru gave you a weak smile. You sat next to him, setting the small bucket in the middle of your crosscrossed legs. You dipped the rag into the bucket, ringing out the towel, then lifting it to his forehead.

“You know…I love you so much,” Satoru said softly, closing his eyes, “thank you for doing this,”

“Of course, love, anything for you,” you smiled at him, “and I love you too. So what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Satoru sighed, thinking for a moment, “I don’t know…I’ve just been questioning what my worth is to everyone. I’m being sent out on so many missions…I feel like I’m just a weapon.”

You dipped the towel back into the water, “well you’re the strongest! Of course you’re-“

“But what am I!” Satoru stood up, starting to get a bit upset, “I’m Gojo Satoru! I’m not this weapon that everyone can just send out to do all their dirty work!” His eyes began to fill up with tears, being overcome with emotion, “I’m a person! I’m a person with feelings! Even you see me as just a weapon…”

“No baby that’s not true!” You set the bucket to the side, cupping his face in your hands, “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry. You’re not just a weapon- you are extremely passionate and caring. You love your friends and pranks and failing your exams!” You wiped the tears from his eyes, “I love you so much, I could never think of you in such a poor light.”

“It’s just so hard to believe that when I’ve been told that my whole life…I’m starting to lose myself to this thought that I’m only liked because I’m the strongest…”

You listened quietly as he cried, “I’m supposed to be this strong jujutsu sorcerer…but god dammit I feel so weak…I feel so helpless. Whenever I’m sent out on a mission, I hope I don’t come back so I don’t have to feel like this. But every time I win because I see you in my head and I wanna come back to you every time…” he paused, sniffling, “I’m so weak…I need a break from all this jujutsu sorcery shit…I wanna go out and live a normal life. I wanna live with no care in the world, but I know that’ll never happen for me…”

You pulled him to his bed, making him lay down with his head on your chest, “i don’t care what everyone thinks of you, love. As long as I’m with you, I’ll always see you for what you truly are, and that’s Gojo Satoru. I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure that someday, everyone sees you as such. Maybe one day you can retire, and we can live on a far in the middle of no where. We could raise chickens, maybe a cow…just us. No one to ever bother us, how does that sound?”

Satoru snuggled close, his face wet from the tear, “thank you…”

“Of course…now let’s finish getting you cleaned up.”

Satoru pulled you closer, “just a little longer…”

You giggled, messing with his soft hair, “ok…”

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suhkusa · 5 months ago

Text

EGOIST 12.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. hurt/comfort-esque, trauma, smut, dry-humping, make-out, dubcon (both have alcohol in system)

A/N. oh thats not

-> MASTERLIST.

“Stay,”

Your voice is wobbly and weak. There’s silent tears flowing down your face. Even so, Atsumu feels nothing but rage. He can’t console you, no.

“please,”

He wants to go, to rip his hand away from yours. To find that asshole and beat him down. Your eyes are pleading with him.

“Y-You can’t even do anything, it’d be bad for you,” for your career. He knows.

Which is why he reluctantly sits back down, but also why the menacing look on his face is yet to fade.

“Fuck,” he stresses, running his hand through the middle of his hair.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so upset. Is it because you’re hurt? Is it because someone got to you before he did? His head hurts with these thoughts. Mostly because he just doesn’t know.

Atsumu watches as you lay back down. Hiccupping as you bury your face back into the pillow.

You make everything so fucking confusing. He’s supposed to hate you. He wants to. Every day he plans on being angry, to ignore you. But as soon as he sees you, it feels like all those walls crumble down, and he ends up being the one who wants to be noticed by you.

It’s gross. He doesn’t want to date you. Doesn’t think so at least. He doesn’t even like you like that. Maybe Atsumu is just protective of you. Perhaps, he feels like he owes you for being so fucked up towards you for so long.

That’s definitely it.

At least that’s what he’ll continue to tell himself.

———

When you wake up, everything from the night prior is a blur. You were at a bar. You talked to someone. Then you were outside. Then you were in. Then you danced. Then Gora.

The only thing you did know was that you absolutely do not remember falling asleep with Atsumu Miya.

When you see the mop of blonde laid beside you, you instantly prop yourself up, a strong pain in your head following right after. You let a noise slip out, and curse you because a groan from the man beside you came right after.

You debate to slip out of bed, but before you’re able to, his voice catches you.

“Are you alright?”

The words catch you off guard, but yet they make you feel somber. You feel your face soften. He’s genuine.

“Um, yeah,” you look around, “why are you in bed with me?”

Atsumu looks confused. “Do you not—” he stops, “You asked me to, do you not remember?”

You shake your head no almost immediately.

His facial expressions look frantic, “Look, I’m sorry,” he moves to get up, “did you want to leave early? We don’t have to go today, we made our presence known enough,”

“No— it’s okay, I-I’m sorry,” you start, “You were just trying to help, right?”

He nods slowly, eyes reassuring you as much as they possibly can.

You sigh, untucking your legs and slipping out of the bed. “I’m gonna get ready,”

———

The two of you fall into this pattern throughout the day. Short responses, the nodding of the head. It’s as casual as casual gets.

And you feel okay with it.

You and your high school bully walking through a volleyball convention and chatting it up with other pretty famous men. Just where you imagined yourself being during high school.

It’s scary how easy it is to get through the day, it almost makes you forget what happened the day before. Luckily, Gora was nowhere to be seen. More like thankfully, though.

Before you know it, you find yourself alone with Atsumu at the bar.

“Are you ready for the playoffs?” he asks, playing with the rim of his cup.

“Mm,” you shrug, “I’m nervous but probably not as nervous as the rest of you,”

Atsumu nods, “Yeah, s’not the first rodeo for the majority of us, though,”

You laugh before noticing his face becoming more sad looking. You’re about to ask when he starts,

“So,” there’s a hesitant pause, “are you going to tell the coach what happened? Or- anyone?”

It takes you aback a bit, a lot, because not even you know. You remember vaguely what happened, but at the same time it feels like you can’t recall it precisely. Another thing is, who would believe you?

You’re almost nobody around here. He’s a D1 volleyball player with a career to live up to, while you’re just more or less a side character that isn’t relevant unless you were to google who the Jackal’s manager was. Which, maybe you wouldn’t even pop up still.

Not sure as to what to say, you give him a meek, “I don’t know,”

Atsumu nods at this, you can tell he wants to push, but instead he gives you a soft tap.

“Are you okay? Like genuinely,” he questions, “We don’t have to talk about it— but I’m here,”

It sucks because if it happened to you while you were alone, it’d be so much easier to cope with. But he was there too. He witnessed part of it, and even heard it from you firsthand in your drunken state.

But maybe you can take advantage of his kindness. Either way he already knows, holding back won’t change anything.

“Yeah, I’m whatever,” you mumble, “It’s partly my fault, I should’ve just listened to you,”

“It was not your fault. He’s just an asshole and if we happen to cross paths he’ll get what’s coming,” he’s angry as he says that.

You quickly shake your head, “Please don’t, that’s the last thing I need,”

Atsumu sighs before taking another sip from his cup, defeated. He takes in the forlorn look on your face, “Well then, do you want another round, or?”

You give it a quick thought before giving Atsumu a light smile, “Sure,”

———

It feels like it’s been a while since the last time you’ve been a “good drunk”. It seems like shit has always gone down every other time you’ve drank. But for once, the buzz is nice and light. It makes you smile uncontrollably as you make your way to the bed, face first into the comforter.

“Y/N, get your shoes off,” Atsumu calls from behind you, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it on the floor to set up his own little bed.

“Nooo,” you moan, flipping yourself over to stare at the ceiling.

Atsumu rolls his eyes before loosening the strap of your shoes so they easily roll off. “And your jacket, it’s hot,”

“Heelp,” you plead.

“Just do it,” he mutters, grabbing the spare blanket and adding it to his makeshift cushion on the ground.

You moan and groan, rolling around in bed to try and maneuver your jacket off. But to no avail. You feel sweaty until two big hands help work your arms out of the sleeves. His face is way closer than you remember, he was feet away from you but now you feel his breath waft down your chin.

Your mind is trying to tell you to go, to stop. Deep down you know you shouldn’t be doing what you feel your body is about to do. Your eyes meet with his, and everything feels like slow motion. Way too slow.

This is Atsumu Miya. Your head is pleading and begging with you. But you can’t help it. His eyes meet yours, then trickle down to your lips, then back up to you again.

Then his lips meet yours before you even know what’s going on. You’re not sure if you initiated or if he did. All you can tell is that the kiss is hot and warm. It’s not like him at all. It feels like kissing him makes you forget about all of the past.

Atsumu slides his hand to your waist, his thumb soothing the skin in the area. Your hand has a mind of its own as it reaches to the back of his head, grabbing a tuft of it and pulling him impossibly closer.

He uses the hand on your waist to guide himself to your heat. He’s hard.

