#With His Index Finger He Used to Write on the Air… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pathologicalreid · 6 months

Note

Dude I love ur writing sm!! It’s literally so good and Buried Alive was amazing! If ur down for it (totally no pressure at all) I was wondering if u would eventually write a second part where Spencer helps the reader with the aftermath? Like maybe they struggle with PTSD or severe claustrophobia after that? Idk ur literally amazing enough I’m sure u have great ideas and again, it’s completely up to u, I was just wondering

above ground | S.R.

part one part three

in which spencer helps you cope with the aftermath of your abduction, and you reciprocate

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: hurt/comfort, angst

content warnings: claustrophobia, being buried alive, nightmares/night terrors, ptsd, death, cpr, use of pet names, mentions of drugs, therapy, suffocation

word count: 2.2k

a/n: hello anon! i am absolutely always down for spencer reid hurt/comfort!! thank you so much for asking!!! i've been super overwhelmed with all of the support i've received on buried alive and i'm so so grateful for all of the kind things people have said.

Standing in a dark room, you looked around your surroundings. There was nothing around you that told you where you were. The walls were all blank, the ground was cement, and it was too dark for you to even see the ceiling.

Hesitantly, you reached out your palm, touching the wall just for it to be met with something… damp? You pulled your hand away, and your skin came back dirty. Your stomach churned as you observed the soil that had settled in the creases of your fingerprints. “No,” you breathed, quickly moving to dig at the walls.

You felt it on your elbow next, like the dirt walls were encroaching on you. You turned around to see the dark room was just getting darker, and the walls started to deteriorate. Like an avalanche, the dirt of the walls falls to the ground, covering your feet, “No,” you cried out this time.

Digging at the walls just made your earthly prison bury you faster, so instead, you tried to climb toward the ceiling. You whimpered in defeat as you reached the previously unseen ceiling. The loose earth reached your chest, constricting your breathing. You tilted your head back in an attempt to keep the dirt out of your mouth.

Your face felt cool like a gentle breeze was being blown on it. You choked, but to your surprise, you didn’t choke on dirt.

There were hands on you, one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist. That didn’t make sense to you, someone hauled you into a sitting position, patting your back in an attempt to help you clear your throat.

The choking turned to coughing, which then turned to dry heaving off the edge of your bed. Very rarely did anything ever come out, but you kept a trash can there just in case. You blinked as someone reached over and turned on the lamp on your bedside table, the comforting hand remained on your back.

Desperately, you tried to catch your breath, tilting your head back as you tried to open your airway. “You’re safe. I’m right here, angel,” Spencer whispered from behind you, he leaned his forehead between your shoulder blades and drew hearts on your back with his index finger.

You took a deep, shuddering breath as you finally filled your lungs, visualizing the air going in and out of your body. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Spencer continued whispering to you, not once did he tell you that your dream wasn’t real because it was real. To you, being buried alive was very real. The suffocation was real, it had happened to you.

Two months ago, you had been abducted and buried alive by a family, a mother and her two sons. All of whom were in jail awaiting trial. The two agents from the Omaha field office who had left you alone in the funeral home apologized profusely, you had a private meeting with the director of the FBI, and the BAU rallied behind you, it was nice, but none of it made the fear go away.

The first nightmare came the same night you were back in Virginia, and you had screamed so loud that your neighbors called the police. Spencer handled everything, and when the officers insisted that they needed to speak to you directly, he flashed his FBI credentials, something he really wasn’t supposed to do.

Your response was to avoid sleeping, at least at night. You stayed awake at night, reading, or watching TV with headphones on, and you slept during the day so that when you opened your eyes, you could feel the sun on your face. The problem was when you needed to go somewhere, you didn’t sleep, or when it rained, you didn’t sleep.

The exhaustion just made your anxiety worse, and Spencer caught on to it. He sat you down on the couch and held your hands, telling you that he understood that you didn’t want to feel like you were burdening anyone with your nightmares, but he needed you to understand that you were killing yourself at the same time.

He didn’t do it for everyone, but for you, Spencer took over the role of protector. He found you a therapist in the district that specialized in patients with PTSD and claustrophobia. It was an hour round trip, but Spencer was more than willing to take you the first few times.

Dr. Montgomery quickly diagnosed you with PTSD and claustrophobia. You hadn’t realized that claustrophobia was something you could be clinically diagnosed with, but the doctor told you that there’s a difference between a fear of enclosed spaces and what you had. He was straightforward, which you liked, and he told you that your claustrophobia was a response to the traumatic event that you had experienced.

A steady course of treatment that included medication and exposure therapy had slowly been giving you your life back.

But then there was Spencer.

Spencer had Morgan help him take the inside doors of your apartment off the hinges so air would flow, and you wouldn’t be afraid of suffocating. He left the ceiling fan in your bedroom on even as the weather cooled so the air never got stale.

Six weeks ago, you had mentioned offhandedly that you were having a hard time sleeping in total silence, and Spencer had come home later with a white noise machine.

When you apologized to him for needing the lights on to sleep, he responded by stringing lights around the entire apartment, telling you he read that warm light can help prepare the mind and body for sleep.

He turned in all of his PTO, even accepting some from David Rossi, who didn’t use his anyway, so he could stay home with you while you were on mandatory medical leave. He tagged along to therapy appointments, to the neurologist, and even to the FBI physician who needed to clear your physical injuries to your ribs before you could return to the field.

On his nightstand, there was a stack of books all about claustrophobia and loving someone with PTSD.

Not once through this whole endeavor did you question your relationship with Spencer, he made himself perfectly clear through his actions. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The FBI physician cleared you two weeks ago, your neurologist faxed Hotch paperwork stating you were without any deficits, and your psychiatrist told you that as long as you felt like you could avoid your triggers, you should be able to go back to work. In fact, Dr. Montgomery thought going back to work could be beneficial.

You were supposed to go back tomorrow.

Spencer was now sitting in front of you, and he offered you a small smile as you blinked yourself out of your nightmare-induced stupor and met his eyes, “There’s my girl,” he whispered. For a moment, you focused on his movements, smoothing your hair back with one hand and leaving the other hand resting on your waist. “I love you. You’re safe, you’re at home with me,” he reassured you.

You narrowed your eyebrows, “It was- I was in the ground again.” Hesitantly, you looked down at your hands, they were perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen.

“It was a night terror, angel,” he said, speaking gently to you as he reached over and pulled the strap of your tank top up and over your shoulder from where it had fallen. A night terror, not a nightmare.

Tears dropped down your face when you closed your eyes. “I couldn’t breathe,” you whimpered. Taking a gasping breath, you looked at Spencer as you tried to draw air into your lungs, “I couldn’t breathe, Spence. I couldn’t breathe.”

Quickly, Spencer pulled you into his lap and held you, “Shh,” he cooed. “I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured as you set your chin on his shoulder and cried.

“I suffocated,” you whispered, it was a fact of your life, that you had stopped breathing for a period of time. The doctors estimated you had been down for almost ten minutes.

His hold on you tightened, “I know,” his voice broke slightly. “I know, baby,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you need?” He asked, watching you intently as he reached up and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

You blinked the last of your tears from your eyes before meeting his, “Can we go outside?” You asked him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders.

Spencer nodded, leaning over to grab his glasses off of his nightstand before standing up and picking you up as he went.

Instinctively, you yelped, but a laugh escaped your lips. It was a foreign feeling sometimes, but Spencer always knew how to elicit a smile from you. “Put me down,” you said, but your tone was light.

Once your feet were touching the ground, Spencer looked at you, “I just wanted to see you smile.” He said earnestly.

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirked up, “Thank you.” You reached over to grab your phone off the charger and slide it into your pocket before you led Spencer out to your apartment’s balcony. He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled you down onto his lap.

You let him hold you, not moving and just letting your body settle on top of his. The cool autumn air filled your lungs as Spencer held you. You let him hold you because you knew that his fear was just as valid as yours. While you were afraid of confinement because you had been confined, he was afraid of you dying because you had died.

“I can hear you thinking, honey,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” You asked him, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.

He sighed, “I’m worried about you,” he admitted. “I want to tell you not to go back to work yet, even though I know that logically it’s the next step for you,” Spencer said, you watched his honey-colored eyes as they studied your face. “And I know that you need it, you need to return to something dependable.”

You move your head so you can look him in the eyes better, “But?”

“But,” he continued, “the BAU isn’t dependable. You have this great routine that we’ve very nearly perfected and I’m so worried about you straying from it. The long hours at work could very well cause you to lose all of the progress you’ve made in the last two months,” he tells you candidly. “What happens when you need to get on an elevator, or when you need to get on the jet, and you can’t? What about when you-“ He cut himself off, swallowing thickly before he said something he couldn’t take back.

You shifted so you were facing him, shoulder to shoulder, “What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath and cupped your cheek with his hand, “The last case you worked on, you died. I pulled your dead body out of a casket. Fuck, Y/N,” his curse took you aback, he usually strayed from swearing. “I did CPR on you before Morgan took over,” he finished, voice growing hoarse.

Your lips parted; you couldn’t answer him. You didn’t know how to answer him, but you took his hand and selected his third and index finger before pressing them to the pulse point on your wrist. In response, he sighed and leaned his forehead to yours. You watched his lips move as he silently counted the beats per minute.

The both of you jumped when your phone went off, and dread filled your stomach when you checked your phone.

Penelope Garcia: Local case. Round table room in thirty if you’re up for it.

“If you ask me to stay home, I will,” you told Spencer, sweeping his curls behind his ears. “I won’t hold it against you, I’ll tell Hotch I need more time.”

Spencer shook his head, “You know I can’t do that. I can’t make that decision for you, and I don’t want you to make the decision for me, you need to choose what you want.”

You both went, Spencer distracted you for the entire elevator ride up to the BAU, but he was still tense. Even though he insisted he was fine, you knew him better than that.

Spencer followed you up to Hotch’s office and when you told Hotch you wanted to work but you didn’t feel ready to be in the field, your unit chief nodded and told you that you were welcome to stay in the local precinct and work on a geographical profile with Spencer.

You watched the tension leave Spencer’s body. He tried to tell you that you didn’t need to do that, but you just rolled your eyes and dragged him to the roundtable room.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid angst #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 6 months

Note

I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid.

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden.

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?"

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you.

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?"

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping."

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says.

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?"

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it."

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag."

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch.

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at.

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?"

"You can tell?" he asks.

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?"

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff."

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?"

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous.

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters.

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?"

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it."

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible."

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there.

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

2K notes · View notes

jeonqbunny · 6 months

Text

do it slowly

suguru geto x f!reader smut ♡

summary: your childhood friend suguru geto comes home for summer break after 2 long years of being away at college <3

content warning: soft dom!suguru x sub!f!reader, smut, porn w a plot, hair pulling, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex (he pulls out), uses of petnames (pretty girl, sweetheart, princess), biker suguru implied, quite a bit of fluff included.

word count: 6.1k (yappatron 6000 jesus christ </3)

today is my bday and i rlly hate this, but it took me so mf LONG to write.

about a year and a half have passed since you last saw suguru; the heat of the summer bringing back childhood memories of you two playing outside, be it in the trees around your house or running through the sprinklers in the lawn. you can’t help but sigh lightly, you miss him. he went out of state for college after graduation while you decided to stay back at home with your parents, it’s been lonely without him.

despite the air conditioner going full blast your forehead is still damp from the humid air of summer, reminding you of a fan you have on your desk that you could probably bring over to your bed. sitting up, you feel the immediately recognizable buzz of your phone on your thigh as you quickly snatch it up and see you have a text. it’s from satoru.

your prior mission of using the fan completely slipped your mind as you swiped the notification away rather quickly, readjusting yourself to lay down before opening it. your eyes narrowed at the message, your nerves immediately rising to the ceiling and beyond. “suguru is coming back for summer break?” you asked yourself out loud, chewing on the tip of your index finger as you reread the text over and over again. it was exciting, to say the least. seeing him again this soon was not something you exactly expected, but you weren’t complaining.

you read further to find out satoru was going to host a surprise “welcome home” party for him. this didn’t surprise you, though. satoru is suguru’s bestfriend, and ever since he left it’s just been you and him. the idea of all of you being back together again excited you, and you were curious to see how much suguru has grown. if he aged even half as well as satoru did, then he would be more than a little attractive.

you replied to satoru, informing him that you would be attending and helping him set up for it. after all, suguru was your beloved friend too. though you haven’t seen him since he left, unlike satoru who flew out quite often to see him with his daddy’s money. the last you heard, suguru had a girlfriend and was doing very well in his studies.

you got ready to head over to satoru’s place to set up for suguru’s surprise party, picking up streamers and other corny party decorations on your way. you walked up to satoru’s front door, pretty much buried in all the decorations you bought as you struggled to hold yourself upwards. you let out an annoyed grunt at how long satoru took to open the door before you finally heard the door unlock and fling open. there he stood, his tall lanky figure resting against the door frame with an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“wow, you look like you’re really struggling there y/n.” he chuckled deeply, reaching forward and grabbing a couple boxes before stepping to the side to allow you space to enter his house. you let out a relieved huff when you set it all down on the table, finally being able to stand up straight. you glared at the snowy haired man, the urge to slap his cocky ass grin off of his face nearly consuming your entire being, but you decided on mercy.

“so what kind of party is this gonna be anyway? just a kick back with all of our friends or are you going to be extra like you always are?” you queried with a mocking tone, your gaze fixing up into satoru’s cerulean eyes through your eyelashes.

satoru simply reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, a weak smile plastered on his glossy lips. “of course it’s going to be extra. you already know i wouldn’t have it any other way.” he snickered, his large hand coming up to his mouth in a mischievous manner. you couldn’t do anything but sigh and laugh along while shaking your head. the time passed quicker than you thought, the house slowly becoming decorated with balloons and streamers along with letters that spelled out “welcome home suguru” along the wall.

as the time draws near, you can’t help but chew the edges of your fingers a little raw in nervousness and anticipation to see suguru again. satoru catches this and smacks your hand away from your mouth, “you know suguru doesn’t like you doing that. stop it. go get a drink or something if you’re really that nervous…” he trails off with a look of ‘oh shit’ forming across his face, prompting a look of curiosity and confusion from you as you sneakily try to nibble a bit more on your pinky, eliciting another smack from him as a slight yelp fell from your lips.

“why’d you get all cold when you mentioned the drinks?” you ask, reeling slightly from the smack he laid on your hand. satoru sighs and ruffles his snowy shaggy hair in an exasperated fashion, “i forgot the damn drinks.” he grumbles lowly, his bright blue eyes shifting to the floor in disappointment. you stood there, absolutely dumbfounded by his utter stupidity.

“how the hell do you forget the drinks for a party?” you exclaim in a tone laced with annoyance and panic. “i don’t know! i just got lost in everything i guess.” he scraped the back of his neck in embarrassment for a moment before turning to you with a confident grin on his face. “look, can you go run out and buy a couple cases of beer or something?” he says, rustling around in his pocket before tossing his wallet at you. “nuh uh, no. i don’t wanna miss suguru’s arrival, someone else can go.”

“you and i are the only people who can drive here, plus what kind of host would i be if i were gone when he arrived? anyway, he won’t be here for like another thirty minutes. just don’t drag your ass and you’ll be fine.” he spits back in an irritated manner before you begrudgingly grab his wallet from where it landed beside you on the couch and head out to your car.

the drink run goes smooth enough, but then you hit traffic on your way back. shit. you are going to be late. the idea of being late because of satoru’s horrible planning only pissed you off even more. “how does that little idiot always convince me to do the work for him?” you sighed out loud, your hand reaching up to tug at your hair as the situation fully settled in. you tap at your steering wheel eagerly, your eyes rolling into your skull as you sit completely still in traffic. after a while of sitting and plotting satoru’s death, the cars finally started rolling. but by then it was already too late, the party had started well over fifteen minutes ago and suguru was most definitely already there.

you pulled up to satoru’s party, the street and driveway already significantly more filled than it was when you left. that’s when you saw it, a sleek black motorcycle sitting in the open garage. it caught your eye, and you were growing more curious to know who it belonged to as you wobbled your way to the door. you lugged the packs of alcohol up the small stairway leading to the front door, your arms struggling to reach the handle under the weight of the bags hanging off of them.

finally, you managed to get the door open with a loud grunt and a deep breath following in your wake. you panted a bit, your chest heaving as you carried the heavy load of alcohol to the kitchen. you tossed them on the counter not so carefully, desperate to get the heavy weight off of your arms. you hissed, sucking in air through your teeth as you rubbed at your arms for a bit of comfort.

you were busy soothing the ache in your arms when a familiar voice called your name from behind you. you immediately pivoted on your foot and spun yourself around to see a very tall suguru. you immediately pulled him in for a hug, holding onto him tightly as you rocked on your heels in excitement. he cackled under his breath, a dramatic ‘oof’ catching in his throat from your tight embrace. still, he returned the embrace just as tightly.

soon enough, you pulled away from the hug and shot him a look of amazement. his dark jett black hair now reached down past his mid back, and it was tied messily into a half up half down bun. it was quite the dramatic change in contrast to when you last saw him. his demeanor even felt the slightest bit different, and you couldn't quite place your finger on it. as you were lost in the view that was suguru geto, you felt your face heat up immediately as his lips formed a knowing smile. you knew you were caught checking him out, and you weren't exactly sure what to say in that very moment.

“you look good, y/n. i’m happy to see you again after so long, seems you’ve grown too.” he remarked breathlessly, his dark obsidian eyes grazing over your figure with the same amazement you looked at him with. you nodded to his statement, your eyes fluttering slightly as you offered him a polite smile.

“yeah, not as much as you though, clearly.” you muttered back, gesturing to his height with your arms in a teasing manner. he chuckled at your response, reaching forward to ruffle your hair with his hand. “why were you late? satoru said you were gettin’ drinks?” he quizzed gently, his voice low and smooth like honey and it was enough to make you feel like you were going to melt. you nodded your head in response, carping about how satoru forgot to buy drinks. he shook his head, tsking with a weak smile as his eyes remained fixed on you. “sounds like satoru, dude would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.” he quipped in a defeated tone, before your conversation was oh so rudely interrupted by satoru. “speak of the devil.” you muttered in annoyance, reluctantly pulling him in for a side hug as your gaze remained on suguru.

satoru chortled, his blue eyes rolling as he pulled you in a bit tighter, giving you one more extra affectionate squeeze before letting you out of his grasp. “i told ya to not drag your ass y/n, don’t be angry at me.” he shrugged, his face plastered with the mundane shit eating grin he normally wore. you simply crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, turning back to pour yourself a cup of liquor to ease your nerves as suguru and satoru chatted it up.

you sipped slowly, your face turning in with disgust at the taste before nudging satoru on the shoulder. “i don’t want this, you have it.” you requested in a dramatically appalled voice, holding the red solo cup out for him to grab. satoru didn’t hesitate in the slightest, shrugging before throwing his head back and gulping it down with ease. the idea of doing it yourself making your stomach turn as you shivered at the thought.

suguru looked over satoru for a moment, but his gaze was primarily fixed on you. after nearly 2 years, you grew taller, your body grew to be womanly, and your voice even lowered a bit. it was quite a lot to take in, especially after not seeing you for what felt like so long. the house was buzzing with chatter and music, the smell of sweat and alcohol filling the air from all the people gathered around to celebrate suguru’s return. your eyes met suguru’s again, your breath hitched in your throat and the pounding in your chest made you a bit nervous. you weren’t entirely sure exactly why you felt the way you felt.

maybe it was the fact that you were seeing him again for the first time in two years. or maybe, it was just the way he looked now. it had you astonished, for lack of better words. not once within your ten years of friendship did you see him like that, but the way he looked at you with his nihilistic smile made that change in an instant. you were lost in thought before satoru nudged your arm, pointing at the crowd that was dancing; with an irritated looking suguru in his grasp. you nodded, waving them off to go have fun as you turned on your heels to exit out of the garage door. you drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily to gather your thoughts and calm your breathing.

that’s when you saw it again, a black motorcycle standing on it’s peg in front of your eyes. you stepped closer, observing it in curiosity of whose it could be to be sitting in satoru’s garage. you continued looking at it, checking for any signs of it being someone you know. and just as you were about to give up, suguru entered the dimly lit garage with a bashful smile gracing his lips.