“Atsumu-,” you start, breathing hard as you try to catch it.

“We don’t have to,” he cuts you off, eyes genuine as he looks into your own, “this is only if you want to,”

The scary part is that part of you wants to. You’ve already gone this far, and you can feel yourself heating with the want for relief.

All you’re able to muster is a nod to him to continue. And he does.

He guides his clothed length along the wetness of your panties, rubbing himself against it.

A noise nearly slips out of you as the friction rubs against your clit. Your hands grab harshly at him wherever they can, pulling him closer into another kiss. It’s messy and noises slip out of you into him.

All your senses are heightened, on end. Your mind is so befuddled you can’t produce any coherent thoughts, just him.

His pace against you quickens, and you squeal as you cum, soaking your panties and coating the outer layer of his slacks. Atsumu is shortly behind you, releasing all over himself.

“Fuck,” he groans, head limp in defeat.

Your climax causes you to sober up, your eyes fixated on the mess between your legs. You’re scared because you definitely shouldn’t have that.

It’s unprofessional and most importantly, it was with Atsumu.

You can feel the beat of your heart quicken with anxiety. He notices this, using a finger to lift your chin to meet his eyes.

“We can forget about this, alright?” he starts, “what happened in this room will stay here,”

All you manage is a nod.

“Let’s get cleaned up and sleep since we have to be up early. I’ll sleep on the floor again,” is what he leaves you with before lifting himself off you and heading to the bathroom.

As you lie there in the heat of your mistake, all you can think about is what you were going to do now.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu series #haikyuu atsumu series #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #raeworks #atsumu fanfic #tw dubcon

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cmdrfupa · 2 months ago

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Calm Chaos

Metalhead!Choso x Reader

a/n: Let the parasites win with this one. Metal head Cho is simply just another flavor I'm enjoying right now.

Wc: 3.8k

Pt. 2 here

cw: language, boorish man behavior, Reader is condescendingly called princess.

Calliope

The soft rustle of wind swept through the streets. It carried the scent of damp leaves and the sharp bite of late autumn air. The street trees outside the coffee shop were a mix of orange, red, and a few stubborn greens. They clung on before the chill of autumn claimed them all. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that promised rain but held off just long enough to make you keep glancing up.

Choso sat at his usual table. He wore an illegible name band shirt, dark, worn jeans, and old boots propped against the table leg. Tattoos crawled up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt and peeking out at his neck. Black headphones over his ears. If you were close enough, you'd hear the muted sounds of thrashing guitars. His notebook sat in front of him, half-filled with scrawled lyrics and music notes, though at the moment he wasn’t writing—he was people-watching.

The cozy shop was warm. It smelled of brewing coffee and baked goods. A low murmur of conversation added to the comfort. This was a stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside. It was late afternoon, another day passing. The café buzzed with students, writers, and anyone seeking a brief escape.

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he scanned the café's patrons. Most were lost in their phones or half-assed chats about weekend plans and autumn break. But his gaze lingered on the door as it opened, the bell jingling lightly.

The kind of person who looked like they had just stepped out of some book club. There you were wearing a dusty orange cardigan over a simple, neutral dress. It fluttered as you moved. Your well-worn boots surprised him as you ordered. You had a beloved book in one hand and a tote in the other.

He’d seen you here before. A regular, it seemed. Every time you came in, you ordered the same thing. It was some tea thing with seasonal syrup, probably pumpkin spice. It was whatever people like you drank. You always found a quiet, sunlit table by the window. There, you spent hours reading or writing in a neat journal. He confidently pegged you as an intellectual type, for sure. The type who had a color-coded planner. And, knew the word count of your favorite novels. He could practically hear the gears turning in your head.

Today, though, you seemed a little more frazzled than usual. The hefty book slipped from your grip as you tried to juggle your order, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled right into his table. Choso smirked as your drink wobbled out of your hand, knocking over his and just barely missing his notebook but dangerously close as it spread across the wooden table.

“Careful there,” he drawled, watching as you struggled to regain your balance. “Would’ve had hell to pay if you spilled that pumpkin spice creation all over me. Or worse—ruin my masterpiece.”

You glanced down, eyes wide in surprise, and saw the coffee dangerously close to his notebook. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” you sputtered, fumbling to pull the cup back up as he grabbed his notebook to avoid it being soaked. A barista brought a rag and Choso began to clean off the table.

He leaned back once he was done, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched you fluster. “Guess it’s my lucky day,” he continued, his voice dripping with teasing. “What are you planning to do about this mess you caused, princess?”

You blinked at him, clearly unsure how to take the comment. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you straightened up, trying to compose yourself. “I… can buy you a coffee,” you offered quickly, then added, “And I’m not a princess.”

Choso grinned, leaning forward just enough to make you a bit uncomfortable. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, nodding at your outfit, his tone playful. “Cardigan, pumpkin spice bullshit and all—definitely princess material.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly annoyed now, but there was something else in your expression too—a curiosity. “It was masala chai. And I’ll take that as a compliment,” you declared coolly, straightening your cardigan as if it were armor. “So, what’s your masterpiece, exactly?”

Choso tapped the edge of his notebook with a finger. "Lyrics," his voice dipping into a low, almost mocking tone, “could be a little too… heavy for you," eyes daring yours to engage further. “This isn’t that pop goes punk Fall Out Boy shit.”

To his surprise, you tilted your head and gave him a small, defiant smile. “I highly doubt it.”

_________

You ordered a masala chai for yourself and a cold brew for Choso. Then, you sat across from him.

“Drinks should be out soon.” You craned your neck in an attempt to look at his journal. “Sorry again.”

Choso looked out from under his brow line, tilting his head towards you. “Uh huh… what are you doing?”

“You told me I could look at your lyrics.”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

"Well, you challenged me. Saying they were too dark for me. Which is false."

A devilish grin grew, and he put his pen down. “Now why on earth would I let the pretty princess of apple-picking look at my lyrics?”

“Because I bought you a new coffee.”

“Yes. After spilling mine and almost ruining my shit. So what now?"

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But don't start getting sad when I don’t invite you over to sit with me at the best table.”

“The table that’s now occupied by the couple that's a tongue swipe away from fucking over there?” He pointed to the table near the large window you usually sat at. From just a glance around the cafe, tables were filled.

The barista brought your drinks, and you realized you were stuck if you wanted a table.

Like you were praying into the void, you closed your eyes before smiling. “Fine. But don’t talk to me. I want to finish the next 4 chapters in peace.”

Choso lets you get set up. Your book is open to page 257. A bookmark with Badtz-Maru, Pandaba, and Hana-Maru sits on a beach. You put your phone on the table to keep up with the time and sip your chai, beginning to read.

“I didn’t say you could sit with me,” Choso murmured, expressionless. “I want to be alone.”

“There is nowhere else, the fuck?”

“Tough shit, Princess.”

You scoffed, closing your book as you huffed, gathering your things. “So fucking rude.”

Choso laughed and stood up. He threw his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing his journal with one hand and his coffee with the other. "Relax, Princess Apple. I’m leaving."

You hadn’t noticed how broad he was until he was standing. The steel-toed boots he wore added maybe 3 inches to an already gargantuan man. "Oh…"

“And now you owe me again. Amazing how that works, Your Highness.”

He gave you a wink before walking out of the café. You watched as he walked across the street into the late autumn evening.

The next day, the weather had turned even colder, with a drizzle coating the streets. Inside the coffee shop, it was warm and bustling as usual. The steam from the hot coffee and the muggy day outside fogged the windows. The air was filled with the comforting scent of roasted beans and cinnamon.

Choso stood at the counter, leaning slightly as he waited for his order to be called. His dark hair was down, framing his face in long, loose waves. His patch-laden leather jacket hung open over a faded band tee. The tattoos on his neck and collarbone were barely visible under the worn material. He tapped his fingers on the counter. The metal rings on his fingers glinted in the dim light. He was in no rush but didn't plan to stay long either.

His mind was on the gig his band had lined up for the next night. It wasn't anything huge, just a venue they frequented. But the thought of the setlist, which they might use on tour, had been taking up space in his head all morning. As the barista handed him his coffee, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here two days in a row.”

He turned to find you again. A few feet away, there you stood bundled up in a soft, dark blue and purple checkered cardigan. It was over a simple shirt and slightly distressed jeans this time.

Choso’s smirk returned instantly, his eyes flicking over you for a moment. “I had a feeling the people's princess would be here again. Glad I was right.” He picked up his coffee, checking the name before taking a sip.

You gave him a small, knowing smile as you approached the counter to place your order. “Right, well, I’m starting to think you live here.”

Choso took a sip from his coffee, glancing at you over the rim of his cup. He felt hesitation bubbling up. It was odd for someone who never hesitated. ‘Just invite them. Don’t make it weird.’