“i see you found my bike, it’s nice huh?” he revealed that it was his bike, and it made your head spin in perplexity. just who was suguru now? “i- yeah actually it is nice. i didn’t know you rode one until now.” you admitted in a breathless mumble, your eyes darting between him and his bike. “your girlfriend into biker guys or what?” you puzzled playfully, fully unaware of what he was about to tell you.

“satoru didn’t tell you?” he laughed out loud, his large hands tucking into his pockets as he took a few steps closer to you and his bike. “we broke up, i found out she cheated on me a couple months ago.” he informed simply, his lips pursing into a thin line as he looked you up and down. well fuck, that’s awkward. you sighed in response, resting your hand on his shoulder briefly before letting your arm fall back down to your side.

“i’m sorry, satoru doesn’t tell me much about you these days so..” you looked up at him and smiled sheepishly, an apologetic look written all over your features. he shook his head, pulling his hand out of his pocket and wrapping his arm around your shoulder reassuringly. “no big deal at all, i know how satoru can be.” he replied shortly, a weak smile tugging on his lips as he looked down at you.

“i’m about to head out, you know i hate when satoru throws these over the top parties.” the idea of him taking off already made you feel a bit sad, but you weren’t going to stop him. especially because you were just as overwhelmed by them as he was. “you want a ride home, y/n?” his question made you jolt in shock.

“uh, n-no i’m fine, i drove here. thank you though.” you blubber out, still reeling from the shock of the question. “oh, alright then, no worries.” a definite look of disappointment crosses the otherwise stoic face, making you feel as if you need to back peddle. “but!” you shout almost a bit too loud from nerves as you try to salvage the situation, “we could always meet up at my house, just like the old times, huh?” a slightly unnerving smirk flashes across suguru’s face, making your heart beat all the faster, “sure, i’ll see you there.”

you wasted no more time in heading home, making it there quicker than you’d like to admit. you didn’t even think of saying goodbye to satoru as you pull into your driveway. your headlights shined on suguru who was sliding off his helmet in front of your car, his dark bangs falling into his face messily before he straightened them out. you swallowed thickly, enjoying the view

before pulling your keys out of the ignition and stepping into the warm night air. you let out a deep exhale, the sounds of crickets and your footsteps filling your ears.

you offered suguru a gentle smile, reaching forward to grab at his hand and drag him along with you to the front of your house. he chuckled from behind you, accepting your warm hand into his and enjoying the sense of nostalgia that you brought to him. you fumbled with your keys, doing your very best to unlock the door with your shaky hands. at once, you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside with suguru almost glued to your back.

your parents were gone on vacation for the summer, so the house was empty and looked quite desolate as you made your way up to the bedroom with him. when you reached your bedroom, your hand smacked the wall on the inside of the door and slid around in an attempt to find the light switch. the lights finally flickered on, causing you to squint from the sudden intrusion of light. suguru stepped into the room in front of you, looking around with a bright smile.

“i see your room hasn’t changed very much. it’s cute, i like it.” he murmured, the smile on his face evident in his voice as he spoke. you nodded along, turning on a lamp and shutting off the over powering ceiling light. “yeah, didn’t have much of a need or want to change anything.” you replied with a tint of blush dusting over your cheeks as suguru took a seat on the edge of your bed with his legs spread apart.

“really? even these dumb little things?” he quipped snarkily, grabbing one of your teddy bears in his hand and squeezing it. you let out a whine, as if to protest against him before snatching it from his hands and stroking it’s head with your finger. “i’ll have you know that mr. teddy is not some dumb thing.” you growled back, your finger still tracing its plushy fur as suguru chortled under his breath.

“nothing about you has changed, y/n. you’re as feisty as ever.” he stated firmly, his dark eyes flickering into yours as he awaited your response. you let out a soft sigh, setting the teddy bear back down onto the mattress before taking a seat next to him on the edge of the bed. “yeah, kinda have to be to hold my ground around satoru when you’re gone.” you provoked teasingly, a toothy grin spreading across your face as you looked back at him. “i’ve missed you, sugu.” you added, this time sounding a bit more sentimental.

“yeah i’ve missed you too, sweet girl.” he hummed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in and press a tender kiss to the top of your head. he closed his eyes for a moment, his chin now resting there as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo. he let out a soft exhale, the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. “how long are you gonna stay? i assume just over the summer, yeah?” you quizzed as your eyes fluttered shut, your head still pressed firmly into his shoulder.

“just for the summer.” he confirmed in a more somber tone now, his back eyes remaining closed as he pressed his lips on the back of your head once more. he pulled you fully into his lap, slotting you in comfortably in between his thighs with your back against his chest. he slid your hair to the side, revealing the back of your neck. he pressed another delicate kiss there, trying to gauge your reaction to it all.

your breath caught in your throat, your thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching that was building up in between your legs. suguru took note of this, his arms now wrapping around your waist from behind. his lips moved from the back of your neck, his arm reaching up to hook his fingers around the collar of your shirt to reveal your shoulder. he peppered hot sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin, his tongue darting out every now and then to leave wet spots in his wake.

this elicited a small whine from you, your eyes slamming shut from the sensation as your body began to heat up and squirm in his lap. Your responsiveness mixed with your hips squirming against his groin caused his cock to stiffen against the fabric of his jeans, a low guttural groan falling from his mouth and sending vibrations into your shoulder. “s-sugu..” you whined, your head rolling to the side to give him better access.

“so you do want this, sweetheart?” he asked sweetly, his hands falling to your hips to hold you firmly in place as he moved to suck on the side of your neck. you had little to no way to form words at this point, however deciding to go with a simple nod wasn’t enough. “use your words, baby. i want to hear you say it.” he chuckled deeply into your skin, his lips grazing across the soft and sensitive surface teasingly.

you mewled in desperation, your hips bucking into his throbbing member that pressed against the small of your back. “i want it.. please.. need you sugu..” your voice was wobbly and laced with desperation. you were really exposing yourself at the moment, revealing that this is something you’ve been longing for for quite some time now.

he reached up with one of his hands to wrap your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging it around his knuckles harshly to force your head back as he sucked on your skin more feverishly now. “i thought so, you wouldn’t stop fucking me with those pretty eyes of yours all night.” he purred, his voice velvety and full of undying lust as he squeezed your hair in his hand even tighter. you cried out from the sting, your eyebrows knitting together at the painful sensation. your hand reached up to grip at his hand resting on your hip, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to ground yourself.

this caused him to laugh sadistically as he traced small affectionate patterns on the soft skin of your hand. his grip on your hair never faltered as he pulled you up by it and stood to his feet, gently forcing you to your knees in front of him. he muttered a small ‘sorry’ for the way your exposed knees smacked against the hardwood. you immediately know the drill, urgently reaching up to unbuckle his belt as you feel your wetness seep from your panties and onto the floor below. he tugged back your head by your hair firmly, clicking his tongue before he spoke. “slow, sweetheart. do it slowly, i wanna see how pretty you look when you swallow my cock. make sure you look at me while you do it, or i’ll make you stop.” he ordered sternly, his light and gentle voice strongly contradicting the harshness of his order, but you obeyed regardless.

you wanted nothing more than for him to just fill your mouth, so you happily obliged. you looked up into his dark hazy eyes, slowly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. with one small tug, his bulge was now visible through his wet and sticky boxers. you let out a needy moan, your eyelashes fluttering up at him as you pressed your tongue to the stain of precum at his tip, lapping and sucking at it through the fabric.

suguru sucked in air through his teeth, a moan coming out with his exhale as he looked down at you. his hand reached down to grip you by the chin and stroke your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, a gentle smile resting on his lips. “not so feisty now are you? you’re such a naughty girl, didn’t know you had it in you to obey.” he teased, his abs rippling under his shirt as his body tensed up from the feeling of your pretty lips against the clothed tip of his cock.

you let out a slightly annoyed groan at his statement, gently nibbling on the tip with your teeth to discourage him from teasing you like that. this caused him to tug at your hair roughly, ripping your mouth away from his throbbing cock. you shrieked at the sudden tug, your head reeling with pain before he spoke. “if you bite my dick like that again, i’m not gonna let you cum. and if i’m not mistaken– that’s definitely not what you want, is it pretty?” he grumbled, his voice a lot less gentle and a lot more hoarse. he dragged your head back to force your face into his cock once more, letting out a breathy giggle as his hips pushed forward to press his stiffened member to your cheek.

you definitely didn’t want to be denied the pleasure of cumming all over his cock, so you decided to comply this time around. you reached up and hooked your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, slowly dragging them down his muscular thighs as you looked up at him with an apologetic look in your eyes. he let out a soft hum of approval, his cock finally springing free from the tight fabric of his boxers.

the sight alone elicited a wanton moan to bubble up in your throat, his heavy and girthy member twitching in front of your face with precum dripping from the tip. you lapped at the tip of his cock, the salty taste of precum swirling around your taste buds. a normally unpleasant taste

became something you enjoyed, it sent a rush of arousal straight to your core. you savored it for a moment before wrapping your lips around the tip and swirling your tongue around it slowly. you allowed a full moan to come up your throat, sending vibrations down his shaft as your wet hot tongue slid over his slit. this alone caused his hips to rut forward further into your mouth, his hand that held your hair trembling slightly as he gasped.

the sudden rut of his hips caused you to gag, finally committing to taking him as far as you could down your throat. one of your hands gripped his toned thigh, digging your nails in as you tried to steady yourself, while the other reached up to cup his balls in your hand. suguru got needy enough to start thrusting into your mouth full force, pulling your head forward by the hair to match his pace. you gagged and whined around him, hot tears welling up in your eyes and streaming down your rosy cheeks as his heavy balls smacked into your chin.

"so good baby, your throat grips my cock so fucking nicely." moans of profanities and your name fell from his pretty lips, his voice growing to be more airy and hoarse. all the sudden he pulled his cock from your throat, letting out a loud groan from the loss of contact on his throbbing length.

you looked up at him as you coughed and tried to catch your breath, a long thick string of saliva connecting the tip of his cock to your lips. you sat on your knees for a moment, waiting for his next move as saliva and precum dripped down your chin and onto your chest. he was staring down at you, his thick veiny member coated in your saliva twitching right in front of your lips. "you look stunning when you struggle to breathe, angel. you look like such a cock hungry little girl." he wanted to enjoy this view for as long as he could, taking in the way your saliva soaked the white blouse you had on as your saliva dripped from your chin in a very lewd way.

he crouched down to your level, finally letting go of your hair, and it was immediately sore and achy from how tight he was holding it. but that thought quickly left your mind when he pulled you in for a delicate but heated kiss, his large hands cupping your dainty face as he began deepening it. his tongue slid across your bottom lip, tugging it in between his lips before plunging his tongue into your mouth. your tongues tangled together naturally, your lips melting into one another's as you moaned into suguru's mouth. the kiss was dirty, sure. but it held a feeling that felt like much more than just lust.

with no warning he pulled you to your feet with ease, letting you rest against his chest momentarily to stabilize your wobbly legs before bending you over on the desk. your hands rested flat against the cold wood surface, shivering as he lifted up your skirt and grazed his fingers along the swell of your ass. “you’ve got such a nice ass princess.. don’t remember it looking this pretty last time i saw you.” he gritted his teeth, leaving a harsh smack on one of your

cheeks before tugging your panties off in one swift motion. you shrieked, the sting of his hand lingering on your ass caused your arousal to splatter down your thighs.

“already wet and all you’ve done is suck my cock a little.. that’s cute baby.” he hums, his large hand kneading on the flesh of your ass while the other one slides in between your folds, rubbing harsh circles on your clit and watching the way your body tenses up from his touch. his chest filled with pride, seeing you so fucked out for him already from just a couple brushes of his fingers.

he dipped two thick digits into your aching hole, holding still for a moment to really feel the way you fluttered around his fingers. you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for him to give you even the slightest bit more. doing this caused his cock to throb painfully, hardly able to focus from his imagination of what it would be like to have your gummy walls wrapped around his cock. he took his fingers out slowly, a wet pop following before he licked them clean with an airy grunt. “i’ll have to taste you another time, i need to be inside you, now sweetheart.” he aired breathlessly, his hand gripped his thick cock and he moved forward to press the tip to your leaking entrance.

he slid it up and down your slick folds, enjoying the lewd sound it made before pushing the tip inside of you. your body jolted forward as if to escape from the sudden but long awaited intrusion, a slight pain creeping into your cunt from the stretch of his dick nearly tearing you open. this causes suguru to yank your arms out from under you and pull you against his chest, shoving his cock all the way in. you yelped in pain, your pussy sucking him in desperately despite how much you were stretched as you began to moan and whine his name.

“it’s okay baby, just take it. i’m sorry for being so rough. but i mmhh– i need to fuck you.” he apologized briefly through broken moans before starting to thrust into you from behind. he held your arms behind your back tightly and shoved you face down onto the desk as his hips snapped into your ass. sounds of slapping, your mixed moans and the creaking of the desk underneath you filling the otherwise quiet room. he leaned down from behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before bullying into your cunt even further.

you squeal and squeeze your legs together as the tip of his cock pounded against your cervix repetitively, your mouth falling open and your eyes fluttering to the back of your skull. “s-sugu.. fuck meee oh my god–” you babbled on and on, you couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t even speak properly to tell him how much you loved him and the way he ruined you. his hand let go of one of your arms, reaching forward to grip the base of your throat and coax your head back before placing a kiss on the tip of your ear.

“i am fucking you, sweet girl.” he chastised with a chuckle, his other hand reaching down to slide under your shirt and raise it enough to roll your nipple in between his thumb and index finger. your body visibly shuddered from the pleasure, his hand leaving your throat to let your head fall back against the desk before reaching down to rub quick circles around your clit. immediately you felt your high creeping up on you, the pressure in your abdomen building and close to unraveling.

suguru took note of the way you fluttered around his length, the way you gripped him causing him to clench his jaw. he didn’t want it to be over just yet, making quick work of flipping you onto your back against the the desk. he pushed your knees up to your shoulders, spreading your legs wide and admiring the sight of your dripping cunt before pushing back into you with ease.

he set the pace again, pressing his forehead to yours before capturing your lips into a deep kiss. it didn’t take long for you to get close again, the bottom of his navel rubbing into your clit with each deep thrust he took inside of you. you whimpered into his mouth, lapping at his tongue sloppily in desperation before he broke the kiss. “i’m close sugu.. so so close.. please–” she cried out as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper than before. he groaned out, one of his hands reached forward to hold your face in it while his other took care of your sensitive bud.

his dark raven bangs clung to his forehead as a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. “i’m close too baby, it’s okay. you can cum.” he reassured gently, stroking her hot cheeks with his thumb affectionately. as he chased his high, he felt his muscles tense up, feeling you lock up underneath him made his hips move more feverishly, determined to pull your orgasm out of you harder.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, gripping onto his back and sinking your nails into his sweaty tanned skin. you panted, finally mustering up the courage to say what you’ve wanted to for so long. ‘i love you suguru, i love you s– so much..” and just like that, you came undone as a white heat rushed through your body. your back arched off the desk, your eyes slammed shut and your mouth fell slack as your insides pulsated around him. your clear sticky cum formed a ring around the base of his cock, coating his pelvic bone and his balls as he thrusted into you.

your confession certainly caught him by surprise, but he accepted it wholeheartedly as it threw him into an orgasm of his own. “i love you too, y/n. fuck– always have, my pretty girl.” he huffed out, his hand drifting from the skin of your cheek and down to your throat to squeeze it tightly. he pulled out and pumped his swollen length a couple of times before cumming all over your tummy.

he fucked his own hand a bit more as he rode out his high, a couple more thin ropes of his hot white seed following behind. a guttural moan jumping up his throat as his eyebrows knitted together. fuck, he looked so pretty.

he leaned in and moved your hair out of your face before pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. the back of his index finger ghosting down the edge of your jawline before he pulled away to look for something to clean the both of you up. he wiped away the mess, a gentle and almost unreadable expression gracing over his handsome face as he focused on taking care of you.

he straightened out your skirt, his large veiny hands that were decorated with black nail polish sliding along your hips as if to worship the view a bit more before picking you up and laying you down on the bed. he caged you in underneath him, taking a good look at your face before kissing the tip of your nose.

“so you love me huh? maybe i’ll just have to stay here.” his expression softened, and a smile grew on his lips to reveal his pearly whites. the sight of his smile made your heart swell, it wasn’t the kind of smile you saw very often, but when you did it could like up an entire room. “i suppose i do, sugu.” you teased back, pressing a kiss to his lips gently before you both laid down together on your twin sized mattress.

#smut #geto suguru #jjk smut #jjk suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #getou suguru x reader #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru #jjk x reader #x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #toji fushiguro #jjk toji

1K notes · View notes

winterrrnight · 30 days

Text

writing more on this at 12.42 am at night cause I am really in my feels and I need this so bad… <3 listen to redbone by childish gambino at 3.47, trust me <3 cw: smoking weed, suggestive content (no actual smut, just a lot of intimacy), intentional use of lower case <3 for @congratsloserr <3 (ily bb 🌷) <3 pictures are just for reference and to help you imagine what I have in mind!

part of this little universe <3

you don’t remember how it happened.

your best friend rafe came over like all the other times he comes over at your place. you sit next to each other in your bed as you play music, just like all the other times. you both share a joint, just like all the other times.

but this time, there’s something different in the air. maybe it’s the new cologne he’s started wearing which is taking a toll over your brain, or maybe it’s the white t-shirt showing off his formed biceps, or maybe it’s the dim, pink lighting of the led lights you just installed; but whatever it is, here you are, sitting in his lap with your legs on either side of his waist, your face nuzzled in his neck, and the sensual instrumentals of redbone are filling the background.

if anything, it’s only elevating the moment more and more. the joint hangs limply in between rafe’s lips as his head remains tilted to the other side, his eyes closed as your lips press soft, saccharine kisses to his heated skin, your hands holding his face. his eyes remain closed, the current moment heightened not only from your deeply intimate touch, but from the thc hazing his and your mind.

his hands remain firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your t-shirt up just a bit so he can feel that soft skin under his touch. deep exhales leave his nose, the pungent, skunky odor of weed surrounding you both in its cloud as you remain wrapped up in the moment.

his fingers press into your skin and a sigh escapes him as he feels your lips slowly travel to his throat, his head leaning back against the headboard to grant you as much skin as he can. your lips trail up and up, finding his chiseled jawline as you press kisses along the strong bone, making your way up to his cheek, and then finally his lips.

you hover over his lips for a second, gently tracing his bottom lip with your thumb and he looks at you through his lashes, your gentle touch being just about the best thing at the moment as the thc creeps more and more into his brain.

you slot the joint in his lips between your index and middle finger and slowly slide it out of his mouth, before letting your own lips wrap around the end. you take a deep, long drag and flutter your eyes shut as you throw your head back, letting the smoke roll off your lips.

rafe watches you, so entranced by every movement of yours, and the melody of redbone only makes him crave more and more. you bring your head back to his level, meeting your own dreamy gaze with his as you pull the joint out of your mouth, and lean in closer to him.

there is merely a few inches of distance between you two, and he knows he can’t control himself anymore; causing him to push his lips against yours. you adjust yourself in his lap so you’re even closer to him, your fingers gently circling his shoulders through his t-shirt as your lips slowly move against his, the taste of the mint lip balm he always uses along with the weed spilling onto your own tongue, sending you in a high beyond euphoric than the one provided by a simple blunt.

— —

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my writing is really a social experiment lately as I’m trying out different things, so any sorts of feedback is really highly appreciated!! <3

449 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 4 months

Text

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house.

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth.

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand.

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease.

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots.

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet.

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then.

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips.

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses.

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom.

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #goodbye 2023

556 notes · View notes

heartsofminds · 6 months

Text

my life is changing every day, in every possible way

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” or It's Halloween, Bradley has a precocious eleven-month-old daughter, and he might be in love with her impromptu babysitter.

A/N: soooo here's a halloween thing that i kind of just threw together? i'm OBSESSED with bradley being a girl dad and just love this little girl i came up with (@gretagerwigsmuse knows that we love quincy in this household). anywho, enjoy some poorly written dadley and this super pointless halloween drabble? hope y'all had a good holiday and am sooo looking forward to writing more of this daddy/daughter duo !

“Whatever it is, Bradshaw, you’re not excused this time.”

Jake Seresin slams his locker shut and shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The heel of his boot is kicked up, making a soft “thud” on the hollow metal as he leans his back against it. He crosses his arms to lie in front of his chest and adjusts his watch.

The small wooden bench screwed into the linoleum tile perches Bradley Bradshaw, who sits with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs and his back aching something awful. He softly grunts before he turns to release some of the pressure there. The resounding crack it makes causes Jake to grimace a little before his face returns to the snarky default position it always seems to have.

“I’m sorry I’m an adult? And have responsibilities?” Bradley rolls his eyes and traces his index finger around a watermark on the wood next to him.

He notices his Nalgene water bottle sweating and subconsciously picks it up, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dry the wet spots it left in its wake. Jake and Natasha watch him without his knowledge and share a knowing look with each other, but remain silent. Sometimes it’s hard to determine if Bradley’s behavior is because he’s in a vastly different life stage than they are, or if it’s just a Bradley thing.

Trying to figure it out makes everyone’s brains hurt so they often just let it be.

The blonde groans again. “You say it like flying a billion-dollar aircraft every single day isn’t a huge responsibility,” he licks his lips before throwing his head back, “Can you take that huge stick out of your ass for once and let yourself have fun?”

“I have a baby, shithead. I can’t just stop being a dad to go to a Halloween party.”

Javy slams his locker shut and prances over to Jake and Natasha. A wrinkle in his eyebrows starts to form as he thinks over Bradley’s statement. He finds himself standing next to Jake; his stance is identical and his bargaining skills are tuned and ready to be used.

“It’s hardly a party at all, man. It’s a costume, a couple of beers at Pen’s place, and maybe one other bar for like an hour,” he speaks and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Live a little.”

Bradley sighs; the puff of air housing a hint of playfulness and a hint of annoyance. He knows he’s already lost and that there is absolutely no way he’s getting out of it this time. And so help him God, he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but maybe what Jake and Javy are saying doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan.

It would be good for him. It would be good them. It would be good for Quincy, and if any of the parenting magazine articles (that he’s kind of ashamed to have budgeted for paying for the subscriptions, if he’s being honest) had anything to say about it, children thrive when their parents are thriving.

Besides, Penny and Mav have kinda been on his ass about it. Because yeah, she goes to daycare during the day and yes, she’s technically been around other kids and for sure has had her share of being around adults, but she’s one anxious biting attack away from being kicked out of daycare and all the people Bradley trusts (outside of Miss Charlene at the daycare who is a friend of Penny’s and was his babysitter when he was small) are up in the sky so he’s really running himself dry with options.

Natasha calls it separation anxiety but Bradley calls it a bond. Which is true, Nat had agreed, but it wasn’t just about Quincy being attached. It was also about Bradley being just as attached, if not more.

In the eleven months that Quincy Elaine Bradshaw had been on this Earth, Bradley hadn’t left her side for longer than four hours at a time.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had anyone to call his own before or if it’s a “Papa Bear” thing or if there’s some unexplained biological phenomena that won’t allow him to be away from his daughter without spiraling, but he hardly thinks its a problem. . . .

Except when he leaves on his lunch break to go see her at daycare and she’s in a fit of hysterics whenever his hour break is up and he has to return to work. Or when she’s eleven months old and has never slept by herself in her own room before (which is why his back is so fucked, but he’ll never admit it). Or when she’s biting kids and teachers because she’s so anxious she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

So, yeah. Maybe it is a problem and maybe the root of it all is guilt.

He can’t let his daughter out of his sight because he can’t help but feel guilty for raising her the same way he was and giving her a ghost that she never asked for – a parent whose approval she will always seek despite never knowing who that person truly is.

Something about that makes him feel like he has to make up time for two as a punishment for only being one, and being the one who can’t provide her everything she’ll ever need as a growing girl and eventually as a woman.

“I don’t know,” he says lamely. He wraps his finger around the loose thread on his t-shirt and pulls it in one fell swoop.

“Okay, fuck. You need to get out. What do you need?” Natasha pipes up, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to him.

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer but she cuts him off before he can. “What’s it gonna take? Do you need a sitter? A lobotomy? You need to live a little, dude.”

“Well, we know the sitter’s not the issue. The kid’s cute as shit,” Jake speaks up and Bradley scoffs.

“She’s so fucking cute,” Javy agrees and Bradley has to hide his grin despite being annoyed.

He helped make the cutest baby ever. Who wouldn’t be obnoxiously proud about that?

“Absolutely adorable. People are lining up to babysit her,” Reuben Fitch interrupts and joins the group of aviators which further puts a pin in Bradley’s desire to decline the invitation. Rueben doesn’t involve himself in Jake or Javy’s bullshit very often, but when he does, it’s evident that the idea isn’t absolutely batshit crazy.

Bradley gives him a playful middle finger before straightening his posture and coming to the realization that maybe Jake was right for once.

“Yeah.” Holy fucking shit. “Rueben’s wife would put her in her pocket and take her home if you let her.”

And the golden rule is that if Bob is game for something, then everyone else should be. So now he really has no excuse to not go out on Halloween night because he has the Southern Californian equivalent of the fucking Pope giving his two cents on to why he needs to go.

Fuck you, Bob Floyd for always being the voice of reason.

“See? Everyone agrees. You’re the odd one out so it’s only fair,” Jake taunts again. Everyone around Bradley seems to be shaking their head in agreement to which he realizes that he’s stuck and there’s no way he won’t be in attendance to the group’s Halloween plans.

“But it’s her first Halloween,” he tries to reason, “I can’t leave her alone on her first one.”

Javy sighs. “She’s not even gonna remember it. Yeah it’s a holiday but she’s not missing out on much. She doesn’t even have teeth yet.”

Jake laughs sarcastically. “Q-dawg’s been chompin’ away on all of her little daycare friends. Haven’t you heard?”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “Fuck you! I thought you left the room when I was on the phone with the daycare.”

“Her business is our business now, Bradshaw. Aren’t we allowed uncle duties?” Reuben teases. Natasha clears her throat to interrupt him. “And aunt duties?”

“Auntie Nat reigns superior and we all know it, but holy shit. She’s biting people? How is she more badass than her dad?” Nat goads and shoves the back of Bradley’s head playfully. She chuckles at how slow his head pops back up and he mocks her laugh and sticks out his tongue at her.

“Guys, c’mon. I can’t leave her with a sitter on her first Halloween.” Although he knows he sounds silly (and he feels silly saying it, too), his daughter is his best friend in some ways. Despite her not being able to walk yet and only having a vocabulary of a few words, he can’t help but know how deeply he loves her, and how much everything about her matters to him.

“Then don’t,” Bob says, “Just bring her to Hard Deck for like an hour and then you can run home, meet the sitter, and then meet us wherever else we decide to go.”

And sometimes Bradley hates how much sense Bob tends to make and wishes that he was wrong. That no, the Hard Deck isn’t a suitable place for a baby, and no, there’s absolutely no way Quincy would keep her cool while being there during one of the busiest nights of the year.

But he knows it’s a lie because her grandparents are the owners, everyone loves her and fights over having their turn to hold her or even catch a glimpse of a baby smile directed at them, and the fact that Quincy has been to the Hard Deck enough to have developed an affinity for diluted cranberry juice over the Mott’s Tots apple juice sitting in his pantry.

“Fuck, fine. But you’re finding me a fucking babysitter,” he speaks, pointing a finger between Jake and Natasha before standing up abruptly. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, knowing the only way he can make sense of the predicament he’s put himself in can be solved by seeing his joyous baby girl.

The sounds of muffled chuckles and shoes squeaking on the ground fill the silence of Bradley’s absence; all of their eyes flitting to each other to decipher if they actually made the most stubborn man alive give into their bidding with minimal effort.

“Did we just make Rooster. . .cave?” Reuben speaks, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. His thumb rolls his wedding band around on his ring finger as he waits for someone else to speak up.

“Huh,” Jake huffs, “I think we did.”

“So I’m guessing the lobotomy is out of the question,” Mickey ponders out loud, “Y’all better know a damn good babysitter.”

Natasha and Jake’s eyes widen in realization. They better find a damn good babysitter soon.

Carrying a baby is harder than it looks.

Bradley swears that his daughter is an eighty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a drooly and overly excitable eleven-month-old.

It's not the worst thing in the world, he figures.

But God, is she giving his arms a workout from the amount of times she’s tried to contort her small body to get a good look at all the ruckus and excitement going on around her. It’s when Bradley feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck that he realizes the costume he’s picked may not have been the smartest move; especially when no one seems to get what he’s supposed to be.

Secreting sweat by the gallon seems like an unfair exchange to be dressed in what he thinks is the greatest daddy-daughter costume of all time. The flannel shirt he has on and the overwhelmingly hot coveralls to go with it was a good idea in theory (that theory being how frigid the Halloweens he used to spend in northern Virginia were when he was a little kid).

He finally makes it to the saloon-style doors of the bar and is met with “Thriller” by Michael Jackson playing from the overhead speakers above him. Every surface seems to be decked out in cobwebs and dark purple and neon green spiders, and Quincy stares in awe at all the patrons meddling about around her before making grabby hands at the faux snakes dangling around the jukebox.

She almost slips out of Bradley’s grasp before being wrangled back to a stable position by her chunky rolled arms.

“Jesus, girl,” he gasps, swallowing the lump in his throat while Quincy giggles in his face. “You tryna kill me here?”

“Well look who it is!” Penny’s teasing voice sounds in his ears.

Quincy’s little eyes catch the figure of her faux grandma and she begins to squeal in her father’s ear before reaching her arms as far out as they can go; reaching and moving so frantically it looks as if she’s attempting to swim in midair.

Penny moves closer to them and raises her eyebrows. Her arms instinctively reach out and she grabs Quincy from Bradley. Her fingers trace the burgundy felt of her costume before she tickles the baby. Quincy erupts in a fit of laughs.

“What has your crazy daddy got you dressed as?” she teases, her elbow coming out to knock Bradley in his ribs playfully. “Are you an. . .apple?”

Bradley huffs and rolls his eyes. His gaze instinctively lands on his daughter who clasps her hands on Penny’s face and traces her chubby (and insanely sticky) baby fingers across her red lips. She puckers her lips and chuckles to herself at Quincy’s amazement of red lipstick.

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?”

Penny’s eyes flicker between Bradley and the baby she holds in her arms. The splotchy rosy cheeks and honeyed hazel eyes tells the tale of twins, and she’s reminded of the little boy she used to casually see around Fightertown all those years ago dressed in different variants of the same dinosaur on Halloween.

“Sweetheart, you’re saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” she starts, simultaneously giving her attention to Quincy and the million and one different things going on around her, “I almost thought she was one of the cement balls outside of Target but realized the red was too dark.”

He groans, his eyebrows furrowing together and a slight scowl forming on his face. Penny’s heart is warmed because his daughter has a propensity to make the same face when she’s frustrated.

A beat absent of dialouge passes. Hoots and hollers fill the silence as well as strangers stopping by to coo at Quincy before being on their way to the pool table of their desire. Quincy babbles and talks as if she’s a lawyer prosecuting a case and Bradley’s heart softens at how animated she is.

Her awkward tongue pushes out more saliva than what would be socially acceptable and the drool begins to gather on her face. He reaches out and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his flannel while she flops like a dead fish away from the makeshift napkin in protest.

God, this girl is so dramatic.

“I handmade it,” he says softly. He runs a dry part of his sleeve across her lips more firmly to ensure he had gotten all the wetness.

Penny hums in acknowledgement. “And you did good.”

And he doesn’t know why he’s expecting it; why he’s waiting on Penny (of all people) to see him picking a scab and rub more salt in the wound. He knows that she would never do that and he knows that most of the people (if not all of the people who he considers close to him) see him that way. He knows that people know he’s trying his best and that he’s doing everything he can.

Bradley knows but he just can’t make himself feel it, and he can never figure out why.

Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad without a “real” mom or dad to show him the way. Maybe it’s because he’s finally gotten used to having someone around who relies on him and needs him and loves him unconditionally, and he’s terrified of doing something that will make her sit on a couch in a therapist office and say the words that he’s trying his best to avoid: “My dad doesn’t love me enough.”

Bradley knows what it feels like to not be loved enough. Bradley knows what it feels like to not be liked enough. But Bradley doesn’t know what it feels like to not try hard enough, and that is something he is determined to never stop doing when it comes to his baby.

“You’re saying it like I didn’t though.”

Penny’s face falls and she shifts her gaze from Bradley’s daughter to him.

“Oh, Bradley,” she sighs, her open palm coming up to cup his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re an amazing dad and you’re doing a fantastic job.”

He grabs her hand with his and gives her a weak smile in return.

“Doesn’t feel like it, though.”

He’s usually not one for feeling sorry for himself. He’s never been too keen on throwing pity parties and inviting everyone he knows to them, and in all actuality, he doesn’t know why this bid for reassurance that he’s serving Penny is even coming up.

“No. Stop it. No,” she playfully chides, tickling Quincy to make her erupt into a ball of silent baby chuckles. “You’re an amazing dad and everyone knows it. You’re her world and that’s all that matters.”

Bradley opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to accept her compliment. He simply nods his head before the already loud noise of the bar is split by an even louder whistle.

His neck cranes around to see his group of friends waving him over to the pool table and the anchored weight of doom starts to sink in his stomach. He remains frozen with his hands in his pockets and his body emitting heat from his personal heater of rubber waders. He feels like a seven year old at the park again; his mother standing before him and wordlessly encouraging him to go play and make friends.

The high pitched scream of his daughter is heard as Maverick approaches. Both Penny and Bradley wince more and watch as his daughter mindlessly babbles and almost flies out of Penny’s grasp in favor of him.

Pete smiles to himself before grabbing her from Penny. She rolls her eyes at him and he playfully sticks out his tongue.

“Like father, like daughter,” he says, “M’never not a Bradshaw kid’s favorite.” Quincy sticks her chubby fingers near Maverick’s mouth and squeals as he pretends to bite them.

“Did the past fifteen years just. . .not happen?” Bradley quips. In the past, the snarky comment would have made Maverick freeze on the spot but since they’ve repaired their relationship, (and Quincy’s frequent stays at Nana Pen and Papa Mav’s on the weekends) the insult rolls off Maverick’s shoulders into oblivion.

“You’re making fun of the old timer, but I’ve been havin’ myself a grand ole time and you’re in the corner pouting like you’re in timeout,” he comments back, “Don’t you have friends or something?”

“I’m just – taking my time to get over there.” They all look as Jake lets out an obnoxiously loud holler after hitting the eight ball into the pocket to win his pool game. “M’trying to choose joy tonight.”

“And choosing bad costumes too.” Maverick holds his granddaughter out in front of him to get a full fledged look at her costume. She kicks her legs in the air gleefully before he pulls her back to his chest. “Who makes their kid the…Target balls?”

Bradley lets out a groan and rubs at his temples. “Oh my God! She’s a cranberry!”

“Love you to pieces, kid but I think you need your vision checked. You can’t put a kid inside a red sphere and call it a cranberry,” his finger comes out to poke his granddaughter and he’s met with a giggle, “A quack doesn’t always mean duck.”

“Aren’t you, like, 5’4 –”

Penny interrupts the conversation with her hands and quickly grabs Quincy from Maverick’s hold. He flashes her a small pout and is met with the ice cold glare of his girlfriend.

“Bradley, go talk to your friends, babe. We’ll bring her over in a second,” she says, squeezing Pete’s bicep to drag him with her to the bar.

“But –” they both begin to complain in unison. Penny gives them a pointed look that immediately shuts them both up.

“Let’s go get some cranberry juice! How does that sound?” she asks Quincy who begins to smile and clap her hands in approval. Penny turns on her heel to head to the back while Maverick stands frozen in front of his nephew.

“Do you really think I’m only 5’4?” he meekly asks, genuine concern covering his face.

Bradley shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The paper “Ocean Spray” label he’s taped onto his waders bends and he mentally cringes at the crease he knows will probably be there.

“I mean, sometimes when you turn to the side it’s hard to imagine that you’re actually 5’7.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I said, let’s go get some juice!” Penny’s yells, annoyance dripping off her tone. Maverick claps Bradley on the shoulder before retreating to go accompany Penny in getting Quincy copious amounts of diluted cranberry juice.

With Maverick’s departure, Bradley realizes that he actually has to go interact with his friends. After all, they’re the reason that he’s here. But when he takes in the swell and dip of the loudness that is contingent on the World Series playing on the televisions around him, he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice tonight.

He imagines that he would’ve taken Quincy up the street to trick or treat at a few houses before her impatience and curiosity made her lose interest in the activity. They would have abandoned trick or treating and ended up on the couch where she would be cuddled up beside him with her feet tucked somewhere in between his ribs (because she seems to have a talent for finding the most tender spots on his body to lay) and stroking the tip of his mustache with her perpetually sticky fingers as she begins to doze off. They would be probably watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown before her bedtime came, and she would be read three books, tucked in, and off to sleep before he caved and pulled her from her crib and let her sleep with him in his bed.

While it’s mundane and certainly not what he would have considered the epitome of “fun” even two years ago, he feels a weird ache in his chest knowing that he’s missing out on that reality. But he has to snap out of it if he doesn’t want to be miserable and ruin everyone’s night.

Besides, Jake and Nat promised him free drinks all night and they already found him a babysitter and paid her for him. He’s in too deep to back out now.

Bradley takes a deep breath before approaching his friends and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears as Jake and Mickey scream as the Texas Rangers score their first homerun of the game.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Reuben teases, forcing a beer into his hand that had been on standby until Bradley’s arrival.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited,” he deadpans before moving around the group and telling everyone hello.

He’s met with joy and little jabs about graduating to “old timer” status that he playfully ignores. Bradley knows that they’re all just joking with him and that they mean no harm by their comments. Even he’s slightly surprised that he went through with coming out tonight; not to mention coming out while wearing a costume.

His eyes catch Jake slyly handing over a twenty dollar bill to Javy accompanied by a middle finger before he turns his attention to Bradley.

He can already sense the half-assed greeting he’s about to get from him before Jake even begins to speak.

“Got a lot of questions for you but I’ll start with this one,” Jake begins and Bradley rolls his eyes before he finishes his statement, “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

He groans before pointing to the crumpled “Ocean Spray” label taped to his front. “Fucking Christ. Does no one know where the fuck cranberry juice comes from?”

Jake laughs before taking a long swig of his beer. His ridiculous belt buckle and cowboy boots tell Bradley exactly what he’s supposed to be. Well, that and the fact that for as long as he’s known Jake, he’s always the same thing every year for Halloween.

Leave the Texan to always be a cowboy.

“My first guess was one of the guys from “Deadliest Catch” but since you wanna be a diva about it. . .I’ll just pretend like the Ocean Spray farmer was beyond fuckin’ obvious” he takes a long swig from the beer bottle he has in his hand, “But that’s not important. Where’s our girl?”

Bradley sighs and looks around near the back of the bar where he knows his baby is being given the spotlight by all the older Hard Deck patrons that can’t believe that, “Little Bradley Bradshaw has a baby now!” He’s known that he’s always had a knack for attention, but his daughter lives for the limelight. He’s never known anyone in his life to be so incredibly outgoing, nevermind the fact that Quincy is already the life of the party and she can’t even speak coherently yet.

“Pen and Mav took her to get cranberry juice,” he emphasizes the word and Jake rolls his eyes at him this time instead of the reverse, “They’re gonna bring her by in a bit.”

Natasha makes her way over to the two men; extra smiley and smelling like she had bathed in tequila. Natasha always parties hard but never lets it keep her down. Her ability to drink liquor like a fish and be perfectly fine the next morning has always been a mystery to Bradley. She’s called Phoenix for a reason, he knows.