“Actually…” he started, leaning a little on the counter next to you as you waited for your drink. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night. My band, that is.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. “A show?”

“Yeah. It’s at this venue called D’s Garage about 2 blocks from here. It’s nothing big,” he said casually like it wasn’t a big deal. He angled his body toward you; how he held your gaze just a little longer than usual suggested otherwise. “You should come. If you’re not too busy annoying anyone else.” His voice had a familiar teasing tone, light and playful. But a flicker of genuine interest lay beneath it.

You blinked, momentarily taken off guard by the invitation. “To a metal show?” You seemed dumbfounded by the mere thought.

Choso shrugged, his smirk widening. “Why not? You said you could handle heavy shit. Time to prove it.”

“Look. I’ve listened to metal before, so this isn’t some new thing for me.” You paused, pushing up your glasses as if weighing your options. “I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to headbang or anything.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, pleased with her response. “We’ll see. It might be hard to resist once I get on stage.”

Your drink arrived. He grabbed it and handed it to you. You glanced at him as you looked for a place to sit. “I’ll see you there then. Thank you.”

Before you could turn away, Choso added one last playful jab. “Don’t be late. I want the princess to have the perfect spot. And It might be too loud for someone like you to handle without a bit of warm-up.”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but fight the smile that tugged at your lips. “I think I can handle it.”

“Starts at 8, but we should be on around 10 or so. And I’m CK. But call me Choso.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, CK.”

Choso watched as you went to the small table near the window, sipping his coffee with a satisfied smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited you—maybe it was because you seemed like such an outsider in his world, and something about that intrigued him. Or maybe it was just fun to see how flustered you got when he pushed your buttons.

Either way, he was looking forward to seeing your face again.

________

“Why did I say yes?” The usual conversation that should’ve been inside your head was now being held out loud. Sipping your chai, you let the warmth calm your nerves. You weren’t sure if it was the challenge in his voice or the way his smirk lingered in the air like a dare. Part of you wanted to prove him wrong—that you weren’t just some princess with a book who couldn’t handle a little chaos. But there was something more. Something about him that intrigued you, that made you want to see what he was like in his world.

He was a mystery—tattoos, in a band, a metal band no less. His playful banter and lightheartedness sharply contrasted with your life. Always logical, grounded, and comfortable in the routines and pursuits that would stimulate you. Choso, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of person who thrived on unpredictability. It was a tension that made you both nervous and curious at the same time.

“Is he even going to see me? What if I get punched in the face?” You continued walking as your imagination ran wild with what the show might be like. Would he be completely different? Less picking and being in the zone focused on playing and the crowd. “Should I stand in the back? Eh. But if I stand too close I might look like a dumbass. It would be more fun, though. Hm.”

You shook your head as your apartment building came into view. You stood on the sidewalk. Your recent journal entries were happening. You had wanted to step out of your comfort zone. This was the turning point you needed to shake things up.

D’s was exactly as you pictured. Tucked away in a brick building that would otherwise be ignored during the day but hard to miss by its flickering blood-red signage that cast a jagged light on the damp sidewalk.

The inside was dimly lit. A faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with some floral cleaner.

“Ah. Smells like home.” Shoko smiled as she stepped in behind you. A band was already playing. They yelled about cranial discharge leaking to the floor. You turned to face your smiling friend. “This should be fun.”

Flyers and posters of past and future shows littered the walls as you walked deeper into the building. The air was thick. You saw a group, swinging their arms and stomping hard. They were pushing other showgoers around. “The hell are they doing?”

Shoko smiled as she ushered you both towards the bar. “Your first-class ticket for when I'm doing rounds at the ER. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

You sat on one of the bar stools while Shoko ordered you both a beer. You wouldn’t call it nervous. But it was not relaxed. The band finished their set and the group of fist-throwing crowd members settled down, dispersing until the next band got on stage.

"So, this Choso guy. Did he tell you his band name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Shoko raised her brow. “Did you ask what he played?”

“Uh. No? That probably would have been smart.”

You laughed as Shoko shook her head, passing you your beer. “The person who has to pay attention to detail for work couldn’t even get the details on a guy she’s coming to watch perform.”

“I’m not just here for him! I’m here for the experience. Something new!”

“Yeah yeah. Well, when I invited you out to a punk show, you declined, so I’m not trying to hear about this new experience nonsense.” You kept laughing as Shoko playfully nudged you.

She chose to wear a band T-shirt, dark pants, and her low-profile skate shoes. With her hair pulled back, only letting her side-swept bangs frame her face, Shoko was blending in effortlessly.

And you look like you stepped out of a cardigan's quarterly shopping magazine.

Lost in conversation, you hadn’t realized the next band had set up until you heard a voice over the mic. Introducing a band called “Blood on Your Hands” before he hopped off the stage.

The harsh sound of a screech sent the crowd into a frenzy. Heavy, almost a good itch to the brain.

Rapid, aggressive riffs ripped through the sound system. The machine-gun drumming caught your ear. Your eyes went to the back of the stage.

Choso.

This wasn’t late afternoon cold brew Choso. This was a foaming-at-the-mouth, zoned-out machine. His large arms moved erratically as he played with full energy.

“It’s him!” You jumped up, pulling Shoko with you. You walked around the barrier of the crowd against the wall to get a better look.

His heavy foot hit the double drum pedals so fast, you couldn't keep up. But you knew he was playing with no restraint. And damn, did he look good doing it.

The veins in his arms bulged with each meeting between the drumstick and the cymbal stack. Thankful, he chose a shirt with cut-out sleeves and sides. It showed his pierced nipple and fully tattooed sides. You gawked at the way the shirt stuck to his abdomen.

Some of his hair stuck to his forehead as bulging biceps glistened with sweat. He noticed you during the second song but knew if he kept looking, he’d surely fuck up.

In the final song, he sang harsh, growling, obscene backing vocals. The audience chanted back.

“DESTRUCTION BEFORE DEATH! MAKE THEM BLEED."

You laughed at the crazed look in his eye until he stood up. The crowd cheered and yelled as they wrapped up their set and his eyes landed on you. Choso gave that mischievous smile before winking at you. He pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and you could’ve sworn you heard the heavenly trumpets. A fucking six-pack? With a hard gulp, your eyes traveled up until you saw his pecs then his face where he caught you red-handed. He pointed towards the exit and flashed 10 up. You nodded in agreement. “Let's go outside. He said wait for him.”

____

Ten minutes turned to twenty, then twenty to thirty. The temperature dropped by at least 8 noticeable degrees, and you’d waited long enough. “Let’s just go. It’s getting chilly, and it’s been half an hour.”

You walked towards Shoko as she put out her cigarette. She was bummed for you that he forgot you were waiting outside. “Sorry babe. Probably got wrapped up in talking or breaking down the stage. It happens.”

“I guess. But I can at least say I came to the show. That’s good enough.” Arm in arm, you began your walk back to your place.

"Hey, Princess Peach.” A familiar voice called out to you. “You leaving me already?”

“Thirty minutes? You said ten.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he walked over. “Yeah, well... bass amps don’t load themselves, you know?” He stopped in front of you. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wait an hour.”

“Lucky, am I?” you shot back, but there was no edge to your voice. If anything, it was half amused, half exasperated, and Choso could sense it.

“Definitely,” he said, the playful tone back in his voice. “Most people don’t get an encore performance of my charm.”

He walked over, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just made you wait longer than promised. “But really, I'm sorry about the wait. Band life,” he said, his voice casual but just a little strained. “I thought I told the guys to handle the loading, but, you know, can’t trust them with anything.”

He was kicking himself for taking so long, but part of him was glad to see you still waiting. Your amused smile loosened the knot in his chest just a little.

Choso looked over at Shoko and nodded, “Is this the princess's escort for the night?

“Ieiri, the princess's lady-in-waiting.” She teased and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m gonna step over there and smoke. Let me know when you’re ready.” She smiled and took a few paces to give you some privacy.

“So did you have fun? Or did we scare you off?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to keep the conversation light while his heart raced a little faster than he liked to admit.

“I had fun.” You responded, surprising him with how easily your words came. "A bit intense, but... but I can see why you like it.”

Choso blinked. He wasn’t used to people from outside his world understanding why he was so into it. Most people assumed metal was just noise or something to be tolerated. But the way you said it—like you got it—threw him off balance. “Yeah? Didn’t think it would be your scene.”

You tilted your head slightly, a challenge in your eyes. “You shouldn’t be surprised. Every princess has to be well-rounded, Choso.”

Choso chuckled. His usual confidence returned. But, a twist in his stomach reminded him why he was here. He had to ask you—before he lost his nerve.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice lowered as he smiled. “Actually, since you don’t think I’m too awful entertainment-wise, we could hang out again sometime.”

Your expression was curious but calm. "Hang out?"

Pushing through the wall of nerves in his chest, he swallowed. “Yeah. Like grab dinner or something. Just the two of us. No amps, no bright lights, no mosh pit.” His eyes flickered to yours. “A proper date.”

For a moment, you just stood watching him with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. Choso tried to keep his cool, but internally, he was bracing for whatever answer you gave. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsure. Normally, he didn’t care either way—if someone said yes, cool. If not, whatever. But with you... a yes would probably have him on the moon until he saw you again; he cared. A lot more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

“Hmm,” you said, drawing out the silence just long enough to make him sweat a little. You tilted your head, letting him wonder for a beat before a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “A proper date, huh?”

“Yeah,” Choso said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite mask the underlying hope in his voice. “I promise I won’t make you sit through another metal show... unless you’re into that sort of thing now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think one show is enough for now.”

Choso grinned, feeling the tight knot in his chest start to loosen again. “So... that’s a yes?”

Nodding, your smile widened, “That’s a yes.”

He couldn’t help the little rush of relief and excitement that coursed through him. His smirk grew, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a warmth that was rare for him. “Alright. I’ll pick a good spot. Somewhere quieter. For your sake.”

“I appreciate that,” you muttered, still smiling as you looked at him. “But no more thirty-minute waits.”

Choso chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his playful edge back in full force. “No promises, princess."

props to @/saradika- graphics for dividers!

#jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #kamo x reader #jjk au #choso kamo au #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #lu.logs

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beardedjoel · 1 year ago

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pretty little wife | meet cute, part 2

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 9.5k words; joel takes you on your first date, and it doesn't end up like he'd planned. not that either of you seem to mind, of course. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, relationship/dynamic not established yet like the other chapters, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), reader is a little bratty in this chapter, talks of brat punishment, sub/dom relationship, dirty talk, pet names for reader, joel is so fucking handsy here i am Feral, minor bits of angst (reader backstory stuff) a/n: welp apparently i am incapable of writing a short chapter for these two right now >< i'm really loving the way that pretty wife started out a bit bratty and has this pipeline to being joel's good little wife it's kinda doing something for me

You don’t know if your heartbeat could get any louder, nearly drowning out the trill of the line ringing in your ear. You’re moments away from speaking to your mystery man from the bar again, to Joel, who’d seemed intent on changing the entirety of your life with one single fuck in a bar bathroom.

“Hello, Miller Contracting,” a deep voice lumbers out on the other end, sounding nearly clinical with the greeting. You have no doubt it's Joel - his voice feels too recognizable, the deep richness of it combined with his Texas twang that had you absolutely swooning last night. You will your lips to part, for words to rush out, but you pause, trying to get the lump out of your throat.

“Uh - Joel?” you croak out.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly. You picture him at a desk somewhere, sorting through papers, or working on a construction site, his muscles bulging out his shirt and you’re temporarily lost to the fantasy. “What can I do for you?”

“I-it’s me -” you say, repeating your name to him. “From last night…” you add on.

He laughs, a deep rumble in the phone, and your heart lifts what feels like miles within your chest. “Yeah, from last night, didn’t need to clarify, sweetheart.”

“S-sorry. I’m Nervous,” you say simply, wringing your hands together on your lap.

“Now hang on a second, how’d you get this number? Don’t recall givin’ it out,” Joel says, a hint of playfulness in his voice. The fact that he seems eager to talk to you, tease you, immediately dissipates the nervousness you’d had about calling him.

“Er, I’m persistent, that’s all I’ll say,” you tell him with a flush of your cheeks.

“Well, if I’m honest, I’m happy as hell to hear from ya,” Joel says. You feel your eyebrows twitch and mouth part in surprise.

“You are?” You wish you didn’t sound so desperately surprised by the fact, but the words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Felt like a damn idiot, forgettin’ to get your number last night. Not how a gentleman should act.” You can practically visualize Joel shaking his head at himself and running a hand through his hair on the other end.

“And you think you acted like a gentleman otherwise?” You smirk and bite your lip, already feeling a tingling in your limbs, a slow, swirling pool of arousal sinking deep into your gut.

Joel chuckles and makes a small humming sound. “Maybe not, but it got you callin’ me, didn’t it?”

You laugh heartily and agree with a sultry “mm-hmm.”

“So listen, I knew if I ever got to speak to you again, I wanted to… uh-” Joel clears his throat, and you can hear a slight wobbling, like he’s nervous. “See if I could take you on a proper date.”

“Oh really, a date? Not just a bar bathroom this time?” you ask, trying to quell a little bit of your excitement, play it cool around him. You’re having a hard time believing that he’d want to take you out, for some reason. This past year or so has been a slew of failed dates, refusals to call back, men telling you one reason or another you no longer interested them. This tended to happen after they’d already gotten something from you, which had only served to make you feel worse about the entire thing. You tried not to let it get to you, but really, you were craving to be loved, to be seen for who you were and loved for it. That was something you hadn’t gotten enough of in your life.

“Now listen, if you’re gonna be like that, maybe I don’t need t’take you out, do I?” Joel teases, and the tingling in your core intensifies, your legs rubbing together just at the low drawl of his voice prodding at you.

“I’d love to, Mr. Miller,” you say coyly, and you hear a sharp hiss of breath from Joel’s end.

“Little shit,” he mumbles.

“What’s that?” you lick your lips and fight the urge to twirl your hair, the feeling of getting him so riled up just over the phone giving you a perverse little twinge of satisfaction.

“Fuck, I need to see you again,” he nearly groans, and you’re unsure if he’d even meant the words for you to hear, so low and quiet. ”Dinner this Friday, then?” Joel asks you, and you bite your lip and scrunch your face up in excitement, knowing he can’t see you.

“It’s a date.”

Joel picks you up that Friday at 6:30, a bit of a sweating, anxious mess after fussing over your makeup and outfit for the last two hours. You end up landing on a white, frilly mini dress with a corset top, knowing your tits are on perfect display for him. A devious huff of laughter leaves you when you reach into your underwear drawer and dig out your sheer white over the knee stockings with a lace trim at the top and slide them up your legs. Maybe you are in the mood to be a bit of menace for him tonight, you think to yourself. The thought of Joel’s eyes practically falling out of his head when he sees you in this makes you smile and nearly squeal with delight as you put your finishing touches to your outfit with accessories and a touch up of your shimmery lip gloss.

When you bound outside of your apartment building, you can see a nearly pained expression on Joel’s face through the windows of his blue truck, pulled up right in front of your building. You hear the clicking of your little heels on the pavement, giving you a boost of confidence as you stride towards him, feeling your hair bouncing behind you.

You feel… fucking hot. And you know it’s partly because of who you know is going to be looking at you all night. Joel takes too long to stare and enjoy the view of you walking over before he’s scurrying out of his truck to reach you and grab the car door.

“Evenin’,” he says, clearing his throat and you notice he seems a bit more quiet and shy in the light of day. He seems almost dazed, trying to take in as much of you as he can in just a few seconds, blinking as he processes just how tiny everything you’re wearing is.

“Got you these,” he says, holding out a small bouquet of flowers full of different pastel flowers and greenery. You can tell he put some thought into it, that he didn’t just pick a random bouquet and roll with it, and it makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you say, studying the flowers for an extra beat. “Such a gentleman,” you coo as you step past him and start to climb into the seat. He huffs a little as you pass and shoots his hand out to grab your wrist, a tight hold as he yanks you back towards him. He doesn’t waste a second before pulling you flush with him, pressing the tops of your tits further out of your dress and onto his chest, covered in a button up shirt. His hand splays along the small of your back, rough and warm, seeping through the fabric of your dress. He leans down, capturing your lips with his.

“Not gonna give me a proper hello, were you?” he rasps once he pulls away. “Thought you were a polite girl.”

Your lips part and spread into a little smile as you lick your lips. “Sorry,” you say, putting your eyes down to the pavement for a moment before lifting them back up to his and cupping his face, raking your fingers through his beard and leaning back in for a soft, chaste kiss. “There’s your hello.”

“Mhm” Joel mumbles before he takes your hand in his, guiding you into his truck where you settle in, wrapping the seatbelt around yourself and watching him walk back around the front of the truck to the drivers side, admiring the way his button up hugs his broad form.

When he sits down, instead of starting the truck he just looks over at you, drinking in your show of skin, hungry glances all over your body until his gaze lands on your tits, the swells of your breasts heaving slightly as you breathe nervously now that you’re alone with him.

“You look like a goddamn angel, or somethin’,” he finally says, flicking his eyes to the tops of your stockings, and you notice his jaw set tightly while his hands clench in his lap. He softens a little once he looks at your face, amused eyes looking back into his. “Beautiful,” he adds, and you beam at him, twirling a bit of your hair around one of your fingers.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, leaning a little closer to him, knowing your cleavage is only being pushed together that much more at this angle in your seat. “You want me to be your little angel, Joel?”

“Christ…” he says under his breath, reaching his hands up to grip the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strain of it. “Think you already seem to know the answer.”