“Bradley!” she cheers. Her dark hair is hidden by a copper colored wig and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if he hadn’t known her face so well. The green eye makeup and the plastic vines wrapped around her shoulders and legs cue him into the fact that she’s dressed up as Poison Ivy.

“Hey!” he cheers back, matching her enthusiasm.

“You’re the fisher guys from “Deadliest Catch”! That’s so clever!”

Bradley’s face drops and Jake begins to lose his composure beside him. Natasha’s eyes immediately soften with worry and she starts to search for the words to profusely apologize.

“No I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I swear it! I was just – I thought — I think that it’s really cool and the overall thingies look great on you! I’m so sorry,” she word vomits and Jake continues to laugh hysterically.

“Nat, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he speaks gently, “Just calm down a little.”

She takes a deep breath and Bradley can physically see her brain wipe the incident away as if it had never happened. He’s been her best friend for years and knows what she looks like when she’s close to being black out drunk. There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance she even remembers this interaction at all. She blinks blankly at him before getting distracted by the baseball game and almost topples over with how fast she turned her head.

Jake lightly smacks Bradley’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go grab her a water. You want anything?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t want Natasha to overhear him because they both know that she’ll refuse his help no matter what state she’s in.

He shakes his head “no” before hearing the clunk of his boots carrying him to the bar, leaving him and Natsaha alone in the pocket of the bar that their friend group has claimed as their own.

Natasha’s eyes follow Jake’s path to the bar and Bradley has to hide his grin and hold his tongue to not set her off while she’s so vulnerable. Natasha has always been the tiniest bit sweet on Jake but is too stubborn to admit it. Even with all the logical circuits in her brain turned off, she refuses to let herself ponder on this fact for longer than a few seconds. She catches herself staring at the blonde in a half-assed Halloween costume before she returns her attention to Bradley.

And just as expected, she changes the subject as if their earlier conversation had never even happened.

“Where’s Quincy Wincey?” she asks and Bradley chuckles.

Even with no coherent thoughts in mind, Natasha still loves his daughter and wants nothing more than to see her.

“She’s behind the bar with Pen and Mav. She’ll be here shortly.”

Natasha nods before opening her mouth again. “You know, you’re a great dad, B.”

Her sudden revelation takes the words out of Bradley’s mouth. He’s known Natasha Trace for nearly fifteen years and he has never known her to give out genuine compliments half-assed. He has half the mind to ask her what she means by it, but knows that it’s no use given the state she’s in.

All that matters is that she really means it, so he settles for a simple “Thank you” instead.

Jake announces his return by forcing a cup of ice water into Natasha’s hand which she gripes about but begins to drink anyway.

“Your daughter’s back there chummin’ it up, by the way,” Jake states simply and Bradley pauses.

“What do you mean?” His hands come out to rest on his hips.

“Well, for starters,” he begins, unwrapping a toothpick and putting it in his mouth, “She’s got people handing her candy and peanuts into a little paper bag. She’s being pretty efficient about it if I say so myself. Had half the mind to grab her from Mav while I was up there cause I wanna see her, but I didn’t wanna get in the way of her business efforts.”

“She’s what?”

“Paper bag. Candy. Peanuts,” Jake lists, “C’mon, man. Keep up!”

Bradley stalks toward the bar to go get his daughter. He’s not angry, in any sense of the word, but kind of disappointed given that she’s technically trick or treating for the first time and he’s not there to witness it. Part of him is starting to feel restless at his lack of interaction with her and wants her back in his arms immediately.

“Hey, don’t insert yourself in her business endeavors! Be happy your daughter is likable. We all know she doesn’t get it from you,” Jake shouts before returning his attention to the World Series playing out in front of him.

By the time Bradley arrives to the bar top, he takes note of exactly what Jake had seen upon his visit. There is his daughter with ruddy cheeks and a toothy grin absolutely hamming up her cuteness at some captains and their wives with Maverick holding her up so she can stand semi-confidently on the table. Her little fist holds a brown paper bag that Penny uses for her peanuts and is full with candy and crinkled due to her lack of a proper graspar reflex.

His daughter is a world class charmer and she has an equally charming grandpa to help her do her bidding.

“Bradley!” Maverick cheers, turning Quincy his direction so that she can have eyes on her dad.

Like magic, she abandons the little bag she was holding in favor of the arms of her father. He grabs her without hesitation and she glues herself to his side as if it’s her permanent position.

“You better not be making my baby a con artist, Mav,” he weakly threatens. He coos at Quincy and marvels in the way she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Hardly. She’s a people magnet, kid. Everyone would be happy to do anything she wanted them to do.”

Bradley sighs, knowing that he’s missed one of her milestones. This is the price he’ll have to pay forever with being a more than single parent with the kind of job he has. He swallows the disappointment down and saves it for later. He knows that it’ll come up another time anyway, so why even bother with addressing it now?

“You’re treating my kid like a Kennedy, Mav. Don’t get any ideas on how to sneak her onto base to get you out of trouble.”

Pete laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Can’t make any promises,” he simply says, “Don’t you have to go meet the sitter soon?”

Bradley groans at the gentle reminder his uncle is giving him. Maverick doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent in the slightest, but he knows what good parenting looks like. He had seen it with Goose and how much he had cared for Bradley in the very short amount of time he was given, there’s no doubt in his mind that Bradley is the best dad that Quincy could ever ask for.

But what he also knows is how perfectionistic and borderline obsessive his nephew can be. He deserves a break and a break Maverick knows will be spent in good company with people who love him.

Bradley deserves this, and he knows that Mav’s gentle reminder is more of an order telling him to be kind to himself.

He looks down at his watch and sees the little hand inching towards the eight. “Yeah. We need to get going.”

Pete leans over and gives Quincy a kiss on the head as a “goodbye” before shoving the paper bag of candy into her father’s hand.

He closes his hand around Bradley’s fist and gives it a firm shake. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.”

Bradley nods before bidding goodbye to Penny who is beyond excited at the idea of Bradley finally going out, baby free, for the first time since he found out he was going to be a father.

And when his daughter incoherently hums along to “The Girl is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney in the backseat, Bradley knows how hard leaving her alone tonight is truly going to be.

She shouts at him which he knows is her trying to get his attention to sing along with her.

“You ready, babe?” he asks, eyes flitting up to peek at her in his rearview mirror, “Because, the doggone girl is mine.”

Quincy bursts into a fit of baby giggles as he tries to ignore the feeling of impending doom brewing in his chest. He grabs a piece of chalky bubble gum from her candy bag and pops it in his mouth. He cringes as he chews.

Who the fuck gives gum to a baby?

Bradley doesn’t know why his heart is pounding out of his chest.

He knows that he’ll only be gone for two hours maximum and that Quincy will probably sleep the entire time anyway. She may be precocious and charming, but she loves bedtime more than anything, and from the active night she’s had, he’d be surprised if she even made it fifteen minutes before passing out somewhere on the living room floor.

He trusts Natasha’s judgement (and Jake’s, he’ll begrudantly admit) and he knows the sitter they found for him is nothing less than amazing. You’re a childhood friend of Natasha’s that had recently moved to the area and had been Jake’s date one time to the Navy Ball six years ago (which he had learned from an Instagram post dated from 2017).

And Bradley will say he doesn’t know much about you (outside of his deep dive stalk that he had done days before, but that remains beside the point, he thinks) but that would be a big fat lie. He feels a little pathetic to admit that he had created a faux LinkedIn profile to be able to look you up and see your credentials as well as finding every mutual follower you had amassed between Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Bob.

And it’s a little creepy, he admits, but he’s only just looking out for the safety of his daughter! Just because you know his friends doesn’t mean that he knows you (which he knows is wildly untrue given the overwhelming amount of Internet stalking he had done on you in the past week).

Bradley is burning a hole into his living room floor by pacing back and forth with his daughter in his arms. As anticipated, she’s started to doze off and he chuckles to himself. Quincy loves bedtime and that remains uncontested by the way her little lips are pursed and she lets out light snores.

The sound of a car door opening and shutting keys him into being aware of your presence and he scares you half to death because he opens the door before you can knock; your knuckles almost coming into contact with his chin had you not been paying attention.

“Oh,” you mummer, “Ummm. You’re Bradley, right?”

And you’ve never felt as dumb as you do now because of course he’s Bradley. You know what he looks like and the baby asleep on his shoulder and the last name “Bradshaw” printed on the doormat outside should be enough for you to deductively reason that that’s him right in front of you.

Not to mention, you’ve been Internet stalking him and know what he looks like for a fact because of the amount of photos Natasha has of him on her Instagram and in her story highlights. You had always found him attractive whenever your eyes graced those pictures, but that’s all it was; a fleeting thought that was never watered and was gone as soon as it was there.

But now that he’s in front of you, now that you’re getting a really good look at him holding a precious baby on his hip and somehow making rubber waders look amazing, your mouth starts to get dry and your heartbeat starts to quicken.

“You must be the sitter,” he declares and he mentally kicks himself for how cold he’s coming off. His nerves have a tendency to put him into fight or flight and the pressure of being in your presence merely adds to that.

He clears his throat when he notices your lips forming a thin line and rejection teeming from your body language.

Fuck. Why do I always do this?

“Oh! Uh – Come in,” he steps aside and closes the door behind you as you walk in.

From what you know about Bradley, you know that he’s a single dad who had a less than stellar record for wanting female companionship. When Nat would come to Williamsburg to visit you all those years ago when you were fresh out of undergrad and working as a TA, barely scraping enough money to pay your rent, she would lay on your floor and crone about how she had a friend who never seemed to be able to keep a girlfriend.

But he was amazing, she would insist, and he’s such an awesome person, she would say. Somehow though, Bradley always seemed to be heartbroken and searching for the next way to smash what little he had left of it into unsalvageable pieces.

Even though that was close to a decade ago, you know that the fact remains true when you peer across the pictures in his living room. Photos of a blonde couple and a dark haird little boy that you know are his parents. Photos of him with the infamous and insane Maverick. Photos of him with his daughter, but no photos of him and his daughter’s mother; let alone a girlfriend of any kind.

“So she’ll probably sleep the entire time. Don’t put her in her crib because she’ll scream bloody murder and not calm down for a long time so you’re free to keep her on the couch or put her in my bed,” he lays her down in the corner of his couch and puts the large blanket laying there on her lower half, “She’s allergic to strawberries but I don’t think she’s gonna be eating anything while you’re here and I don’t have strawberries in the house.”

He pauses, wracking his brain for more information to tell you that wouldn’t just be him retelling his daughter’s entire life story. “Oh! This is kind of weird, but if she wakes up and won’t go back to sleep, just play “The Girl is Mine” –”

“The Paul McCartney song?” you question. Your eyes search his face and are full of amusement. He can’t help but feel his chest flutter at the little glimmer they give off.

Focus. You can’t flirt with the babysitter. What’s wrong with you?

“Well, it’s Michael Jackson’s song featuring Paul McCartney but yeah. It usually calms her right down and she’ll settle enough to doze back off.”

He knows that his daughter is more than quirky. Sometimes he settles for the word “particular,” but he knows quirky is the right one to use.

You start to laugh a little. “That’s so –”

“Weird?” he inserts, “Yeah, I know. I’m raising a sixty-year-old but there could be worse songs. Be grateful she’s phased out of only wanting to listen to “Break Free” because there’s nothing worse than listening to EDM on a loop at three AM because she won’t fall asleep unless it’s playing.”

You shake your head and agree. “Well, I promise that we’ll behave ourselves and not get into anything too crazy. She’s adorable, you know, so if she asks, I don’t know if I can stand it to say no.”

You can’t flirt with her dad. You can’t be the babysitter that’s trying to get banged by the dad. What’s wrong with you?

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see to that. Her sitter is pretty cute too so I think I’d be pretty forgiving.”

And fuck. Is he, is he flirting with you?

You’re left speechless before his phone rings and he rolls his eyes before grabbing it off the entryway table.

“Hang on a sec,” he says before swiping across the screen to answer. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m on the way.”

He grabs his keys and starts heading toward the door, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear and you have to stop yourself from drooling. “Calm the fuck down, dude. I’m leaving like right now. . .Yes, I’m literally walking out the door – Can you chill? I’ll be there when I get there?”

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble.

She spots you and immediately lifts her arms up, telling you that she wants to be held. You graciously comply and coo softly to her and marvel in the way she instantly koalas to your side as if she had always had a spot there and had always known you.

Part of you thinks that it’s fate. That in some way, you’re meant to be in her life and meant to stick around but you know that this silly schoolgirl thinking will only get your heart smashed to pieces. You decide to ignore it.

Besides, Natasha would kill you if you ever expressed to her how hot you found her other best friend.

Some things just aren’t meant to be.

Bradley jogs into the next bar that his friends had decided to go to with a slight smile on his face. He scans the crowd and spots Jake and Bob trying to hold up a beyond inebriated Natasha.

“You’re awful happ — Oh dear God. Don’t tell me you screwed the sitter,” Jake greets and Bob looks away bashfully once the statement leaves Jake’s mouth.

Bradley mocks him before helping them guide Natasha to a booth.

“Can you ever just say "hello" like a normal person? Do you always have to be bitchy?” he remarks.

Jake lets Natasha rest her head on his shoulder and looks down to check on her. “It was just a comment. You know we picked her because we wanna set you guys up, right?”

Bradley’s world stops. He raises his eyebrows and feels his mouth go dry.

“You what?”

“I mean, she’s cute. She’s smart. She loves kids and she obviously didn’t vom on you from getting a look at your face, so I assume it went well,” he starts listing his reasonings on his fingers, “You also bounced in here like you have a can of jumping beans shoved up your ass so you’re giddy about something.”

Bradley scoffs. “I do not have anything shoved up my a– Why do you care so much about who I’m seeing?”

Jake looks at Bob who starts to shrink a little in his seat. He instantly knows that the set up wasn’t all just Jake and Nat. It was probably the entire squadron.

“We want you to be happy, dude. I mean, this is a good opportunity for you and for Quincy,” Bob starts and Bradley knows that he needs to listen and take it into actual consideration if he knows what’s good for him.

Jake and Natasha are class A meddlers, but everyone else getting involved shows how much this matters to him.

“You’re doing great and I know for a fact I’m not half the man you are, but you also gotta cut yourself some slack. You have to let yourself be happy, too. Life isn’t all just about sacrifice, you know?”

“And we made a reservation for you both at that one rooftop restaurant downtown. There’s a $250 cancellation fee so you kinda have to go,” Jake adds and Bob facepalms himself at their friend’s lack of tact.

“You did what?”

“Also she thinks you’re hot. She texted Nat about you ten minutes ago and she’s way too drunk to respond so we did for her and as of now, “He totes thinks you’re hot too. Make a move when he gets back.””

Bradley’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to say.

“Thank us when you’re getting us together about the proposal.”

There’s something about the way that life flashes before your eyes and there’s never anything you can do about it.

You can take photos or collect trivial keepsakes. You can talk about the events in past tense and have the story change slightly every single time the words leave your mouth. You can dream about it in watercolor memory and try to make sense of it all.

But no one ever tells you what it means when you’re standing before your daughter, a dark haired beauty with such elegance and spunk that it’s impossible to put a label on it, as she embarks on a journey to truly be her own person.

No one ever tells you how to cry so you don’t smudge your mascara. No one ever tells you the hole in your heart this day will give you but the rainbow of joy that supersedes it when it’s all said and done. No one ever tells you how all the times she had a nightmare or scraped her knees or needed you sit at the forefront of your brain.

And when you stand before your daughter dressed in a white dress and getting married to the love of her life, you can’t help but recall the night that you fell in love with her and remember the little baby she was all those years ago.

So around all the orchids and wedding guests and happy tears, you settle to retell this moment in the only way you know how.

“The first time I met my daughter, she was dressed as a cranberry.”

And somehow, that statement is all you need to explain the love between the two of you.

597 notes · View notes

chaethewriter · 1 year

Text

bf does my makeup q&a

Jack Champion x content creator!reader

In which you record a Youtube video with your boyfriend, the one and only Jack Champion.

word count: 2,3k

Warning: fluff, lots of fluff that it's cringey, this took me 5 days to write bruh I'm lacking

tagged: @viivvriv @genesis4545 @norrisgf @darkcrusadestrawberry @drxwstxrkxy @wafflehousewrold

"Camera, set!" You put your camera on its stand as you flipped the screen around, pointing towards the front for you to see. Jack appeared on the screen as you did so, sitting on the couch in your room as in front of him stood a table with your two makeup bags and a mirror. You pressed record when everything was clear on screen— centered and not lopsided. You took a step back as you watched yourself on screen, thus making him immediately grab you by the waist, putting you down on his lap. He held you tightly against him, his arms caging you from behind, "Mmm, can't you start the intro now?" His face buried in your hair as he spoke, satisfied with the position they were in. But you had different ideas, as you abruptly got off his lap and took a seat next to him, your legs thrown over his lap, "you can't do my makeup when I'm on your lap, pookie." You booped his nose with your nail as the words left your lips. As a response, he groaned as he sat back, resting his back against the soft material of your coach, his hands behind his neck as he watched you through his eyelids. You took your phone out and clicked on the Instagram icon for today's video.

"Hello, pookies! Welcome back to the channel. Today is a very special video as I'm joined by my sweet Jack!" You wrapped your arms around his neck as you pulled him close to you, your cheeks pressed against one another. He brought his arms down, wrapping one around your waist. His gaze settled on your camera as he smiled, "Hi guys!" He greeted your viewers with his other hand raised into the air, doing his familiar greeting sign with his thumb, index, and middle finger. You pulled away from your boyfriend, putting your phone in your lap as you clapped in your hands, "Today! As the title said, Jack here will be doing my makeup as we answer relationship questions you guys have sent me through my story!"

"Follow her insta, by the way! Appearing right here!" Jack is almost a natural, as he did some magician movements with his hands for you to edit your username in. You watched as he did so, making you burst in a fit of giggles, "You're such a natural babe, you should start your own channel."

"What can I say? I'm Jack the Champ!"

"So cringey?" The two of you looked into each other's eyes as you laughed. You clung onto your stomach as Jack clung onto you for dear life. The laughing continued for like five minutes. You really had to cut this out later. "Okay! Okay! So Jack needs to recreate my usual makeup look with the makeup provided while we answer questions. I'm such a kind girlfriend, so I allow him to have a picture of my makeup look on his phone." You explained, pointing at his phone flat on the table with a picture of you opened.

"I just want to announce that I know what my girlfriend looks like and that I already had this picture of her in my gallery as well as hundreds of other pictures I snapped of her!" You rolled your eyes at that statement, a chuckle leaving your lips, "Yeah, yeah! Anyways, let's get started. What do we start with, babe?" You watch as Jack carefully unpacked your makeup bags instead of throwing them upside down. He knew how much you valued your products, and he made sure he was gentle with them. It gave you a warm feeling. He put everything down in a neat order, looking at all the different brushes and products, "so from my acting experience, because you know I'm an actor, they always use the prime thing first? Like to keep your makeup intact?" He looked at you with puppy eyes, asking for approval to his words. You knew you're supposed to not give him any hints, but you couldn't stop yourself from nodding your head. While Jack looked for the 'prime thing', as he said it, you scrolled through the questions you were asked.

"Found it!" The two of you exclaimed at the same time: Jack talking about the primer and you talking about a question. He picked the product up— the glass container filled with a white cream as a lid covered the pump. You smile as he pumped some on the back of his hand and taps it against your skin with his finger, putting both his hands on your cheeks right after and spreading it with his palms. You fell into a fit of giggles as he did so, "Jack!" You exclaimed with your face all squeezed up. Proud of his work, he pulled his palms away and awaited a question from one of the viewers. You brought your phone to your face as you read the first question, "How did the two of you meet? Jack, the honor is to you."

Jack brought his hand to his chin as he pretended to think, thus making you playfully slap his chest, "Don't pretend you don't know, now!"