“Well, I’ll take it you like my outfit, then. I picked it out special for you,” you tell him cheerfully, flouncing the skirt of your dress in your lap a bit.

“Sure do,” he says quickly, starting the car, seeming to need to high tail it out of here before he completely ditches the dinner reservation to have his way with you. You opt to just watch Joel drive, observing his profile with a small, thoughtful smile. You see his brows twitch as he feels your stare on him, and he turns to the side while he’s stopped at a red light, giving you a closed lip smile.

“Did you just ask me on a date because you felt bad?” you ask suddenly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Felt bad?” Joel asks, turning his eyes back to the road.

“For what happened the other night.”

Joel huffs in the seat next to you, his head shaking the smallest bit. “You think I felt bad about any of that? What gave you that idea, now?”

“I… I don’t know. I was just surprised you still wanted to take me out after…” you trail off, glancing out the window to try and avoid your own spiraling thoughts.

“C’mon, doll, need to give me more than that. If you don’t wanna be here you gotta say.”

“No!” you cry out a little too loudly.

“If you just need to hear me say that I liked fuckin’ your tight little pussy or whatever gets you off, just say it, yeah? Don’t need these roundabout questions like a little brat,” Joel snips, and you swallow hard, realizing he’s gotten the complete wrong idea.

“N-no, nothing like that, Joel, I… I really want to be here, I really do. I guess I was worried,” you suck in a breath. “That you’d just be done with me after you got what you wanted. That’s what other guys have done. Older guys.” You can feel your voice getting mousier, quieting with your confession, afraid that the answer will be exactly what you’re afraid of. Joel’s expression softens, the lines between his brows letting up as his eyes lighten a bit.

“First off, I ain’t other guys, and I want you gettin’ that in your head right now, okay?” Joel says, glancing over to see you nodding small little bounces of your head, eyes wide. “Okay?” he asks again, a little more stern this time, reaching a hand over to grip your thigh.

“Okay.”

“Good. An’ I ain’t even close to getting everything I want from you, probably never could be, so don’t wanna hear you say anythin’ like that again, got it?” His grip squeezes on your thigh, and you place your hand over it, covering his hand with your own.

Your mind spins, reeling with such a strong confession from him. You don’t know how it’s possible that after one night together, the both of you have something damn near unexplainable, something that’s been nestling itself deep into you since then. You tilt your head a little, giving him a soft smile, feeling all the worries you’d had this entire week start to melt away.

“Got it,” you tell him with a stern nod, your hair falling over your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh a few times. They twitch and clamp together a bit with his praise, the familiar rush of arousal from the other night coming back to you when he used those same words. You catch Joel smirking out of the corner of your eye, the effect he had with those two simple words not lost on him.

You can see his face steel, his jaw setting tighter as his fingers move up your thigh, unsticking from the bare flesh he’d been touching and climbing upwards.

“You dress like this a lot? Or just wanted to get a rise out of an old man, hm?” he asks, fingers digging into your plush skin a little harder.

You twist your lips into a thoughtful pout, knowing it shows off the shiny pink of your lip gloss a little better, and Joel’s eyes drift there for a brief moment when he glances at you.

“Sometimes.” You give him an indifferent shrug. “Mostly wanted to see how you liked it.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Joel replies plainly, nearly sounding irritated, but you somehow know that he’s more angry with himself right now, barely able to keep his trembling hand from moving further up your thigh.

“I mean, I thought the stockings might be too much, but don’t you think they go just perfect with this dress?” You trill in an innocent tone to him, moving his hand to play with the lace edges at the top.

“Mmm,” Joel replies, lips pressed tightly together. His fingers bury themselves under the band of the stockings, pads of his calloused hands grazing the skin underneath. You try to hold back a shudder but it’s no use, Joel’s touch is fully electric, sending a zip of pleasure up your spine.

Your legs spread open wider in the seat, inviting him to move higher and you let out a quieter moan and slide the hem of your dress up a bit higher. You’re warm all over, skin flushing as his hand creeps up towards the apex of your thighs. You admit you’re having even more fun than you thought teasing him. He’d done this same thing to you at the bar, sloppily kissing along your neck until you’d felt nearly insane with need for him, and it gives you a little pump of satisfaction to see him falling apart so quickly.

“Even got…” you breathe out, “The matching panties on.” Another tiny little mewl slips out when Joel’s fingertips slide along your inner thigh, ever closer to where you know you’re already wet for him. He peers over to see your chest heaving a bit, curves looking so inviting - all it would take was one little tug and your tits would be spilling out, just as they had the other night, so pretty and just for him.

“Fuck it,” Joel grunts out, tearing his hand away from you and pulling off to the side of the road, turning into a passing neighborhood and swinging the car into the closest driveway to turn around. “I live close by, we’re goin’ to my place right now,” he says. “Fuckin’ wearin’ this little shit to get me all worked up…” His voice is mumbling now, seemingly to angrily talk to himself as he keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at you.

His face is going pink with the effort of holding back from you, grunting while he maneuvers the car and speeds off, booking it towards his house. Your mouth forms perfect O before it splits into a grin, knowing you got exactly what you wanted from him. Something about driving a man like Joel crazy - someone who seems reserved, in control of these kinds of situations, makes you feel a little spark of pride mixed with your dousing of arousal.

“Teach you some damn manners, that’s what I’m gonna do,” Joel mumbles quietly, letting out little sighs of irritation.

“J-joel…?” you ask carefully.

“Mm-mm, not a word right now. You’ve said enough.”

You clamp your lips together, knowing you maybe shouldn’t be as thrilled as you are right now, feeling like sparks are dancing across your skin, magnifying right where Joel holds you, squeezing to where it might leave a bruise tomorrow, as if to hold you down, keep you in this car with him.

“Please…” you whimper, unsure what you’re asking for, just knowing you’re growing more desperate to feel him on you, inside of you.

“Please nothin’. You’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna react accordingly, you got that?” Joel snips, veins on his forehead protruding as he drives along, unable to even look in your direction. You stay silent while he whips through a suburban neighborhood, finally pulling into his driveway.

“Stay,” he spits out before exiting the car, coming over to your side and opening the door.

“Thank you,” you coo sweetly, which gets a devious smirk from Joel.

“You’re tryin’ to be good now, are you?” he scoffs, wrapping his hand around your upper arm.

“Thought you liked fucking good girls,” you say with a sly smile, repeating his own words back to him. He chuckles low and deep in his chest before tugging you out of the car, keeping one hand on your arm and the other pressed on your lower back, guiding you to the front door. Instead of letting you step out of the way, he presses himself so that you’re between his body and the door as he reaches around to unlock it, keys clanking in his awkward position.

You can feel him, hard and long, cock painfully erect and pressing against your ass. You fight the urge to grind into him, thinking that maybe he may not see that as something a good girl would do. Instead, you let a little whimper slip out when he digs into you deeper as he turns the nob and pushes the door in.

“Gonna be makin’ a lot more of those pretty little noises soon, honey,” he says low, near your ear as he nudges you inside. It’s dark, only bits of the setting sun coming through the windows, and you fumble past the doorway, the only anchor you have is Joel’s hand on your back.

He flicks a switch, illuminating the room with a dim floor lamp, and you can see that you’ve stepped into his living room. It’s modest but cozy, and definitely seems to ooze his busy, bachelor lifestyle with plain, somewhat mismatched furniture. You had to hand it to him, though, just upon first glance he seemed relatively clean, unlike some men’s places you’d visited.

“This is a nice pl-“ you start, cut off by one of Joel’s arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you into him with a thud. Your back is tight against his chest now, his head burying near the crook of your neck. He’s kissing you urgently - every spot he can find, biting and sucking and flicking his tongue, all gentle but firm, full of an unrelenting passion and frustration.

He groans loudly, hand tracing up your chest to grasp at one of your tits, squeezing it firmly and running his finger over your nipple. Both are hard and aching for him, poking through the fabric of your dress with no bra holding them back. He sucks so hard on a spot on the side of your neck that you gasp and twitch in his hold. He chuckles, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue and lips.

“Couldn’t wait for me to get my hands on you, is that it? Why you dressed like that, hopin’ I’d bring you back here? Say fuck the nice dinner reservation I made us?” he finally speaks, nearly growling in your ear.

“I just - I-“ you stutter, mind reeling from his warmth blazing into your skin now, his voice rumbling close to your ear, low and gritty and sounding… almost angry with you. You feel a tightening in your core, pooling between your legs and you already start to ache for him, turned on by the way he’s chastising you and covering you with marks.

“You were such a good girl the other night for me, can you do that again? Or you want to keep bein’ a brat?”

“N-no I liked being good for you, remember?” you blurt out, chest heaving and body fighting the urge to squirm out of his arms and show him, get on your knees and finally get him in your mouth.

“Didn’t seem to think so in the car… if I didn’t know any better you wanted me to punish you, fuck you fuckin’ dumb ‘til you submit to me. And the thing is, honey, I like my girls to be good f’me. Don’t wanna have to work for it unless I want to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just wanted to play around, make you a little crazy for me,” you say with a whine, your bottom lip starting to quiver.

“C’mere, lemme see you,” Joel says, a quick grunt as he spins you around, catching you along your back with one hand, tilting your head up by the chin with the other. He takes in your wide, pleading eyes, plump lips turned into a frightened frown, and sighs.

“S’okay, doll,” he says much softer, thumbing your chin and then stroking his fingers up your cheek. “Lucky for you I was in the mood to work for it a bit tonight, and you know why that is?”

You shake your head mutely, absolutely dumbstruck by his dark eyes narrowed and looking straight into yours. He’s so beautiful, so much more than you even remembered from the other night. It nearly sends an ache into your chest, just how perfect he is.

“‘Cause you’re worth it, pretty girl. What kinda man would I be if I didn’t have to work for it a bit, hm?” His voice is changed, a bit more flexible, his tone coming off kinder now. You feel a surprised smile tugging at your mouth and you let it spread a bit, showing Joel that you’re pleased with what he said.

“Show you how pretty you are…” he trails off, his eyes drifting down to your chest, where he’s watching your curves spilling out the top, your dress pulled down from the way he’d been touching you there. He tugs slowly on the fabric, pulling it so your tits are both spilling out, letting the neckline tuck underneath and press them upwards.

He leans down to capture your lips in a softer kiss, letting your lips and tongues begin a gentle dance with each other. Joel’s fingers make their way under your dress, sliding the hem up to reach your ass, large palms splaying across both globes. He pulls you even closer, grinding you against his arousal and you groan, absolutely soaking for him, needing for him to touch you where you want him most.

“Got your ass and tits out like a little whore for me now, don’t you? Like being my little whore?” he grits out, and you nod with a quiet mhm, lolling your head back as he places a few little bites on your neck.

“Let me fuck you in that bathroom and comin’ home with me the first date ‘fore I can even buy you dinner,” Joel tuts, continuing to knead the plush flesh on your ass, stepping forward so that you have no choice but to walk backwards and further into the living room. He smacks your ass hard before rubbing the spot with a soothing touch.

“Now get inside and take what you’ve been askin’ for, honey,” he says, stroking the side of your face gently.

“W-where do you want me?” you ask timidly, looking into his chest before trying to meet his eyeline. He’s so intimidatingly in charge right now you can hardly meet his gaze, dark brown, nearly black in the dimness of the house.

Joel seems to like your question, smirking and stroking your cheek again, calloused fingers sending a jolt of electricity that travels down your spine. “Good girl for askin’,” he coos, a flash of excitement in his eyes at your docility for him. He takes his hands to your shoulders, gently guiding you to stand in front of the couch. He turns and sinks back into the cushions, watching you stand in front of him, anxious with anticipation.

“You gonna dress like a slutty little doll, I’m gonna treat ya like one and play with you as long as I want, yeah?” A quick, stunned nod from you before he continues. “Now take off that pretty dress,” he says, his tone deepening with the command. His eyes are glued to your chest where your tits are still popping out of the top, practically burning a hole in you with the intensity, heat creeping over your skin. You lift from the bottom, pulling it over your head in one slow movement, standing before Joel in only the skimpy lacy thong you’d chosen for tonight - white to match your dress and stockings. You reach to pull the stockings down and Joel shakes his head, eyes snapping to where your hands are.

“Mm-mm, didn’t tell you to do that now, did I? Leave those on, doll. Panties next,” he drawls, and you follow his command, stepping out of your thong and leaving it on the floor beneath your feet. You take a nervous gulp, waiting for his next words, feeling right between your legs slickening even more as his eyes hungrily take you in.

“C'mon over and sit right here,” Joel says, patting his lap. His words have an immediate effect, just like when he’d asked you to get on your knees at the bar, your body moving for him of its own accord. You pad over the few steps to him and settle yourself onto his lap so that you’re facing him, thighs on either side of his. Joel’s hands find your hips, holding you and stroking his thumbs along your bare skin there. There’s such a stark difference between the two of you right now - Joel, fully clothed, not even a button undone yet on his shirt, and you with the entirety of your body naked and exposed save for your stockings, sitting on top of him because he’d asked for it. All the fabric on your bare skin feels odd in the best way, like you’re doing something so wrong yet so right at the same time, like you’re Joel’s dirty little secret somehow with the way he has you in the palm of his hand right now.

He cocks his head a little, looking at you more seriously now. “Now listen, should’ve said this the other night, but you saw how I like to be in charge of things, right?” he says.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out, just barely. You’re distracted by the feel of his broad, muscled body beneath you, his hard length pressing into you through his jeans. You feel your head swimming but you try to focus on his words.

“So tonight if it gets to be too much, if somethin’ is wrong, you gotta call out ‘red’ for me, mkay?”

You nod again.

“Gonna need you to use your words, honey.”

“Yes, I got it. Red,” you repeat back to him, and the ghost of a smile comes to his lips.

“Good girl,” Joel says, tucking your hair behind your ears and smoothing it. “Now…” he trails off, his grip tightening on you in an instant to flip you off of him and next to him on the couch cushions, his body following closely behind so that he’s on top of you. His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and tongue and teeth clashing and you moan into it with surprise, still trying to get your bearings from all the sudden movement.

He slips down your body, his lips trailing a hot, wet mess along the way as he sucks your neck, your tits, briefly swirling a tease of his tongue over one of your nipples before he finds his way between your legs. They fall open for him in your dizzied state and he takes no pause before burying his head there, licking fat stripe up your slit, groaning loudly at the taste of you. He licks the same pattern several times, relishing in all the slick arousal that was just for him, he thinks greedily.

When Joel starts to lap at your cunt in earnest, his tongue poking your entrance before flicking at your clit, repeating the motions over and over, you throw your head back, whining loudly and writhing down into his face and chasing your pleasure.

“F-fuck, I’m -” you whimper. “Joel I’m already gonna -” Your legs shake and he seizes one of your thighs into his palms before the other hand slips between your legs and swiftly buries two fingers inside of you, going deep to press against your g-spot. You’d thought endlessly about that feeling since the night with him in the bar, the way he’d been the first person to show you what you’d been missing, to bring you world ending pleasure when he split you open. You’re desperate for it again, knowing his fingers are enough, but you can’t help but picture the way his girth had stretched you, pressed into you so deeply that you already felt addicted to it.

When he pulls your clit into his mouth, pressing on the spongy part inside of you at the same time, you cry out, feeling your hips bucking into him, body taut and shaking as he pulls your orgasm out of you. His name spills from your lips as easily as anything you’ve ever said in your life, like you’ve been saying it for years and no other man has existed for you, could exist for you.

You slump back, breathless and wanting, a sheen of sweat coating your body from the intensity with which he’d rocked your reality, and you quickly realize he’s likely far from done with you tonight. It makes your stomach churn with anticipation, and you bring yourself back, focusing on the gentle touch of his lips on your sensitive nerves, peppering your pussy with little kisses, leading out to your thighs.

“Good fucking girl f’me, didn’t take long at all, did it?” he says wryly.

“M-more…” you mumble, blinking your eyes to clear some of the post-climax fog you’re feeling, but it’s no use - Joel can see already how fucked out you are, barely even five minutes in. His heart swells with pride, excitement, the sick satisfaction of having you under his thumb, his to devour completely, body and soul.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, finally meeting your desperate, soft lips with his. He’s on top of you, his body slithering over yours again, pressing against you. Your hands reach up and start to unbutton his shirt, hesitantly at first, but a small noise of approval from him urges you on, indicating that he’s okay with you making that decision. When he finally shrugs it off, you take a moment to pull yourself back from his kisses to gaze down at him, his bare chest revealed to you for the first time. You feel your sex ache as fresh arousal starts to drip out of you seeing the salt and pepper of the curls on his chest, his defined but still soft abdomen, so inviting and sexy. You start to feel nearly feral, your gut coiling tight with the need for him to fuck you again, to watch his perfect body relentlessly use you for his own pleasure.

“S-shit…” you manage to gasp out when you gingerly run a hand down his chest, letting your nails scratch through his hair, and Joel hums against you as his lips find your shoulder. You rake your fingers downwards, leading all the way to his happy trail where you leave your fingers to rest on his belt. He looks delighted at your visceral reaction to his body, never thinking much of it himself, the way it had gotten slightly doughy with age and his hair had already started graying. But seeing you see so much in it that he can feel your legs tighten underneath him, pussy likely fluttering just at the sight, makes his core twist in pleasure and his cock twitch.

He caresses your face gently, his touch soft despite the mischief growing in his eyes. “Don’t think you learned your lesson yet, bein’ such a brat in the car,” he says, letting you start to undo his belt. When his cock springs out, you nearly start again at how length and thick it is, nearly having forgotten just how stunning it was outside the confines of your memory.