"Okay okay! We actually met during my Avatar press tour. She was all over me and I thought she was incredibly pretty." He exaggerated what had actually happened and you barely wait to voice this out loud, "That's not how it went! Stop embarrassing me!" Your face heated up as you looked at the camera, "Yes we did meet at his press tour, but I wasn't 'all over him'! I just asked for a picture, posted it, and tagged him in it, and all of a sudden, he was in my DMs. Don't change the story now, mister Champion!"

This time, it was Jack's turn to blush immensely. His secret revealed how he actually made the first move. He recollected himself, before a grin spreaded across his face, "I mean what can I say? I'm a rizzer."

"Oh god, please never say that again."

The two of you laughed as he picked the eyeliner up, "You have a weird way of applying makeup, so this actually comes second. I don't understand why, though?" He uncapped the eyeliner, revealing the inbuild eyeliner brush. "Eyeliner is so hard to do! Like it takes so long cause I want it to be perfect and by the time I am done my foundation isn't correct anymore because of the wiping!" You whined your complaints out, already growing frustrated thinking about the struggle.

Jack put his hand on your waist as he pulled you closer to him, "Sit still, baby. I never did this before so uhm here goes nothing?"

"Don't poke my eyeball, please." You then kept your mouth shut, as if it helped with him doing better. Jack is incredibly delicate with it though— he held your chin with his hand while the eyeliner was in his other staring directly into your eyes as he concentrated on his work. You felt your skin heating up yet again, your grip on the eyeliner tube wet, thanks to your sweaty hands. It doesn't matter how long you're together with him. He never failed to make you feel nervous. He never broke eye contact, not even when he dipped the brush in the eyeliner. His breath fanned against your skin as he leaned in closer, "Are you nervous?"

"Shut up..." Your voice came out softer than expected. Unfortunately, he pulled back to admire his handywork. It's not even, but he is proud either way. "Next question, babe!" He playfully nudged you with a cheeky grin.

"You're so annoying!!" You quickly brought your phone to your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassed state. "But you love me!"

"What attracted you to Jack and vice versa? Definitely his goofy self. I usually don't look at gym guys, but Jack's goofy demeanor and just being himself made me attracted to him, no matter what he does."

"You're so cute!" Jack pulled you closer yet again, basically seating you on one of his as your legs dangled to one side. He faced the camera while his arms held you steady, "What made me attracted to her is definitely her way of texting. You feel her care and love and joy when she texts you. She's so sweet about it too, aren't you?" He faced you again with a cheeky grin, making you blush like crazy, "so annoying!!"

He picked your foundation and concealer off the table in front of you, "These are all too familiar to me, but I can't remember which one goes first?" He looked at you with puppy eyes, hoping to get an answer out of you. This time, you kept your mouth shut as you let him figure it out himself. He pouted at you, putting the concealer down. He uncapped the foundation and looked at the brushes. "Babe, which one? You should help me out, I wanna do good."

You almost give in. Almost. Too bad for Jack though, because you only gave him a cheeky grin. His gaze traveled from your pretty face to the table. There were so many different brushes and sponges. He remembered makeup artists using a big one, but which one? He decided on the latter and took the biggest one in his hand. It needed to spread and cover the entire face, after all, right? He decided to follow his gut and put a few small pumps on the back of his hand. He dipped the fluffy part of the brush against it and pressed it to your face. Like you were a canvas and he was the painter. Your chuckling made him roll his eyes, "stay still! I'm being a professional right now."

"sure you do, babe."

Jack started to feel himself in his role as makeup artist. He didn't wait for you as he immediately got on with the concealer. He tapped the wand under your eyes and on your nose, just like artists do to him. He took a small brush and blended it by tapping it. You watched how the tip of his tongue slips out from in-between his lips, his concentration to the max.

Even though your boyfriend has adhd, he can for sure keep his focus on you the entire day. "Next question! Ohh I like this one. When did you realize you fell in love with each other?" You tapped your chin as you think about it. You have always loved Jack, but when did that go from celebrity crush to a real crush?

"I have always loved Jack, if I am going to be honest. I started following him since his Avatar announcement, but he turned into a crush from the moment he wanted to switch from Instagram DMs to messages." You explained as you locked your sparkling eyes with him, awaiting for his response.

He took a moment to admire you, a warm feeling bubbling inside his chest since he knew the exact moment that he realized. "When you looked up at my face with those worried eyes that held so much care as you held on my arms. You always did so, but there was a time when it didn't feel friendly anymore. It felt like so much more as my heart sped up."

That was all it took for you to literally take off.

You sprinted out the room, towards the bathroom, in pure disbelief. The disbelief that he had actually decided to answer the question like that. The disbelief that a boy could actually be so true to his feelings.

"baby? Where are you going?" Did he say something wrong?

You stood in the middle of the bathroom with your face in your hands, teary eyed as you smudged your makeup. "babe?" He had followed you to the bathroom. When he heard your sobs, he immediately panicked. His arms wrapped around your figure, his cheek resting against the crown of your head as his hands caressed your back, "did I do something wrong?"

"no you just, you're, you." You didn't know why you were crying. Well, you did know the reasoning, but you didn't know why it made you so emotional.

"You truly love me."

"yes, yes I do. Of course I do. More than anything else." He ran his hands over your back. He knew you had a hard time when it came to romance in general. You had told him and he made sure to take good care of you, until you truly believed him. And that you did. He took such good care of you. And he would continue to do so until his very last breath.

Recording was long forgotten as the two of you bathed in each other's arms.

He was so happy to be yours.

BONUS:

"Ow! This hurts! Baby please stop!" After the makeup video, you had begged Jack to do a skincare routine with you. He had agreed, not knowing it could have been this bad. It was charcoal mask day.

"It's supposed to hurt!"

"Why would you do this to yourself? Ow ow wait!" He extended his arms to keep you away from him. He was much taller than you, so it certainly did the job. "But why! What does it do?"

"it deep cleans your skin, basically. Your face is going to be silky smooth when I kiss your face all over!"

He thought about it for a second. Kisses? Lots of kisses?

"Do I get lots of kisses after you pull it off me?" You nodded as a response. He sighed in defeat as he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. This was your cue to stand in between his legs, his arms wrapping around you immediately. Your fingers made its way to the pulled bit of his dried mask.

"Fine, you can do it! But I expect a lot of smoo- OH MY FUCK AHHH!"

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion is taking my brain over #jack champion headcannons #jack champion imagines #jack champion imagine #ethan landry headcanons #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream #scream 6

1K notes · View notes

happyyyandcrazyyy · 2 years

Text

three taps (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: kaz taps three times. it’s his way to say i love you, i care.

the three times it took jesper to realize that three taps were something more than a meaningless habit.

warnings: violence, blood, implied se*ual as*ault (not detailed at all and very brief)

a/n: did i write this in less than a day? yes. did the inspiration come to me at six am? also yes. what about your other 50 wip, anna? did you write anything for them? nope.

hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

i. tap, tap, tap

Jesper had seen him do it more times than he could count. It was Kaz’s thing. Three taps, index finger hitting a wooden table, thumb brushing against a map or cane harshly meeting the floor. Most times they were fast taps, like a subconscious action, coming and going before anyone could give it any mind. Other times, however, they were slower, more emphasized, as if trying to make a point. Jesper was used to the taps, as he imagined (Y/N) and Inej also were. The sound came prior to every heist, prior to pronouncing the words of luck (no mourners, no funerals).

It was Kaz’s habit, something he probably did without even realizing, and Jesper couldn’t help but find it oddly comforting, a routine that somehow eased his nerves. (The world could be going to war, Ketterdam could be crashing down in flames, and Kaz would still tap three times. There was a sense of safety in that.)

It wasn’t until Jesper had a closer look that he realized the action was perhaps not as meaningless as he believed.

ii. cane meets ground three times: come back to me, i’m here

(Y/N) had known Kaz the longest out of all of them. Jesper hadn’t known the Slat without her, he hadn’t known Kaz without her. She’d always been there, a person in which the Dregs often found solace and always obtained an ear to listen without judgment. (Y/N) was a walking contradiction, soft around the edges yet powerful enough to bring the toughest people to their knees. She was everything Kaz wasn’t, maybe that was the reason they complimented each other as well as they did.

In a place where kindness was rewarded with death (Y/N) was unusually good-natured. Stray kids in the Barrel knew to find her if they were ever in urgent need of food or shelter. To outsiders she might’ve looked frail, her kindness might’ve made her seem weak, but the people of the underworld knew better than to be fooled by her selfless actions and innocent appearance. (Y/N) had an innate talent for causing people’s demise and there wasn’t a line she wasn’t willing to cross. The gentleness in her eyes would immediately harden at the sight of any threat, like molten lava hitting cold air. People who double-crossed her didn’t live to tell the tale.

Jesper wasn’t quite sure how Kaz and (Y/N) had met. From the whispers he’d heard around the Slat he figured it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. (Y/N) didn’t really discuss her life before joining the Dregs, not even when some of them would gather around to drink and curse the ghosts of the past.

Only once had Jesper gathered enough courage to break past the personal boundaries she’d clearly set and ask.

(And he’d only done it because he’d been almost drunk and really really curious.)

Kaz had been there, quietly observing as he often did, when the words had fallen out of Jesper’s mouth. He’d frozen in place, even when the question hadn’t been directed towards him, jaw tightening. Jesper had noticed Kaz’s instinctive response— because he might’ve been careless and drunk but he was also keenly observant —and that had him sobering up enough to know he was treading in dangerous territory.

No one had ever asked her directly, he’d realized at that moment as he held his breath and awaited a response. Many gossiped and guessed but no one had ever walked up to her and asked her about her past.

The softness hadn’t left (Y/N)’s face, but it was evident that the question had taken her by surprise because she’d frozen mid-action for a split second and something in her features broke. For the first time since he’d known her, Jesper saw the exhaustion and affliction in her eyes. The glint had disappeared as soon as it’d come, (Y/N) had regained her composure lightning fast, and Jesper had wondered if it’d ever been there at all.

She’d looked behind his shoulder at Kaz and they’d shared a look, one that Jesper couldn’t quite decipher. Something must’ve been telepathically said because the grip that Kaz had on his cane had lessened. His eyes, however, didn’t lose the murderous glint in them. Whatever he was remembering had fury roaring through his mind.

(It was only then that Jesper had understood that Kaz hadn’t been angered by his question but rather by the memories that had resurfaced. It must’ve been really serious because the only other time Jesper had ever seen that look in Kaz’s eyes Inej had been hurt and a guy had lost his eye.)

“I was a slave, Jes.”

Jesper did not know what he’d been expecting but that certainly hadn’t been it. As (Y/N) had pronounced the words a shadow crossed her face. It was the way she’d looked away from him, in discomfort and embarrassment, that had realization striking him like lighting. The weight of her words had settled in and Jesper understood, somewhat suddenly, what type of slave she’d been; the type to be used and discarded for the pleasure of rich men, sold and bought as if worth nothing more than an object. The burns and scars on her chest had suddenly made sense.

“It was a long time ago,” she’d added, eyes slightly glazed over, like she was physically there but mentally elsewhere. “And those men,” her eyes had flickered to Kaz before settling back on him, “they’re dead.”

More than dead if Kaz had something to do with it, Jesper had imagined.

Jesper had no way of knowing of the images flashing through her mind (pain, blood, and filthy hands. moans, tears, and screams) but he had recognized the unfocused gaze and the shaking fists by her side as her body’s response to reliving the trauma.

Jesper had never wished he could take back his words more than at that precise moment.

He’d opened his mouth to say something, anything to make the haunted look on her face dissipate, to lessen the burned he just had realized she carried, but Kaz had beaten him to it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Gently, he’d poked the floor with the ferrule of the cane. The metal had hit the ground heavily, the thud resonating. Kaz’s eyes, Jesper had noticed, remained trained solely on (Y/N), eyebrows furrowed in something that might’ve been concern.

The sound had somehow snapped through the haze of memories and had managed to bring her back to them. (Y/N) had blinked the stupor away, once again in a surprisingly fast manner, before offering Jesper a smile that had every word dying at the back of his throat.

It was small and unbelievably sad, but genuine. It was enough for him to know that she didn’t resent him for asking.

“It was a long time ago,” she’d repeated, almost to herself. Then, she’d tapped the table three times, softly. Jesper wouldn’t have noticed the action if he hadn’t been hyperaware of his surroundings.

At the moment it’d seemed like a coincidence, like (Y/N) had mimicked Kaz’s habit to anchor herself back, but as Jesper laid awake later that night he’d realized it hadn’t been just that.

She’d turned to briefly look at Kaz after doing it. If Jesper had been soberer maybe he would’ve realized that Kaz had said something and (Y/N) had responded.

iii. foot meets floor three times: i’m worried, be safe

Getting shot at was always a nuisance, so it was a true inconvenience that (Y/N) appeared to be a bullet magnet.

Really, the girl had more bullet wounds than Jesper could count. (There were two on her left shoulder, close enough to overlap, and one on her right one. There was one on her upper thigh— which Jesper had never seen but Inej said was almost unnoticeable —and the graze on her left side). Despite her bad luck Jesper reckoned (Y/N) had some sort of Saint looking over her because, somehow, the bullets always missed any important organ.

(“I’m saving you for getting hit,” she’d once joked as Inej changed the bandage on her shoulder. “So, really, you all should be thanking me rather than worrying.”

Jesper would never admit it, but sometimes he thought about her words in a serious manner. Sometimes, as he gambled and his mind slipped away, he believed that (Y/N) somehow deflected the bullets off them and ended up unwillingly pulling them towards her.

It was insane and improbable, Jesper knew that, but he still believed it.)

None of her injuries, however, had ever been as bad as the one she’d suffered two months ago. It’d been a close-range shot and the bullet hadn’t pierced cleanly through the skin but rather had settled inside. It’d missed any major artery, by some sort of miracle, but the wound had gotten infected which had resulted in (Y/N) running a high fever for almost a week.

Kaz hadn’t said a word but Jesper knew he’d been restless, especially during the worst days of the infection when (Y/N) dying was more likely than not. Jesper had seen him pacing back and forth outside of (Y/N)’s room, cane tapping thrice against the wooden floor, never going in but peaking through the door whenever Nina or Inej left. It was odd to see their unshakable leader looking somewhat distraught. Maybe that was why he seemed so on edge now. It was (Y/N)’s first heist after the injury.

Jesper would lie if he said that he wasn’t worried. With her luck, she might end up getting shot tonight, again. He kept on looking at her from the corner of his eye, half expecting her to start bleeding out like she’d done all those months back.

(The image of blood slipping past her lips and her wide eyes was burned in the back of Jesper’s mind. He could still feel the blood soaking his shirt as he’d held her together with his bare hands.)

But (Y/N) remained excitedly rocking on her heels, twirling the gun in her hand the way Jesper had taught her. She caught his eye and winked.

She’ll be alright, Jesper reassured himself.

“Let’s go over it one more time.”

Kaz’s voice broke through the silence of the night, low enough to not startle the birds that slept in the trees above but loud enough for all of them to give him their attention.

Jesper stifled a groan. They’d been over this at least three times before. (Y/N) noticed his dramatized grimace and chuckled, nudging him with her elbow.

“Inej…”

The Wraith slipped out of the shadows, “I’ll enter through the back to the control room and disable the alarm. As soon as it’s done I’ll signal you.”

She nodded towards Jesper.

“Distraction as soon as I receive the sign,” Jesper continued.

Kaz assented. “The alarm deactivation will give us a ten-minute window for the theft,” he said it as if he hadn’t been reminding them of the small span of time they had ever since he’d devised the plan. “So the distraction has to last at least seven minutes.”

Jesper knew that, it gave enough time for (Y/N) to slip in and out without raising much suspicion.

He whistled and offered a self-satisfying smirk, “I’ve got it.”

Kaz stared at him for a second, as if trying to pick his mind apart with the power of his eyes, before turning to the girl by Jesper’s side.

“(Y/N)…”

She met his eyes with a grin. “I’m off the moment Jes begins to work his magic. Go in through the second window, safe is on the second floor, third room to the left.”

“And you’re looking for?”

“Pink star diamond, 60 carats,” she responded with ease. “And if something else catches my eye-”

“No,” Kaz cut her off, tone firm and resolute. Both Jesper and Inej snapped their gaze towards their leader, it wasn’t often that he limited just how much they could steal. “In and out.”

From the corner of his eye Jesper saw the smile fall off (Y/N)’s face, arms coming to cross defensively over her chest.

“But what if-”

“In and out,” Kaz repeated, always inflexible once he made up his mind. He jutted his jaw as if daring her to argue. Jesper half expected her to do so, after all (Y/N) was never afraid of disagreeing and questioning him— she was one of the few who could do it without much repercussion —but she didn’t.

If Jesper hadn’t been looking closely he would’ve missed it, the way (Y/N) eyes trailed down to Kaz’s feet, only for a second.

Tap, tap, tap.

The point of his boot tapping against the muddy floor, his eyes not once leaving (Y/N)’s.

Her face softened instantly, shoulders deflating. She tapped her index finger against her bicep thrice in return before uncrossing her arms.

She relented with a sigh, “In and out, okay.”

As they wished each other good luck (no mourners, no funerals) Kaz did it again and this time Jesper was waiting for it, the tap of the leader’s cane against the leaves.

Tap, tap, tap.

Comfort swept over him.

Everything went as smoothly as it can go when one is robbing a millionaire.

iv. finger meets wood three times: i’m sorry, i love you

Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason, Jesper had heard that saying being whispered more times than he could recall and he could vouch for it. It was, perhaps, what made Kaz so formidable. There was no knowing when he would strike because there was no why, and without a why one couldn’t forestall his actions.

Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason, but they’d given him one the moment they’d taken (Y/N). Their death sentence had been signed the moment they’d laid a hand on her.

As Jesper watched (Y/N) in silent concern he finally understood why people feared when they whispered that saying.

(Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason.)

“Find her,” Kaz had instructed Inej and Nina as soon as they’d arrived at their destination. The girls had disappeared into the night, focused on the rescue mission.

The hand with which Kaz gripped his cane had been shaking with anger all night.

The truth was he’d been seething ever since some rouge Dime Lions had taken what was his. (They’d been rouges, Kaz was certain. Pekka Rollins had sworn to him, after a few broken fingers, that he’d never ordered them to take his girl.) Everyone in the Slat had been on edge for the last three days, expecting their leader to snap at them at any moment, but Kaz had managed to keep a tight rein on his emotions.

The control had slipped from Kaz’s fingers the moment he caught a glimpse of a man on the deck of the rusty old boat, laughter-filled voice talking about how he’d made a mess of the Bastard’s bitch. The tremors in Kaz’s hands had come to a sudden stop. Before Jesper had the opportunity to even blink Kaz had fired his gun, hitting the blond straight in the forehead.

(For someone who favored his cane over every other existing weapon, Kaz had a deadly aim. Jesper would never say it out loud, but he reckoned Kaz’s ability might come close to rivaling his own.)

“I’ll deal with them.”

Jesper had known what that meant; come with me, cover my back, but let me make them suffer.

Kaz Brekker was only one man but the murderous wrath in his eyes had let Jesper know that Kaz had no intention of leaving any of them alive. He was going to make them pay, he was going to destroy them.

Brick by brick.

It’d been carnage after that. Jesper had watched, in some sort of horrified awe, how Kaz had taken down every single one of the men. He’d shot some of them too, but it’d been mainly just Kaz. There’d been screams and the smell of blood had tainted the air.

Then there’d been nothing but silence and a pained whimper.

(It was in moments like these that Jesper was struck with the realization that he knew nothing about Kaz Brekker. Because, if anyone had ever asked him about Kaz’s anger prior to what he’d witnessed that night, Jesper would’ve answered that Kaz’s anger was hot and sharp and acid, a searing rage that couldn’t be controlled once unleashed. Kaz’s anger knew no boundaries and crossed all limits, he would’ve said, it burned fiercely as it destroyed everything in its path. But that night Jesper had seen another side to Kaz’s rage. His eyes had looked downright homicidal, dangerously violent. They’d contrasted the lack of emotions in his features. His anger wasn’t fueled by emotion—not anymore, it’d gone past that —but rather by the innate need to protect what was his. It wasn’t loud or visible, but rather quiet and lethal. Cold anger that Jesper had found even more terrifying.)