Joel notices your fresh reaction to his cock, the length of him twitching in anticipation to fuck you to pieces, to fuck you into being a good girl again. He can’t help but remember just how much it had shut you up to take his cock just a few nights ago, and he nearly whimpers at the memory alone.

“N-no? Don’t think so?” you tease back, grinding yourself against his bare and freed cock and Joel responds first with a surly little growl, two of his fingers possessively gripping your chin. His eyes flash in a way that you think should scare you, but you can’t help but feel comforted by Joel’s presence nonetheless.

“Exactly what I’m talkin’ about, bratty little ass, y’are. And let me fill you in on somethin’ for your own good,” he drawls, running his thumb along your lower lip. Your breath is baited as your lips part in invitation to him and he doesn’t slip it inside, not yet, at least. He hikes your hip up with his other hand, angling you towards his body as he steps closer between your legs. “I don’t like brats, I want my girl to be nice ‘n good to me. Are you gonna be nice ‘n good to me, doll?” he says, finishing the thought.

You swallow hard. You don’t know how serious he is, if this is part of some bigger game of his, this dominance he likes to have. You feel a pull in your heart, like you find yourself agreeing with him, that the look he’d given you when he called you good girl and obedient the other night were exactly what you’d been seeking your entire life. There was something there, something to take pride in, that he thought you were doing good enough for him. You’d wanted to tease him tonight, sure, make sure he still thought you were beautiful and sexy, afraid you’d get left behind so quickly in the more than likely slew of women he could have interested in him. Joel’s version of sexy just happened to be someone submissive for him, and the way you’d felt being that for him the other night, so far tonight, it was exhilarating, like a part of you that you’d had no idea existed until now, until him.

“I don’t want to be a brat,” you say quietly, gazing up at him with delicate eyes now, having your decision made. You reach a hand down to his cock, practically pulsating with need for you, sitting so close to your warm heat as he hovers above you. You gently palm it, wrapping your hand around the shaft, admiring the fact that your fingers can’t even fit around the expansive girth of it.

“I want to be your good girl,” you breathe, and Joel’s eyebrow cocks before his thumb settles into your mouth as he groans a little. You sit still, the saltiness of his skin so inviting but you don’t dare move, feeling that it's some kind of test, one you intend on passing.

Joel knows that you’ve figured it out. He strokes the side of your hair lovingly with his free hand and chuckles deep and low, the sound reverberating in the quiet room.

“Suck,” he finally commands, and immediately you suckle on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around it. Joel’s eyes flutter a bit and he groans between the feel of your hand on his cock and warm tongue wrapping around his thumb. He pushes it deeper and deeper, another one of his fingers entering your mouth, met with the same enthusiasm by your tongue. He gives a final push of his fingers, gagging you, and your hand falls off his cock, having you distracted enough that you barely notice he’s notched himself at your entrance. When he splits you open with his head you gasp around his fingers, stuffed far back in your throat. It burns and aches and stretches but you feel exhilarated by it, awakened and alive by the absolute girth of him breaking you open and finding a place inside of you as he pushes on inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he whispers roughly, eyes intently locked onto yours as they widen and tear up with all the different intrusive sensations. But despite all of that, your insides warm at his words, finding a home in your heart and nestling in. That’s when you know for sure - you’re done for, you’re a goner, this is the man you’ll spend your life doing this for, chasing and seeking those two little words from him no matter what it takes. You want this.

“Y’sure that’s what you want? Be my good little doll? Be sure before I use you like one,” he says, checking in with you quietly, his lips lingering just above yours.

You nod, your breath hitching, and he can see the fear of the unknown in your eyes, but he smiles at your willingness to try for him. “I want it, I want it, use me, Joel,” you breathe out erratically, the words tumbling out of you without a second thought.

The next moment is nearly a blur, a switch seeming to flip in Joel as pops his fingers out of your mouth, grunting with the effort of yanking your hips upwards so that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around him. He begins a relentless fucking into you, pounding his cock over and over, and its only now that you can see just how well controlled he had been these last few minutes, so collected only to unleash it on you now. Your eyes squeeze shut, rolling back into your head as you bite back the cries of him stretching you so quickly and harshly, so much more rough than the other night.

“Fuck…” he groans, “Tight little pussy, could never forget how good it feels, just like I remembered, baby,” he praises as he continues to jackhammer into you. Your body is crumpled up underneath his huge frame on the couch, legs moving further up his body until they nearly reach his shoulders. He takes the initiative to tug them that way, propping your ankles onto his shoulders before he takes a swift bite at one of them. You yelp but quiet immediately, letting the soft moans you’d been making slip past your lips again instead.

You see Joel’s approval in his smirk, the way his face contorts with pleasure as he goes red from exertion, his body gathering sweat as you run a desperate hand down his chest. You feel so far away in this position, your lips so far from his, wanting to feel your skin touching in every possible spot. You’re drunk on him already and need more, more of his warmth and his scent and the feeling of him.

“I want to - p-please, feel you closer, please…” you beg, hoping that your politeness will win him over into doing something that you want.

“Yeah? Want to bounce on this fat cock of mine, pretty girl? That do you some good?”

You nod quickly and urgently, breathing in with the anticipation of being moved as Joel pushes his cock as deep as he can before bracing himself to swap your spots. It feels effortless, the way he contorts the both of you until he’s laying back on the sofa and you’re straddled on top of him.

“Oh my god…” you murmur when you sink fully down onto him. Your head tilts back and mouth gapes open as you feel him so fully, pressing so deep inside of you at this angle. “Joel…”

“I know, baby, m’so deep in there,” Joel says soothingly now, his demeanor changed for the moment. He starts to move your body for you, achingly slow on his cock while he urges your hips up and down. One hand slides to your belly, gently pushing low down on your abdomen. “Feel m’self right in there, baby, right where I’m meant to be,” he coos, looking at his hand in amazement.

“Feels so fuckin’... so good,” you whine, starting to move more quickly on top of him. You can’t compare it to anything else, anyone else you’ve ever been with, the way Joel’s cock stretches you with each new thrust, the pain giving way to an aching pleasure as your walls are stimulated over and over by him.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts out, wrapping his bulky biceps around your back and pulling you down so that your top half is more flat against his chest. He slips one hand into your hair, bringing you in for a deep, hungry kiss that you both moan into. At this angle he holds more power, able to thrust up into you after he bends his knees. You’re losing all sense of time, of sensation and noise around you, just Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel fucking into you with everything he’s got, his hot breath on your neck and ear and buried into the side of your hair. His lips warm and wet on any part he can find while you take and take and take what he’s doling out, your cunt starting to ache from the way he’s pounding into you but desperately begging for more, fluttering around his length. Your moans ramp up when you feel your clit start to brush against the curls at the base of his cock, his name whispered into his neck in between your cries.

“There we go, doll, get what y’need, c’mon,” he says near your ear, urging you on. You’re only brought back to some semblance of reality as Joel smacks your ass with a swift, hard slap and you moan out. A new flutter and gush from your cunt around him makes Joel grunt and he fucks up into you like a crazed, possessed man, intent on only you you you.

“Tha’s right, honey, so fuckin’ wet for me,” Joel grits, his hips snapping in a nearly impossible pace into you. You think you’re starting to black out, your vision a bit spotty from how hard he’s ramming the entirety of his cock into you, your g-spot so stimulating along with your clit and you’re grasping at the cushions on either side of you, nearly pounding your fists into them as Joel holds you close, not letting you move an inch, not letting this climax get away from either of you.

“God, Joel, fuck… I c-can’t -“ you whine, your entire body tightening, damp with sweat as your tits slide across his chest with each new thrust.

“Y’can, now be a good girl and come for me,” Joel says, hot heat of his lips meeting yours for a sloppy kiss, both of your tongues half missing the others’ mouth, making a mess on your faces full of saliva and the remnants of your lip gloss. Everything is so slick, slippery, and you gush between your legs, your wet arousal dripping out around where he enters you again and again.

You snap, the invisible tether you’ve visualized inside of yourself finally breaking and you let go, practically convulsing on top of Joel with erratic grunts and moans and the lewdest sounds you’ve ever heard yourself make. You bear down on his cock as he rides you through the waves of ecstasy that take over your entire being.

“Good girl,” he coos over and over, his quiet praises only serving to plunge you further into this blinding hot cavern of bliss that you’ve fallen into. You can feel how his cock slips in and out around the way you’re creaming over his length, and you finally quiet into his chest, a spent mess.

Joel stops moving for a moment, giving you time to catch your breath as he strokes the back of your head. You nearly want to purr with the contentment you feel as he lightly drags his fingers across your head.

“Your turn,” you finally say, a wry smile pulling at your lips. You pick yourself up a bit, wiggling your hips on him and hissing a little at the oversensitivity of your shot nerves.