“I know you planned all of this,” Kaz had walked closer to the man who laid on the ground, hands gripping a bullet wound in his kneecap and whimpers falling from his lips. “You thought taking my girl would make me falter, didn’t you?” The man had tried to scramble but Kaz had only tsked before swinging his cane against the man’s injured leg. He’d let out a pained moan, tears dripping down his cheeks. “You just made me angry.”

“Please, I’m begging you…”

“Oh, you should beg.” The heel of the cane had come down on the knees again, the snapping sound indicating a broken bone and the wail letting Jesper know just how bad the pain must’ve been. “I would shoot you in the face, but that would be too merciful of me.” He’d used the head of the cane, the prideful crow, to lift the man’s chin. “If (Y/N) was here she’d tell me to be gentle,” a shadow had crossed Kaz’s face, terrifying enough to make a chill run down Jesper’s back, “too bad for you she isn’t here.”

The head of the cane had been swung back and it came in contact with the man’s jaw. Blood had trickled down the man’s chin, a scream leaving his mouth.

“You took something of mine, you hurt something of mine, and for that, I’ll make sure you suffer.”

Kaz had used his cane after that and no more words were spoken.

Now, as Jesper watched (Y/N) flinch away from Nina, he wondered what would’ve happened if Kaz had seen her state before killing all those men. Maybe it’d been a blessing for them that he hadn’t.

Jesper had never seen (Y/N) so worn down. She sat by the stairs, knees to her chest, holding herself close. It was a strategic position, a place where she could watch all of them and no one could sneak from behind (part of Jesper’s heart had shattered when he’d come to that realization.) She’d only spent three days with the Lions but that’d been enough to cause cracks in the impenetrable wall she’d spent the last years building, past trauma slipping through. So far she hadn’t let anyone close to her, not even Inej who was her closest friend and who’d spoken in gentle whispers about treating her injuries. Her face was a mess, the beauty not gone but tainted with purples and blues. One of her eyes still bled. Under her nails and across her fingers there was dry blood but her arms held no injuries. Jesper just knew she’d given one hell of a fight. He wondered if this was what she’d looked like when Kaz had found her all those years ago, he wondered if maybe it’d been worse. He didn’t ponder long because the pain it caused in his chest was unbearable.

Her eyes snapped towards the door before it was slammed open. Jesper turned around just in time to see Kaz walk in.

(He’d changed and showered after arriving at the Slat. Jesper somehow knew he’d done that before seeing (Y/N) to prevent the blood— that’d covered his clothes and face —from triggering any unwanted memory.

It was (Y/N)’s first time seeing him after she’d been taken. Jesper knew that Kaz was their last hope of bringing her back to them.)

Jesper saw the moment Kaz’s unwavering gaze met (Y/N)’s face and he could tell, without a doubt, that anger was consuming him once again. His jaw clenched at the sight of bruises, and his hand clenched itself by his side.

He looked ready to burn the city to ashes in retribution.

Somehow, Kaz managed to control the rage. The frigid anger in Kaz’s eyes, the one that had frightened Jesper to the core, melted as he crouched in front of her.

“Are you with me?”

She blinked once, twice, thrice. Then, she nodded, and Jesper couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left his lips. She was here, broken and damaged, but here with them. That was enough.

Kaz’s gloved hand reached forward, stopping inches away from her face, ghosting over her bruised cheek. Careful not to touch any skin, he moved some of the hair out of (Y/N)’s face before fisting his hand and returning it to his side.

Jesper looked away, something about the act felt more intimate than it looked. Nosy as he was, he listened in.

“They touched me,” the voice was weak and shaky and so unlike the (Y/N) that Jesper knew.

A sharp intake of breath. “I made them pay for that.”

“Did they suffer?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” It was barely a whisper but the words were surprisingly firm.

Jesper couldn’t see but he heard the taps. Three times. Kaz’s finger against the wooden railing of the stairs.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jesper frowned, unbelievably confused by the words the girl had just uttered.

Tap, tap, tap.

Gentle and genuine, “I love you, too.”

Everything clicked at that precise moment, the confusion faded away. Jesper was left dizzy with the realization that Kaz’s taps meant absolutely everything. They were his way of telling them he cared. No one knew, no one understood the action, and maybe that was why Kaz kept on doing it.

But now Jesper did, now he understood.

From that day on he found himself twirling his guns thrice before going out and causing mayhem.

6K notes · View notes

cheollipop · 9 months

Text

calico

navi | taglist

pairing: ex!yoon jeonghan x bartender!reader

w.c.: 3.1k

tags: fem!reader, smut, angst, past infidelity/cheating, this is really toxic.... hate sex though....

the heartache from a past game of cat and dog—leaving you with nothing but a stained bed and a broken heart—came back tenfold when freshly-chopped hair and a sly smirk greeted you through the cracked-open, tinted window.

warnings: car sex, so semi-public sex, hate sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, some cockwarming, degradation (mentions of past cheating, both reader and jeonghan refer to the other as "slut"), reader is also called a cockslut at one point, hair pulling, pussy slapping, nicknames (hannie; darling), jeonghan is really toxic (and a big asshole), past infidelity, seungcheol is mentioned a few times *wink wonk*

A/N: this is for the anon who requested jeonghan ages ago. I might be 5 years late to writing it, but it's here hehe~ I'm so glad I finally got to write more for svt! this was really fun to write~ please consider leaving feedback/reblogging if you enjoyed! ^^ happy reading~~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Frosty air cooled the sweat sticking to your exposed skin, heeled boots clacking over the pavement as you stumbled out of the creaky, metal door at the back of the club. You were way too sober, you thought, eyebrow twitching at the memory of your fight with the new manager. ‘No alcohol after you clock in,’ the high-pitched sound repeated in your ears. You worked just fine with a shot or two in your system; you’d argue you worked even better, able to drown out the slurred pick-up lines and simply pour drinks. Friday nights were the worst, and having to deal with clingy men who didn’t understand rejection—most of which not even your type—without alcohol had you considering a career change. So the second the clock hit eleven, you hurriedly wiped your station before another batch of college freshmen crowded the bar, grabbing your stuff and scrambling out the back exit.

Your legs carried you out of the small alleyway and onto the lit main sidewalk, thankful that the council finally replaced the flickering light bulb. Your eyes zeroed in on the bus stop down the road, and you quickly made your way towards it before the last bus could arrive.

A sudden horn blared to your right, cutting through the stillness and sounding over the distant music from the club behind you. Your fingers dug into your pocket on instinct to circle around the tube of pepper spray, your body tensing defensively as you faced the Jeep parked in front of you. The driver’s tinted window rolled down, a head of short, brown locks peeking through the gap. Your hand eased around the spray when you met with familiar, downturned eyes, hooded with what seemed like amusement. A shot of pain seared through your chest, your heart pounding against your ribcage as Jeonghan stared back at you blankly, a simple “hey” reverberating in the air between you.

“No bitches to cheat on tonight?” You spat, tightening your fingers around the jacket in your hand.

Why was he here? After you’d finally stopped looking for him in every corner, hoping he’d pull you out from behind the bar to give you a tearful apology? After the scent of his misdeeds had faded off your bedsheets, your slumber no longer interrupted by dreams about your heart being used as a plaything?

Jeonghan's eyebrow twitched, his amusement blending with irritation. “Seungcheol’s taken now, whose cock would they jump on if I did?”

Resentment seeped into your chest, and you considered pepper spraying him just to erase that smug smirk off his face. But you turned away from him, sucking in the cool air while scheming eyes bore into your profile. You willed your legs into motion, your footsteps sounding to the beat of the muffled club music as you continued your journey down to the bus stop. A car door slammed somewhere behind you, and you picked at the side of your index finger while you walked, hoping it was just a clubber who’d been running late. A firm hand wrapped around your upper arm and twisted you around, striking out the previous possibility when Jeonghan’s hot breath brushed against your face.

“Let me drive you home,” he mumbled, his hand relaxing around your arm but not quite releasing it.

You couldn’t help but pity him in this moment. A man who’d broken your heart and left you to mend it alone, curled up on your bedroom floor while he stuffed his belongings into a worn-down duffle, not even an apology or a goodbye, only the loud clang of his spare key landing on your console before the front door slammed shut. That same man, two years later, parked in front of your workplace—for God knows how many hours—only to drive you home? A part of you was curious why that was. The other, though, wanted to get the fuck away from him.

“Why? So I can hear more about how not sorry you are? No thanks,” you tugged against his grasp, now tight around your arm again.

“(Y/n), please. I won’t say anything, I just wanna drive you home,” the subtle hint of desperation in his voice alarmed you. It didn’t make sense, and yet the unanswered question overshadowed your confusion. The anger that had been simmering in your gut was beginning to boil.

“So you actually don’t feel guilty?” You didn’t mean for your voice to crack, and yet the ache in your chest nearly made you double over the further his silence stretched—the same one that had robbed you of sleep, kept you away from all potential love interests, had you curled up in the same sheets the reeked of adultery and betrayal while Jeonghan continued to jump from woman to woman, a trail of his sins dragging behind his indifferent figure. “Let me go, Jeonghan,” your tone was weak, defeated, once again faced with agonizing reality—he’d moved on long before that day.

You missed the way his eyelids fluttered at the delicate roll of his name off your tongue, the sound sparking a memory into the front of his mind, a collage of smiles and easy laughter echoing in his ears. His hand raised to grab onto your other arm, possessiveness laced with concern slowly overtaking him at the sight of you—shoulders slumped, eyes glassy and your fingers shaking where they curled into fists at your sides, the mere mention of his indifference reducing you to the same, hurt woman he's left behind.

“It’s late. Let me just-” He paused. Jeonghan never paused, not even when you stood at your doorway, looking him in the eye while he soiled your bedsheets with someone else. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

You blamed it on the quiver in your legs, the loss of willpower to move yourself away from him, but this time, you didn’t argue.

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same,’

Dpr Ian played through the speakers, the volume on low despite the silence stretching between you and the man in the driver’s seat. You realized you hadn’t needed to give him directions, a relationship of three years enough to engrave the way to your apartment into his mind forever. Your eyes flitted over to the side every now and then, taking in the shadows cast over Jeonghan’s cheekbones with every passing streetlight, his fringe fanning over his forehead in a way unfamiliar to you. Looking back to the front, you decided you preferred his longer hair, and missed the innocent glimmer in his dark eyes. Though despite all the changes—new car, new hair, new attitude and style—Jeonghan still used the same perfume, one that you’d bought him for the first birthday you’d celebrated together. Something in your gut stirred at the thought, but you were unsure whether it was pleasant or not.

‘it’s just another show,

Don’t want your world no more,’

Jeonghan cleared his throat, “I got promoted to manager,” he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Good for you,” your tone was cold, uninterested.

“Yeah.”

Dpr Ian continued to play, ‘You’re so addicted to my bad decisions.’

“How’s bartending been?”

“It’s okay.”

He hummed, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he took a right turn. “Mm, I worry about you sometimes. People can act crazy when drunk.”

Your eyebrow twitched, irritation creeping into your tone, “you don’t get to be worried about me.” You felt the urge to slam your fist into his unnecessarily sharp jaw, to watch bruises paint his face until the rage embedded so deep within your soul dissipated.

A few seconds of silence passed as Jeonghan parked parallel to the empty sidewalk in front of your apartment building, sighing while turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to face you. “You know, I’m just trying to be nice here.”

Your fists clenched, mirroring Jeonghan and turning around to look at him with hooded eyes, your muscles clenching and relaxing in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought to do that before you fucked a random girl in my bed,” you spat, content to have watched his face fall before turning your back to him and reaching for the door handle.

A hand flew over your shoulder before your fingers could reach their target, his index and thumb grabbing your jaw and forcefully forcing you back into your prior position. “And you thought sleeping with my best friend was a good way to handle it?” He pulled you closer to him, your lower belly digging into the console as he bent you over it, his face mere inches away and his breath blowing warm over your cheeks.

“You don’t get to blame me-”

He was quick to interrupt your defense, “you think I didn’t notice you acting like a slut to get his attention? Way before anything even happened,” his grip on your face tightened, inching his own closer as he spoke, each word falling off his tongue making the knot in your stomach wind tighter. “The looks,” something in his eyes glimmered, and while that once made butterflies flutter in your stomach, it now grew the lump in your throat until it restricted your airway. “The touches,” his breath fanned over your face, small beads of sweat pilling over your skin at the humidity, and perhaps at the rasp in Jeonghan’s voice as he laid out your sins before you. “The pictures.”

Your fingers gripped the console, slipping off with streaks of sweat staining the black leather. Heart pounding in your ears, you hoped Jeonghan’s hearing somehow declined during the years you’d spent apart, the ringing in your ears fogging up all thoughts. You blamed the nerves on his accusations—a dark past you thought you’d buried without trace—and yet the proximity, the lack of space between your face and Jeonghan’s, the mint lacing his breath and the rasp in every word he spoke, you found hidden tinges of arousal mixed in with your anxiety, dousing your panties as you tried to escape the man’s grasp.

“Why are you here, Jeonghan?” Your voice wavered, but this time, you didn’t miss the wave of what seemed like relief painting his face when his name rolled off your tongue.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

The ache in your chest returned, your eyebrows furling until you appeared wounded by his words. “Not for a second,” your voice remained firm, though, sparing him no glimpse at your heart.

Jeonghan only scoffed, amused by the contrast between your tone and expression. He leaned closer—as though your indifference urged him to prove himself to you—pressing his lips the corner of your mouth, whispering his next words against the soft skin, “you’re not entirely wrong… but I did miss one thing.”

‘I thought you would be okay,

You thought I would be the same.’

Your lower back dug into the steering wheel, the leather beneath your knees creaking as you adjusted your position over Jeonghan, your pants shamefully thrown over the passenger seat. Teeth clacked against each other, heavy breaths mingling between your open mouths as your tongues pressed together in a battle of lust.

Two fingers spread you open, curling between your sopping walls until your eyes rolled back, his other hand holding up the window switch, waiting until the darkened glass closed fully before moving it to your hip.

Squeezing the supple flesh, Jeonghan groaned into your parted lips, “still so fucking tight, did Seungcheol not fuck you well enough?”

Heat flared up your chest, “shut up.”

You’d thought two years and countless hookups would’ve blurred Jeonghan's memory of you, but his fingers fucked into you with purpose, as though every inch of your body, every motion that drove pleasure up your spine had become second nature to him.

“I bet he didn’t know how to satisfy my pretty slut,” he pressed his lips to your cheek, using the hand on your hip to guide you over his fingers.

“Sh-shut up-”

He slipped out of you, gliding his digits down your cunt and over your clit before landing a harsh slap over the nub, your body jolting over him and a broken cry sounding in the humid car. The wet clap of his hand on your drenched pussy repeated, and you mumbled incoherently through a breathy moan.

“What was that? Speak up for me, darling,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

The urge to punch the playfulness off his face dissipated when skilled fingers brushed over your clit, “fuck, again-”

And he conceded, bringing his hand down on your pussy once more to watch your back arch into the steering wheel behind you, lips parting as pain mingled with pleasure, your cunt throbbing under Jeonghan’s palm. That same hand swiftly moved to your face, fingers digging into your jaw and smearing your arousal over your skin while his other worked over his zipper, quickly undoing his pants and pushing them down far enough to take his cock out. It leaked precum over his black button-up, the vein lining the underside throbbing at the sight of you above him—eyes glazed over and fixed on his hard length, your tongue digging into the inside of your cheek.

His fingers tapped against your clit, once, twice, before landing another rough slap over it. He grabbed himself around the base, groaning at the sudden contact as he positioned you over the leaking cockhead, “be a good girl for once and- fuck-”

You cut him off before he could finish his sentence, sliding down his length unprompted until his cock was sheathed entirely between your fluttering walls. You rolled your hips to adjust, forcing your chests flush as you moved and pressing your lips to the shell of Jeonghan’s ear.

“You talk as if you’ve done nothing wrong, but you’re just as much of a slut as I am, aren’t you, Hannie?” Trailing feathery kisses over his jaw, you slipped his cock halfway out of your cunt before sliding him back inside, squeezing your walls around him to feel the stuttered rise and fall of his chest against you. “You fucked me that morning, then brought that bitch into my bed a couple hours after,” you pecked the sharp edge of his jawline, moving your lips back to his ear to whisper your next words, “didn’t even have the decency to take her to your apartment-”

Rough fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, tugging your face back until you met with unfocused eyes. Jeonghan readjusted under you, digging his feet into the clean mats and thrusting upwards experimentally, scoffing at the moan you tried to suppress. Your neck craned uncomfortably, gritting your teeth as Jeonghan eyed you silently, a hand on your hip keeping you still and leaving you helpless to do anything but warm his cock.

So you commenced your taunts, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grasp while you spoke, “how many hours have you been waiting outside, huh? Just to get your dick wet-”

“I have you on my cock now, don’t I?” His fingers tightened around your hair, and he leaned back in his seat, fucking up into your clenching cunt before you could think of anything to say—assuming you were still capable of processing anything but the smooth drag of his length between your pulsing walls, his nails digging thin crescents into the flesh of your hip. His breathing grew heavy, and yet his words remained clear, contemptuous. “You may hate me, darling, but whether you like it or not, you’ll keep coming back to me,” the hand in your hair eased, fingers scratching soothingly at your sore scalp and pushing your head closer to his, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “because you’re my pretty cockslut, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan nuzzled his nose into your cheek, planting a tender kiss to the heated skin while you frantically nodded your head. A staccato of moans and repetitions of his name rolled off your tongue as he brought you down to meet his relentless thrusts, his own grunts adding to the stuffiness in the closed-up car. He pounded into your dripping cunt, taking in the jolts of pleasure shaking your body every time he drove his cockhead into your g-spot, your moans growing needier the closer he pushed you towards the edge.

With one final slap to your throbbing pussy, your vision darkened and your body curled in on itself. Jeonghan’s fingers rubbed quick circles over your swollen nub, watching you writhe on top of him as waves of pleasure seared through you, your moans high-pitched and desperate as he guided you through your orgasm with unrelenting fingers, spark after spark of simmering heat blinding you to everything but Jeonghan.

He felt his own high approaching at the tight squeeze of your walls around him, his thrusts slowing down when you tumbled over the edge, but returning to their frenzied pace to chase his orgasm. Your fingers closed over his upper arms, tinges of overstimulation blending with the ecstasy of his cock slamming into your used cunt.

“Fuck- where do you want me, darling?” He rolled his head back over the headrest, eyes lidded with burning arousal and his thighs beginning to cramp up at the pace he was going at.

“Inside, Hannie, hnngh! Please, inside,” you said, words slurred and interrupted by a harmony of moans, disregarding the soreness between your legs while you begged Jeonghan to come inside you.

He laughed at the desperation, the sweet noise—airy, gravelly with the lust clouding his every sense—was cut short, interrupted by a throaty grunt as he emptied inside you, hot ropes of cum pulsing out of him to paint your walls. Cupping your ass with both hands, he sunk his fingers into the flesh and guided you over his cock in slow rolls of your hips, breathing in the air the other exhaled, eyes locked as the last spurt of cum warmed your insides.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but now, with your head resting on Jeonghan’s chest, his steady heartbeat echoing in your ears and cum slowly dribbling out of you while his cock remained sheathed deep inside, you realized you’d let your walls down for the man who’d caused them to go up, sinking into the pleasure he so generously poured into you. The walls you’d been holding up for two years, the pain he’d left you with sparking fear in your heart every time someone tried to get closer. And yet, the same man who’d planted that fear inside you somehow breached past the infrastructure you’d spent so long strengthening.

While you laid there in the faux sense of security Jeonghan so easily provided, you realized he was right: you will always find your way back to him.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen fanfic #yoon jeonghan fanfic #yoon jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan imagines

977 notes · View notes

luveline · 8 months

Note

if you’re not sick of the fainting fics yet would you write one with sirius? have a good day gorgeous <3

thank you for your request! i hope you have a good day too ♡ fem!reader

"Hey, sweet girl," Sirius says. A saccharine pet name said rather simply, smoke blown from either corner of his mouth. "You okay?"