“My turn,” Joel echoes, a devious little twinkle in his eye is all you see before he sits up, pulling you close and kissing you as he ruts his hips into yours a few times. He quickly pulls out of you, handling your body roughly but smoothly as he turns you, pushing you down, knees on the cushions and chest pressing against the back of the couch. He crowds behind you, spreading your knees for you and you can feel his wet cock slap against your ass as he positions you and then himself.

Joel’s cock forces its way between your legs again, immediately sliding into your wet heat. You bristle a little under the full size of him again, determined to take it like the good girl you say you are and let him spill every drop of cum he has inside of you. You realize you’ve said some version of that out loud in your mental fog when Joel chuckles a low, devious little noise and slams into you hard.

“Yeah? Want all my cum, want to have me fuckin’ my cum into you, fillin’ you up?” Joel asks and you nod dazedly in reply. He plants a firm hand on your back, sinking you into the back of the couch while he pounds into you, chasing after his pleasure, using you to get himself off. You’ve never been more turned on, and you feel the creeping need of desire filling low in your belly again.

Joel’s free hand starts to smack your ass relentlessly, as if to spur you on while you bounce your hips back into his movements.

“Yeah, pretty girl, so good, takin’ this cock like a good girl,” he chants, erratic movements of his hips telling you how close he is.

“Fuck, fuck, so tight…” he bellows out, “Gonna come inside you, baby.” One more thrust and he’s done for, his hips sputtering and stopping deep inside of you as he unleashes while your cunt flutters, your body reacting in pure effervescent joy to feel his spend coating you again. Joel wraps his arms around your chest, yanking you to fall back with him so that you’re laying side by side, tangled in each other's arms. You both breathe heavily, sweat and stickiness intermingling as you lay so close.

“We missed our dinner reservation,” Joel says after a few moments of silence stating the very obvious. “We could order some takeout, how’s that sound?”

You listen to the beat of his heart where your head rests on his chest, steady and strong as it still comes down from his climax. You hum a little approving noise, nodding your head.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you tell him, barely able to care much about anything else right now. You think in this completely fucked out, limp state you’d let him feed you practically anything, spooning each bite into your mouth like you’re a helpless child. The thought makes you shudder a bit, a feeling of fear creeping over you that someone could have such an effect on you as to change you like that, to pull this side of you out that you’d buried deep inside.

“Don’t wanna move, though,” you whine, snuggling down onto his chest.

“I know, I know,” Joel says soothingly with a hand running down your hair. “Gonna have to eat to keep up with what I’m gonna do to ya next, though.”

You lift an intrigued brow and glance up at his face to find him already giving you an amused expression. “I’ll order us some food, why don’t you put on your pretty dress again and we’ll pretend we got our date, how about that?” he says.

You bite your lip in an effort not to smile too widely, and you give him another nod of agreement, finally sitting up and then clambering off the couch and stretching. Joel’s eyes roam your still bare body, unable to believe he could be ready for another round this quickly when his cock twitches at the sight. You throw on your dress and adjust it, smoothing the sides of your hair.

“How do I look?” you ask innocently with a twirl, as if he hadn’t just been buried deep inside of you, stealing any semblance of reality from your very being.

“Perfect,” he says with a chuckle.

Joel orders Chinese food, and the two of you sit at his kitchen table, a candle lit that Joel had dug out from deep within a cabinet sitting between you two at the table.

While you’re already sure the physical attraction with Joel isn’t wanting for anything, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you two are connecting on all sorts of topics - from old country music that you listened to growing up to your dream vacation destinations. It seems like you two have more and more in common the longer you talk, or at the least, have an interest in the things the other person is saying. You can’t help but feel like you have a lot to learn from Joel, someone who has life experience, different interests (“old man interests” you tease him), and a whole new perspective on the world. You could listen to him for hours, sitting with your chin in your hand and lashes fluttering as you gaze at his perfect lips speaking about all of these new things.

“Can I tell you something?” you finally say during a quiet moment, when your plates have long been pushed away, swirling your third glass of wine in your hand. One foot is planted on the dining chair, knee tucked up to your chin where you rest it, lip worrying in between your teeth.

“Mhm, ‘course,” Joel says casually, sipping from his own glass.

“When I said I couldn’t find my passion before… I’ve always known what it is, what I want out of life. I just can’t… say it because it sounds, well, silly.”

“Try me,” Joel replies coolly, his eyes flickering with curiosity.

“I’ve always wanted to be -“ you hesitate, swallowing hard. “The reason someone comes home. The person they come home to. That’s it. That’s all I want. My parents… they never had that. Sure, they came home, but only because there wasn’t anything else to do, nowhere else to go. I never felt it from them. I’ve always wanted to just take care of someone and be that for them…” you confess, trailing off as your cheeks heat with the tipsy confession, slightly embarrassed to reveal it to Joel.

He considers your words with a small hmm and a cock of his head. “You’re talkin’ about a marriage, yeah? You wanna be a married woman.”

You nod, breathing out a sigh. “Women I know, and my parents, oh god, would probably freak out if that’s what I told them. That I just want to be someone’s wife, make each other happy. Be there for them. It’s something I’ve been too scared to admit until now, because my parents just want me to go to school, get a job, and be successful in the ways they’re successful, but…” you pause to glance at Joel, then back down to the table, tracing your nail along the knots in the wood. “What if I want to be successful in the ways they aren’t?”

Joel’s face contorts slightly, feeling your pain. “You gotta do what you need, sweetheart. Fuck what anyone else says,” he says plainly. “I can relate, y’know. I was married before.”

You snap your gaze up to him, somehow surprised, but realizing maybe you shouldn’t be, that this man is well into his forties now and has lived an entire life before ever laying eyes on you. “Yeah? And…”

“Was all pressure. Wasn’t right. Divorced over ten years ago, so don’t feel too sorry f’me. Her parents had all this pressure on us gettin’ married but I knew she wasn’t the right one for me. Ended up divorcin’ five years later.” He tuts at the memory - the waste of time, the endless arguments, the strain of it all for nothing.

“I’m sor-“ you start, cut off by Joel grabbing your hand across the small table, dwarfing it in his palm.

“Said don’t be sorry for me, yeah? I’m sittin’ here with you now, aren’t I?”

A smile tickles at the corners of your lips and you look down bashfully, letting your fingers curl around his. “Yeah, guess that’s true.”

“Come on over here,” Joel says, patting his lap and setting his wine glass on the table with a small clink.

You slide out of your chair, padding over and getting into his lap effortlessly. His fingers spread along your back to support you and you curl your legs up, resting against his chest.

“Y’know marriage is a lot, right? I know you know, you’re a smart girl, can tell you’ve thought about this.”

“I know,” you snip. “It’s not something I’ve ever taken lightly. I just… that’s what I want.” You don’t know how to express to him the yearning deep inside of you, the way you’d watch your parents moving in parallel lives, just happening to share children and a home, and wishing for anything more than that. Praying you’d never meet that same fate, that you’d be so sickly, passionately in love with your future spouse that the entire world could know from a single glance. That you’d give your life to make sure they were well taken care of, and they’d do the same for you.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says quietly, nuzzling his nose against the top of your head. “I know you’ll get what you’re lookin’ for. Anyone’d be lucky to have you.”

Your skin heats at his close contact and adoring words, your stomach twisting a little with the anticipation that it could be him - could Joel be the one lucky to have you, as he said?

“W-would you?” you stutter out, licking your suddenly desert dry lips. “Have me?”

“Honey, I’d have you a hundred different ways and never tire of it. Such a sweet, smart, special little thing you are.”

Your lips purse into a smile, fighting the urge to giddily giggle right in his lap. You tilt your head up to kiss him, a motion he gladly returns as he deepens it for a few moments, tasting remnants of the wine on each other's tongues.

“That what you want? Want me to have ya?” he asks quietly, the question carrying more weight in your mind than maybe he’d meant.

“Yes,” you say, a whisper into the quiet air of his house.

“Stay w’me then, this weekend. Don’t wanna let you out of my sight.”

You nod, nearly imperceptible as your mouths meet again, passion driving the kisses now as you squirm in his lap, desire igniting every cell of your body. Joel chuckles against your already puffy lips and shakes his head.

“Gonna ruin me, you know that?”

Three months later, Joel proposes to you in a park you frequently walk in together, a perfectly sunny and breezy spring day with the smell of fresh blooms surrounding you. You have on a pink dress, matching the explosion of color around you in the budding and blossoming trees and bushes. Joel wraps a hand around yours before getting down on one knee and revealing a solitaire diamond in a black velvet box, promising you all of the things you’d revealed to him in private months before. Someone to come home to. Someone who will come home to you. Succeed together in all the ways you’ve always wanted. Cherish you. And most importantly, love you for who you are.

#fic: pretty little wife #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction

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