You shrug your shoulders. Sirius sits in the shade, the dusk sunlight kissing the rubber toes of his shoes where he's laid his legs out over the steps into the house. "Did James finish my juice?"

Sirius scratches his eyebrow, weary not to burn himself with the cigarette held between his index and middle finger. Smoky whorls chase up the side of his face. "Uh, no, but Remus' boyfriend might have thinking it was his. Remus said he'll buy you two to replace it."

"I don't mind. Just. Think I might need the sugar."

Sirius squints at you, stubbing his cigarette out hurriedly against the stone steps and standing up. He's in sweats and one of your old t-shirts, blue hair dye staining up the left side like a superheated flame. "You still not feeling well?" he asks.

You offer your hand for holding. Sirius takes it, using the other to angle your face up toward the porch light.

"Say?" he murmurs, prompting you when you don't answer.

"I feel wobbly, Siri. Like I could faint. I know I won't, but I still feel rough," you say.

Sirius looks about as alarmed as a person can get, pulling you up the steps to the house he shares with his mates and down the hallway. "Not having that," he says as he goes, rubbing your cold fingers. "Don't worry. You'll feel better after some dinner. Let me make you a quick crumpet or something. Piece of toast?"

"I can wait until later on."

He drops your hand in favour of cupping your cheek. "No. Try and have something, my love. I have a bit of soreen here," —he turns away from you to rummage through the bread cupboard— "thick layer of butter and you'll be right."

You blink against a strange feeling, but it isn't something you can shuck off. A weight gathers in your hands and your knees go weak, and you think, Oh, I'm actually going to faint.

You manage to put your hands behind you and crumple that way, onto your bum rather than forward into Sirius' back. Your head clips a cupboard door and Sirius spins on the spot, soreen falling in a hurricane of crumbs by your leg.

"Fuck," he says, on his knees in an instant. You slouch unbidden, and you don't recall passing out, but one moment you're unfurling like a pill bug and the next you've been pulled flat onto your back. Sirius looks down at you in a panic. "Woah, hello. Don't do that again, yeah?"

"I don't think she really had a choice, mate."

You squint across the kitchen at James, one of Sirius' best friends and roommates. He approaches with a pillow from the lounge, dropping it by your head. "Get your head on that, babe," he says.

Sirius lifts your head onto the pillow, scowling. "Fucking christ. You need to keep me informed when you're about to go sledding across the kitchen, my love," he says. "We could've sat down. Had a breather."

"I didn't really know," you mumble. "My legs hurt."

"You're supposed to elevate them," James says. "Get your blood flowing more to your brain."

"Lift her legs then, James."

"She's your bird."

"I'm busy," Sirius says crossly, his hands tucked up by your neck. He turns away from James to give you his full attention, his incredulousness melding to a soft, sad worry. "What's the matter with you? I could've caught you if you'd said." He turns your face from the side. "Just take it easy for a bit, yeah? Do you feel tired?"

James sighs and grabs your legs to hoist in the air. You're too lethargic to fluster, though you gasp when your back starts to lift from the floor.

"James, you prick, don't deadlift her," Sirius scolds. His tone switches as soon as he meets your eyes. "You're alright," he says, thumbing along your jaw. "You'll be fine."

"This is too much fuss," you say breathlessly.

Sirius takes a deep, heaving breath. "Feel my heart," he says, holding your hand to his chest. "Feel that? You scared the fuck out of me. This is the correct amount of fuss."

He and James keep you there until Remus comes home with a two litre carton of orange juice to save you. "I think half an hour will do it," Remus says, all the tone of an eye roll without the action. "Get the poor girl off the floor. She has crumbs in her hair."

Sirius arranges you on the sofa, though really you're in his lap, James absconded for a rescue takeaway and Remus hoovering up the exploded soreen from the sounds of it. "Good thing you're poorly," Sirius says, smoothing your hair back to kiss your cheek. "I hate hoovering."

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

1K notes · View notes

lazybutsmexy · 7 months

Text

Tea

Simón "Ghost" Riley X GN!reader

Warnings: ANGST, hurt no comfort, mayor character death(s).

A/N: is... is this what I chose as my comeback? I'm sorry, I hope to be able to write something fluffy soon.

Read on AO3

"...Ghost?"

"...Yeah?"

Your eyes are locked to the sky. The hues of gray that prelude an autumn shower used to comfort you. Strangely enough, what's most comforting to you at this moment is hearing your Lieutenant's voice answer you back, from somewhere to your left.

"...I have a confession to make."

"...Go on."

You inch your head sideways, trying to peek a glance at his face, but the stiffness of your neck prevent you from doing so. Maybe it's for the best. From the corner of your eye you can see part of his hip and his right leg, over a carpet of dark red that you don't need a creative imagination to think about its nature, or its origin.

You saw him get shot.

"I'm the one that took your last tea bag," you offer, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd get so grumpy about it."

A low sigh reaches your ears, and you can catch the hint of an almost imperceptible stutter in his breathing.

"...Never suspected you," he hums, every word calculated as if it could be his last -it may as well be, "you don't drink tea."

"No, I don't," you agree, "but you do." Your lower lip gets caught in between your teeth once again, as it has happened for the last few- minutes? Hours? Who knows anymore? "I wanted to surprise you with-... with a cuppa when we got to t-the safehouse..."

You clearly should've followed his example and kept your sentences short, you think as your diaphragm painfully struggles to keep your lungs filled with oxygen.

"...You make shit tea though," he grumbled - now you can clearly hear the wheeze hidden in his breathing.

"... would've made it wi' luv," your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you try not to think of the amount of time you've gradually lost sensation in your body. Instead, you try to peek at him again as you hear a slow ruffle of movement, and this time an ungloved hand comes to your field of vision.

Open face up. Inviting.

You don't think twice and muster whatever little strength you have in your body to move your left hand closer to his.

If the struggle makes you tear up, you don't care. If your pained whimpers break his heart, he doesn't comment on it.

He just grasps your hand as soon as there's skin-on-skin contact, thankful that there's still warmth on your fingers.

Fading, but still there.

"...Didn't say... I wouldn't drink it."

"...Yer' too kind, sir..." Your ears feel like padded in cotton, but you can still hear yourself. If you had any energy - or air in your lungs - you would laughed at how much you started sounding like Soap. "...'s an hon'r to be wi' you, Lt..."

Several seconds passed in silence, and you think you won't get any more answers, and mentally prepare yourself to close your eyes one last time.

But there's something happening with your hand in his.

One squeeze.

Pause.

Another squeeze.

And a last one.

"... waited too long to tell you," his voice reaches you again, watery and choked up, " hope tis' works..."

Go figure, you still had tears to shed. Or is it the rain droplets finally landing on your skin? You don't know. You don't care.

You try to reciprocate, but can only apply three soft squeezes with the pads of your thumb on the soft muscle between his thumb and index fingers.

The choked up sob you hear is a good guess that he received your reply.

"...'m sleepy," your whisper reaches him, and he mourns the lost time.

He's never void of regrets, isn't he?

"...g'night, luv," he tries to sound warm to you, always.

"...g'night, Simon..."

Oh, how sweet his name sounds, coming from your lips in a whisper.

Taglist: @warenai @queen-of-hearts-lemon-tarts @embers-of-alluring

Join the taglist here

Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #gn reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod angst #simon ghost riley angst #... sorry😔

688 notes · View notes

peeweekey · 14 days

Text

cliff talk | sebastian x reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: sebastian brings you on a ride.

tags: emotional hurt/comfort, slight angst, dialogue heavy, sebastian and reader have a heart to heart

a/n: i never thought i'd be writing for the emo boy but here i am. hope you guys liked this as much as i liked writing this! :D

Like the green rain phenomenon or the cute little junimo creatures that live in the community center, there’s always something new to experience in the valley. As odd as it might be.

Hunched over, tending to your crops—is like living in wait, the calm before the storm, the thrum of anticipation as you await the next exciting thing.

Like today—now.

“Ah, there you are.”

The garden shears in your hands are dropped into the thick down crawl of growing fruit. You look up, squinting your eyes due to the warm beat of dying sunlight.

“Sebastian?” you pause, looking up at him from your spot amongst growing melon vines. Your overalls smeared with dirt and damp with sweat—this is the last state you’d want to be seen in.

“Hey farmer,” The keys dangling from his index finger jingle as he gives you a close-lipped smile. “Wanna go for a ride?”

—

The place Sebastian stops at is quiet.

But not in the way most people think—the valley is never quiet, birds chirping, the breeze singing through tall grass and the rustle of branches swaying slowly. You’re aware of the sounds in the recesses of your mind.

The view is breath-taking.

The sun set long before you arrived on Sebastian’s cliff side spot. It’s cool and grassy, ticking your ankles as you walk through the field. The air, no longer warm but a cool breeze that you greedily inhale.

You stop right before the edge, there’s a big drop that you'd rather not slip and fall into. Zuzu city lay just under the horizon, a smatter of light in the otherwise now-dark forest. A cluster of flashing lights that remind you of stars—that have fallen and gathered from the night sky.

“Amazing, I know.” Sebastian says, a few steps behind you. He’s leaning against his bike, staring at the same view as you. “Zuzu city is miles from here, but there’s so much light—you can see it even from high up.”

You fold your arms, turning your back at the view—facing him. “Well, it is nicer from afar.”

Sebastian gives you a look, then nods his head to the grassy patch behind him. “Mhm. Let’s sit?”

You settle down together, side by side. You, him, and his motorbike beside him—there’s barely any space between your legs. You feel the warmth of proximity—so close. What you’d give to bridge that gap once and for all.

“Want a drink?” he asks, pulling out a beer bottle from his hoodie pocket—your brow raises, a miracle it didn’t break on the way. “Only got one though.”

You shrug, taking the bottle. It’s warm—warmed by his body heat. “S’okay with me. We’ll just have’ta share.”

He looks at you, eyes momentarily flickering to your lips as you use your teeth to pop the bottle cap off. “I guess we do.”

—

The beer is settling warmly low in your stomach, loosening every tightly wound muscle in your body. You feel weightless, the edges of your mind made fuzzy.

“I’ve been savin’ up a lot,” he suddenly says, picking absentmindedly at the blades of grass underneath him. “Almost have enough too. Once I do, I’m skipping outta this town on my bike.”

You nod your head. “It is a pretty cool bike.”

“Mhm,” he drawls, patting the side of his motorcycle—almost lovingly. “It’s gonna take me all the way to Zuzu city.”

“Zuzu city,” you repeat slowly, feeling the sound of the words in your mouth. It’s unpleasant, Zuzu city is a place you’d rather leave behind. You look down at the view of it, squinting. “Why go there?”

He pauses, inhaling the cool night air deeply. His fingers itch—like they’re searching for the comforting hold of cigarettes he so enjoys.

A part of you wishes you didn’t ask. Difficult conversations and cliff sides don’t mesh well together, you think. You don’t dare move a muscle as you wait for him, your eyes drifting back to the glittering light-filled view of Zuzu city.

“It’s suffocating here—everything about the valley,” he replies mirthlessly. “I live in the basement of my mom’s house for fuck’s sake. I know how she looks at me, like she could’ve done so much more to make me less of a shitbag. Maybe she could’ve, I don’t care. It’s way too late now.”

A low whistle escapes past your lips. You swirl the beer bottle loosely in your grip. “I see…”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re pretty shit at comforting words, y’know that?”

“Harsh,” you look at him quizzically, shoving the beer bottle into his hands. He accepts it immediately. “What do you want me to say, Seb?”

“Nothing,” he smirks, downing a generous gulp of beer, the bottle is a little less than half full now. “‘m just teasing. Don’t gimme that look. I didn’t want comfort anyway, I’ve had enough of that. I want you to tell me the stone cold truth.”

“Promise not to get pissed off?”

Sebastian clicks his tongue against his teeth, then smiles. “Depends on what you say.”

“Wow, guess I’ll have to lie.” you joke.

“Hey—”

“Kidding.” You laugh softly at his pinched expression. His eyes narrowed—lacking any real aggression—at you as you poke harmless fun.

You grin, slowly turning back to the view. “You won’t find yourself there,” you say simply, taking a slow sip of beer, the smoothness of it running smoothly down your throat. “Believe me, I’d know.”

Sebastian turns to face you, irritation spelled out in every feature of his face.

“Smartass…”

“Hey, you asked for the stone cold truth,” you lift your fingers into air quotations to emphasize your point.

“Tch. Tell me this then. If I can’t find myself there, or here in the valley. Where the hell do I go?”

You pause, clicking the bottle with your nails idly. He’s irritated obviously. But you think more frustrated and confused than anything.

You sigh, then smile. The valley hasn’t been the kindest to its resident shut-in.

“Mid-life crisis at 24,” you tease gently, poking at his side. Sebastian shoots you a heatless glare. “Don’t worry too much Seb, your hair is gonna turn gray.”

“Ha-ha,” he replies sourly. “You talk as if that isn’t the same reason you moved to the valley.”

“Hey, I gave a generous amount of my life to Joja,” you snort, shifting your feet into a better resting position. “I paid my dues over there before I found some semblance of peace here.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait my whole life.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. “God knows I wish I followed my dear old gramps’ footsteps sooner.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Yep. It isn’t. It does get easier though.”

“You say it so easily.”

“Sometimes, it just is.” you reply. “Only sometimes, though.”

For all you remember, your grandfather absolutely adored the valley, though he couldn’t convince you in the height of your angsty teenage phase to do the same. You’re long past that now, life didn’t go as planned and you ended up right where your grandfather said you would be.

Funny, how fate works so mysteriously, so weirdly.

You shake that thought away, turning to Sebastian—who has the same contemplative expression as you.

He’s silent, thinking. His fingers grasping and twirling the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You never told me the story.”

“Well,” you purse your lips, handing him the bottle. He drops the drawstrings to grab it. A wordless agreement between the two of you to share what remains of the liquid. “You n’ver asked.”

“I wanna hear it,” he says, looking at you at the corner of his glittering obsidian eyes. “please?”

“How polite,” you laugh, he lightly hits you on the back of your head with his palm. “Ouch. No need to be rough w’me, I’ll tell you.”

You clear your throat with an obnoxious ahem. “Once upon a time…”

“—C’mon farmer, stop messing around. I wanna know your story,” he interjects, and it almost sounds like a plea. “No theatrics.”

Your lips flatten into a grim line. He’s being unusually insistent on the topic. But now that you think about it, you haven’t told anyone why you moved into the farm. Not your mother, not your father, and definitely not anyone else in Pelican Town.

Sebastian may be your first, you think to yourself—innuendo unintended.

You hug your arms closer to your chest, the cool draft sliding over your skin—making you shiver. No better way to battle the uncomfortable situation with an even more uncomfortable conversation. You take a deep breath.

“I was a fresh graduate when I started working at Joja—worked my way up from customer service to marketing. Crazy, right?” you chuckle, though it sounds hollow even to you. “All the pretentious proposals I would write and those useless meetings that’d take forever. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t hate my 20 year old self for starting at Joja. 5 years down the fucking drain when I quit. Let me tell you, it’s the best decision I made in my stupid corporate slave life.”

Sebastian says nothing, he hands the bottle back to you, which you take a generous swig of. You grip the bottle tightly around its neck, the warm feeling of alcohol loosening your tongue.

You exhale deeply through your nose. “I was in my cubicle when I just ‘bout had enough—by the way, I hate that they’re called cubicles, I felt like a number in some executive’s spreadsheets instead of a living breathing person.” all that talking and your throat itches for more of the sweet burn of alcohol—you oblige it with another weighty gulp. “Grandpa left me this letter, told lil’ old me not to open it until I really, really needed to. Now that I think of it, he knew.”

Your voice cracks by the end of it. Your tongue feels way too thick for your mouth. And your eyes blur—there seems to be twice as many stars as usual.

Sebastian stays quiet, reflective even. Though his hands have stilled, and he feels closer than he was earlier. It’s warmer, you think.

If he asks, you’ve decided you’ll blame it on the alcohol.

—

You and Sebastian talk for hours after, the bottle of beer being passed between the both of you too often. You feel a tad tipsy—having drank the lion’s share of beer. Your head lolls onto your arms as you talk about everything then nothing.

There’s a fair moment of silence that blankets the two of you after—certainly not uncomfortable. You feel Sebastain knows the fact more than anyone. He seems to thrive in the quiet moments.

“I don’t think I’m leaving the valley any time soon, though,” he says softly, breaking the tranquil silence.

So he’s been thinking. “Why so?”

He shrugs his shoulders, taking the final sip of beer that finishes the bottle. “Something’s makin’ it worth staying a little longer.” His eyes meet yours, albeit for a second—before he refocuses on the cliff side view.

Ah, you understand.

Suddenly, alcohol isn’t the only thing making you feel so warm. You thank the stars for the dark, for hiding any warm pinkness in your expression. You smile, more to yourself than anything. Taking the bottle from him, brushing your fingers over his perpetually cold ones.

The bottle is lighter than it was at the beginning of the night—your shoulders too, less achy, less stiff. With all that weight off of them, you can afford to be less wound up.

You tip the bottle over the grass, nothing but a single drop comes out. You watch it fall and drop into the grass. “Good. This something thinks you’ll come to like it even.”

Sebastian tilts his head, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “That’s presumptive.”

You shrug, smirking. “I have a sense for this type of stuff.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I don’t just lie for no reason. And my senses are telling me you’ll be alright.”

You hear the silent hitch of his breath, the momental widening of his eyes and the tremble in his jaw. It saddens you slightly, no one has probably reassured him of it before.

God knows you needed some while working at Joja, you’re just returning your dues to the universe—and to him.

He laughs softly, and bitterly. His fingers twitch again—for that darn cigarette. “God, I sure hope so.”

Sebastian will be just fine, you know that. And it’s about time he knew it too.

227 notes · View notes

nochukoo97 · 1 year

Text

boyfriend drabbles (pt.1)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

summary: fluff omg, jk being a cute bf, painting each others nails and its just basically cute stuff HAHA

word count: 600+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

Ever since you and Jungkook had started dating three years ago, he became a major part of your daily life, and even on days where he would not be able to see you in person, your boyfriend would always make the effort to give you a call and whisper sweet nothings into the phone.

One of your adopted habits was to include your boyfriend in every aspect of your life. Whether it was a casual get-together with your own circle of friends or any other social event, you had an inclination to bring Jungkook along with you, a gesture that he wholeheartedly embraced, never once expressing reluctance or complaint.

In this case, Jungkook finds himself trailing behind you and your best friend, Sohee, as the both of you enter the familiar shop. A subtle wince crosses his face as he observes the two of you quickening your pace, your excited squeals filling the air upon reaching closer to the rows of products displayed before you.

Jungkook watches as the both of you light up upon noticing a small booth, remembering you had mentioned once about that particular brand. A quiet hum leaves his mouth as he watches the both of you excitedly swatch the different shades of eyeshadow, but to him, they look exactly the same shade.

—

“___, I’m gonna go to the toilet, wait for me here okay? Don’t you dare to try other stuff without me,” Sohee raises a finger at you playfully as she walks off. Now it’s only you and Jungkook, and your boyfriend is more than content to finally get some of your attention.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whines as he leans down to peck you on the lips, you chuckle as you reach up to ruffle his hair in sympathy. Poor boy, you thought.

“If we stay here any longer I’m literally going to go insane,” He whines, eyes adverting to your hand filled with various makeup products smeared onto your skin.

“I promise we’ll be quick,” A laugh sounds out from your mouth at his exasperated state, as Jungkook sighs, mentally cursing at himself for not charging his phone the night before, now that it’s battery had gone flat.

You begin to test out more shades where you and Sohee had left off, not leaving anywhere else, but it seems as though your boyfriend had other plans.

“Hey!” You gasp as Jungkook gently tugs on your arm, forcing you to follow along behind him as he trudges towards another aisle.

“Baby, what are you doing?” You question his sudden actions when your boyfriend reaches for the nail polish tester and raises your hand to paint your index finger oh-so-gently, his brows furrowed as he tries his best to paint within the nail. You begin to laugh at Jungkook’s sudden actions, but he cuts you off, “Jagi, stop moving, you’re gonna make me mess up,”

After he’s done painting your fingernail, Jungkook looks contented at his little artwork on your nail, and then he proceeds to attempt to paint his own finger too, but it’s harder for him when he attempts to use his non-dominant hand to paint. A disgruntled sound emits from his mouth, eyebrows furrowing as you grab the nail polish from his hand to do it yourself.

“I should have known you would betray me for you man,” You hear Sohee dramatically sigh as she approaches the both of you, Jungkook sticking his tongue out at her as she rolls her eyes.

Even though you and Sohee had spent at least another good twenty minutes in that store, your boyfriend didn’t mind as he held your hand the whole time, sometimes hugging you from behind and leaning his head on your shoulder as your best friend clearly annoyed from the third-wheeling.

a/n: hello!! i kinda wrote this in a rush without really planning so it might not be the best but its really short anyways haha, i realised i havent been putting a note at the end of my fics recently 😭 and i want to talk with you guys more! i also def need more inspo to write more scenarios so if you guys have any pleasee send an ask to me ❤️

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #jungkook comfort #boyfriend jungkook

1K notes · View notes

alysrivrs · 9 months

Text

❛ ♡. gif credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ demon!aemond wants nothing more than to possess you, his dream girl.

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: first time posting my writing here (i’ve had other accounts, but due to life.. i’ve decided to start fresh). obviously, do not read if you’re a minor, thank you ! ♡

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: mdni, mild smut, dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, innocence kink, manipulation, cunnilingus, fingering, sexual tension, possessive & obsessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff—any grammatical errors are my own -- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 1.8k

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔—𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘, 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋.

“are you an angel?” you asked dreamily, your voice soft and sleepy as your long eyelashes fluttered, soft like pillowy clouds.

the demon gave a small, breathy chuckle, though didn’t give you a verbal response—but his left sapphire eye flashed in warning.

“no, my sweet girl, but i can be… for you,” he crooned softly, bending down to brush his cold, plush lips against the delicate skin of your cheek, one of his big hands reaching up to comb his long fingers through your messy hair, like a mother’s gentle touch—lovingly.

“am i dreaming?” you asked next, causing the demon to let out another airy chuckle, his one violet eye flashing in amusement, while his left sapphire eye sparkled dangerously from the moonlight that was seeping into your bedroom.

the demon hummed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he thought of something that humored him, as if he knew something you did not.

still, he did not answer your question.

you pouted.

the demon’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “my curious girl—sleep, my sweet girl… i shall be here, watching over you, as i have always been,” he purred, leaning down once more to claim your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, as if it were the last time he’d ever kiss your sweet, plump lips.

for some unknown reason, your eyes pooled with tears, streaming down the sides of your face, making the tip of your nose tickle as you sniffled softly, your lips quivering as he kissed you—possessively.

the demon pulled back to stare down at you, a small frown on his face as he gently brushed a teardrop away with a calloused fingertip.

“do not cry, my sweet girl—i shall take care of you, as i always have,” he cooed once again, his voice saccharine sweet as he gazed down at you longingly, sucking the tip of his index finger that he’d used to brush a tear away from your cheek.

the demon hummed once again.

“hmm, so pretty when you cry—your tears… taste of the finest ambrosia,” he murmured, speaking mostly to himself before laughing softly at his own thoughts, offering you a small shrug.

“or… the closest thing that i can imagine ambrosia tastes like.”

you whined softly, your mind feeling fuzzy, his words confusing you more and more.

“shhh,” the demon hushed, slowly pulling your heavy blanket off of you, exposing you to the chilly air of your bedroom, moonlight shining in through your curtains and shining over your skin, as well as the demon’s long, silvery hair, making it look as though it were glowing—like a angel’s halo.

“tell me, my sweet girl—is your sweet little cunt slick with want?” the demon asked, his voice a soft rasp, gravelly and needy.

you gasped softly at his crude words, your heart fluttering inside of your chest. “n-no.. no, i—it’s n-not,” you denied in a rush, causing your cheeks to flush under his intense, one-eyed gaze—watching as he moved to crawl in between your smooth legs, pushing your warm thighs apart with his big, veiny hands almost effortlessly.

as your eyes adjusted to being awake, you finally noticed the black, leathery wings attached to the angel’s back—they were massive, as he crawled over you, before he folded them behind himself as he settled and got comfortable to lay between your spread thighs.

you looked down, curious and confused—causing the demon to smirk to himself, his innocent girl.

“w-what… what are you d-doing?” you asked quietly, nervously shifting on your bed, before sucking in sharp breath, watching as the angel—your angel—lifted up your babydoll pink nightgown.

the demon’s violet eye widened slightly, peering underneath your bunched up nightgown and seeing that you’ve chosen to wear no panties—almost like you wanted him to taste you.

your exposed, slick cunt was like an offering to him—as if he were your god and you were merely a humble servant.

the demon chuckled, “were you expecting me, pretty girl?”

you flushed.

“n-no! i—i w-wasn’t…” you stammered, looking so sweet and delicious.

the demon sighed softly. “hmm,” he hummed to himself, lifting a hand and gently tapping your mound, “you know, lying is a sin, my sweet girl,” he teased, his sapphire eye flashing menacingly.

you couldn’t speak, too embarrassed to say anything as your angel lowered his face right in front of your slick cunt and deeply inhaled, before releasing a sigh of satisfaction.

“fuck—you smell mouthwatering, i can only imagine how you taste… will you let me taste you, darling?” he questioned, looking up at you through his heavy lidded eyes, licking his lips in anticipation.

your eyes widened, your belly fluttering with butterflies. “t-taste me? i.. i d-don’t understand—“ you spoke, before being cut off by the demon’s mocking laugh, one of his thumbs reaching up to gently rub your clit, making you flinch.

“do not worry, my sweet girl—i shall take care of you,” he promised, before burying his face into your cunt, moaning at the taste of you as you practically shrieked.

the demon lapped at your wet folds hungrily, humming as he slithered his tongue into your little fuckhole, groaning as your juices pooled on his tongue, allowing him to finally taste you after so long.

“a-aahhhh, n-no, no… oh! gods,” you cried out, feeling those childish, overwhelming tears pool in your eyes once more, while your back arched up off of your bed in pure bliss.

“a-angel…!” you whimpered, feeling the angel’s plush lips move up just slightly to begin suckling on your little clit, making you wail and thrash around.

the demon chuckled breathlessly against you, before bringing up a large hand that was holding onto one of your thighs and placed it on your lower belly, holding you down. “aemond,” the demon purred against you, his voice slightly muffled by how he kept licking and sucking at your little, swollen clit.

“a-aemond…?” you whined questionably, not understanding what your precious angel was telling you.

the demon sighed, continuing to suck on your clit, while bringing his other hand that wasn’t holding you down to begin caressing your soaked folds, parting them slightly before slipping a long, calloused finger inside of you, groaning at the warmth and wetness that enveloped him, your walls fluttering at the welcomed intrusion.

“my name… you may call me aemond,” he grunted, before fucking your little fuckhole with a long finger, his pace was furious and wild, while moving his head back and forth as his mouth paid special attention to your engorged clit.

“o-oh…! aemond, a-aemond—please,” you begged, sounding so fucking pretty, aemond felt his cock twitching in his black leather trousers.

aemond continued his ministrations on your drooling cunt, slipping a second one of his deft fingers into you, curling them inside you to find that special spot, which had gone completely unnoticed due to your euphoria—fuck, you stretched around his fingers so beautifully.

once he found it, you screamed his name—causing aemond to purr as he continued gently rubbing the little spongy spot inside of your cunt.

“that’s it, my sweet girl,” aemond hissed, his skilled tongue doing figure eights on your clit, before he abruptly switched his methods—his tongue was now sliding in and out of your tight fuckhole, fucking your virgin hole wildly.

aemond began humping his hips against your bed, his cock angry and in terrible need, but he was known for his patience—two of his drenched fingers rubbed furiously against your clit, coaxing your orgasm forward to spill on his waiting tongue, knowing it wouldn’t take much more for you to come on his tongue.

you cried out, begging for mercy as your belly coiled so tightly, so close to reaching your release, almost feeling like a rubber band was about to snap inside of your belly. “oh, gods! p-please, aemond… i-i need t-to—“ you cut yourself off with a long, high pitched squeal.

aemond’s face was practically smushed against your cunt, before he became practically frenzied—moving both of his lean arms to wrap around your trembling thighs tightly, while pressing his face more so against you, his sharp nose stimulating your clit as he moved his head from side to side, while continuously fucking you with his tongue.

a few moments later, you screeched as you came, your upper body thrashing wildly, your little hands squeezing your blanket so tightly you thought you’d tear holes into the thick linen.

aemond relished in your release, feeling great pride and amusement that he was able to get you to come on his tongue so easily, as well as have you so vulnerable—to have claimed you as his.

soon, soon… he’d fuck you until you were swollen with his demon baby, he’d claim you in every single way imaginable—and the best part?

you’d have nobody to help you, he’d kill anyone who tried taking you away from him—it didn’t matter who, he didn’t care, you belonged to him and only him.

once aemond slurped up all that you had to offer, licking between your folds, while his tongue swirled around your hole once more, making sure to collect every single drop you had spilled, did he pull away—but only for a moment.

aemond gazed up at you, observing you quietly as he usually did, watching as your chest—your beautiful, perky breasts heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

“are you alright, my love?” he cooed, squinting his one-eye up at you to see your flushed face, your skin dewy with sweat and your hair a even more wild mess.

you nodded eagerly, causing aemond to chuckle and lean forward to leave small, open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, hearing your breath hitch, causing him to smirk.

“‘tis alright, darling—you may sleep now, close your eyes and dream of me,” he purred, before biting the meaty part of your right thigh—a claiming mark—hearing your yelp and feeling you jolt from the slight pain.

for a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to close your eyes, afraid that your angel—aemond—would disappear forever.

oh, how naïve you were.

no, aemond would never leave you.

aemond raised an eyebrow, sensing your hesitation and fear, making him lick his lips hungrily—he couldn’t help himself but be greedy with you, his precious girl.

your soul was just too sweet, too delectable—he couldn’t give you up now… oh, no, no—that just wouldn’t do.

you were his now—only his.

“you needn’t worry, my sweet. i shall be here when you wake up,” he promised, his voice a low rasp, before he leaned forward and pressed a loving kiss against your throbbing clit, causing you to squeak.

aemond chuckled.

“sleep,” he commanded, his tone of voice holding no question for argument, though he still remained soft with you, not wanting to frighten you.

instantly, you obeyed him—his obedient girl.

oh, if only his dearest mother could see him now, she would be enraged.

still… he couldn’t give you up now, not when he finally has you in his grasp—no. he couldn’t give you up, it was out of the question… you were his, you belonged to him—body, mind, heart and soul.

besides, how else was he supposed to keep feeding off of your soul?

fin

688 notes · View notes

chocsra · 7 months

Text

"Take the Gun and my Heart, okay?"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: im back again 😜😜 please send more requests and ideas! i wanna try writing angst for my next fics

content: you're the port mafia's best markswoman/sniper & chuuya goes to you to learn ur ways, oneshot, fluff, pre-relationship, mafia work 😱, guns, coworkers? to lovers, rich chuuya era, could be gn! reader bc there are no descriptions but used she/her prns 😭

thank you sm @soleelia for the idea!

Sometimes, regular days of being in the mafia felt boring.

Most of your life was inhabited by the four same walls of the mafia's firing range, your body was free of bruises besides the callouses on your fingers from the amount of steel pressing against your palms; it almost felt like your hands grew with a silver pistol rested upon them as if royalty was granted with a crown.

When you were younger, a tall pale man with the name of Paul Verlaine taught you all the ways of a markswoman he could.

Your work consisted of staying in the firing range, assisting criminals in their weaponry choices, dealing guns; and the off chance you could go on missions.

But when you did, shit was amazing.

"Nice one, [Y/N]." A boyish voice rang through the single earpiece of your left ear, repositioning yourself planted on the ground of one of the Port Mafia's rooftops; your index finger positioned off the trigger, taking your face off of the scope. "The pleasure's all mine." You thank teasingly; even if your 'partner' was kilometers away from you, you could almost taste the cruel smirk on his face from the other side; plotting a decimation not even a mafioso with 30 years of experience could pull off.

Dazai Osamu, the youngest mafia executive in history.

He was the craziest fuck you've ever met, but you did partake in his affairs with murder and crime; just from afar. Word says he got himself a new partner on the battlefield; a boy a year older than you, he was the supposed King of The Sheep, but his mentality and brutal force screamed nothing more than that of a wolf.

"Careful, pipsqueak - backup has already been granted." the lanky boy with bandages covered all around the midst of his tainted body said with boredom sinking in his voice; blood dribbled down his forehead, emerging in the facial bandages covering his right eye. Men with firearms and knives surrounded the two teenage boys; more than ready to shoot the children under the guise of their boss.

The ginger next to him barely turned his head in Dazai's direction, his tongue swiped behind his bottom teeth in irritation; though owning a petite stature, the King of The Sheep was more than confident that all these men, despite their bodies, would fall to their knees under the crushing pressure of gravity. "I don't give a damn about your shitty backup, I didn't join the Port Mafia to be protected." the redhead smiled cheekily, a red aura glowing from his body as his right leg lifted in the air - about to throw a powerful repeating hook kick.

Bang.

Several collisions shot through the air, Chuuya was sure it was the force of his ass-kicking skills; Dazai would have flipped a coin to see if it was you or the midget who landed a shot.

The redhead launched in the air, he twisted his leg just so that his shin hit the man's forehead. However, upon doing so - blood spluttered out of the man's head, falling harshly to the ground. The small boy landed successfully on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets with a proud smirk. Until Dazai gently pressed on his earpiece to enable the microphone. "Again, thank you, [Y/N]," he says with a sigh, watching as Chuuya's face contorts in confusion. Spinning around on his heels, the man died not by his kick; but by a metal bullet pierced through the middle of his skull; along with all the other men perfectly striked in the forehead with the small bullets.

"What?" the ginger mafioso asked with surprise, "Who the hell did that?" he sharply turned to the bandaged brunette with annoyance laced in his voice. "[Y/N], you haven't heard of her?" Dazai asks boredly, striding over to the fallen man who was their leader. "No? Dude, where'd that even come from?" Chuuya spins his head in several directions, trying to find the source of the bullets. "Up your ass." the lanky boy teased, bending down to ransack the man's clothing.

"Shut up! Guns are a good for nothin' weapon anyway! Like hell we need them!!"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like guns."

You stood across from Chuuya in the stained room of the firing range, it's length was more than long, with rather narrow walls. Bales of hay were stacked at the end of the room, protecting the wall from bullets and missed shots. From the small distance of the door creaking open, laid the only walking point of the room; as the rest were hidden by pillars that seperated individual's gunfire; and nobody wished to get shot.

The teenager ruffles his hair, almost loathing in the awkward silence of the room; even with noice cancelling headphones on. He was wearing casual clothing, usual black sweatpants and some sort of red biker jacket; accompanied by a swift movement of his orange hair, tangling between his fingers.

"About that- 'kinda feel left out, ya mind teaching me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun?"

A more awkward silence entered the room as you stare at him in disbelief, the ginger's face remained somewhat sheepish; but by his piercing azure eyes, he was irritated by something, pretty obvious. "Nah," Chuuya replies, gently pushing his hands in his pockets, walking up to you. "was never a fan of guns - ain't bullets shoot better with your hands?" the boy smirked cheekily, causing you to scoff and take off your headphones. "You're talkin' like I can manipulate gravity." you reply dryly with a creeping smile, finishing to sweep the lose bullets on the floor.

"Exactly, that's why I'm apart of the mafia." the redhead boasted defensively, rolling his tongue across his inner cheek. "I think you're the only mafioso who doesn't know how to shoot." you reply with almost a whisper, his sharp glare at you made you question your lifespan. "I've dealt with swords thanks to Kouyou, I've gone to daggers and knives for the look and practicality - so lemme ask ya this, [Y/N], why would I ever turn to guns?" you heaved a sigh at his smartass answers, sometimes you hated his stupid delusions that he always had to be right.

"Well you're here now, so technically you are turning to guns." you swipe a sleek pistol off a metal table, discharging the magazine to see if any bullets were left. "Tsk," Chuuya crossed his arms in annoyance, "You're putting words and my mouth." he scoffed, causing little bits of laughter to escape your lips. "Just shut up and listen."

"Chuuya- you can't shoot a gun with one hand." you scold in annoyance, gently taking the same pistol out of the boy's gloved hands. "Why the hell not? I see it all the time." he brushes off some dirt off his jacket, blue eyes gazing at the addition of bullets in the chamber. "You watch too many movies," you mutter in concentration, redjusting the safety junctures. "a pistol's recoil wouldn't allow you to shoot it properly, and you'd miss like, 90% of the time as a beginner." you grin mockingly, causing Chuuya to smirk in irritation.

"But Dazai does it all the time."

"I don't know- Dazai's fuckin' crazy."

"You have a point."

You laugh as you placed the gun in his hands, "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if we're mafia." you said softly, the ginger nodded, readjusting his position into some kind of sharp-shooter. "Got it," he rasps, pointing the silver tip of the pistol towards the cardboard target. Your eyes scan his whole body and stance with predictability, he was standing like he was holding in a shit. "C'mere," you proceed with a click of the tongue, cupping Chuuya's hands over the pistol.

The fabric of his gloves saved you from some embarrassment, but you couldn't help but feel the way his soft hair poked your face leaning over his right shoulder. "Your hand that's going to pull the trigger should only use 30% of force, all the other should be with the other hand, using 70% to support it." you inform in almost a whisper, applying pressure atop his right hand for a more firm grip, Chuuya's eyes glanced to yours with a slight pink tint on his cheeks before nodding. "Alright,"

"So, why'd you come to learn from me anyway?"

"'Cause I wanna learn from the best, yea?"

...

"What?"

"What? You don't like being complimented?"

Trying to readjust his grip on the firearm whilst his breath was fanning your face and neck was so damn distracting, you don't even think he knows how close or what he's doing; especially with his trademark smirk and alluring aura. Chuuya's always been a bastard, but he wasn't all bad when you had a civil conversation; actually, maybe you two had one too many civil conversations. "Okay, think I got it, ima shoot." he nods with confidence, you take a step back as the redhead takes a few moments to reposition his stance and well, learn how to shoot.

"There's two parts of a gun that allows you to shoot: 1. the front, 2. the rear, match those two up and it's like a puzzle." you inform, pointing to the junctures of the firearm before yet again taking a step back. "And don't forget double action, it holds more trigger pull than all other shots."

From all the talking you just did, there was only one thing on your mind; Chuuya. A conversation so little that felt so heavy, were you that touch starved? Nobody visited you in the range, only older men who were practicing their skills. Infact, Chuuya hates guns; he believes that it held no value over him in the mafia and a machine used by non-ability users and non-ability users only. And yet, he still learnt from you, he could've went to anyone else; he could've went to another person to watch him fail.

Too much of your previous conversations filled your head; wine, motorcycles, cigarettes, music.. maybe you did share one too many conversations, you hate the way someone so violent could you make you feel huma-

Bang.

For the first time in your life, with or without headphones; the sound of a bullet puncturing cardboard startled you, even just a little. Damn it, that ginger did a number on you. You tilt your head up to see if the bullet hit, indeed it did not. "Fuck," the redhead groans, causing you to snicker a little bit, attempting to stiffle it with your hand. "Man, shut up.." he scowls in irritation, a small smile creeping on his face. "C'mon, the chambers not finished, you can do it." you cheer the boy on, patting his back lightly, Chuuya only chuckles with a shake of the head before turning back to the target.

"You wanna know why I think you're the best?" the mafioso continues to shoot, gritting his teeth everytime the metal bullet pierced anything but cardboard. "Why?" you ask curiously, watching as he finishes the chamber, setting the firearm down at the decently shot target.

"Have dinner with me and find out."

He smirks confidently, watching as you stare at the ginger blankly. "You wanna shoot up a restaurant?" you cock a brow in confusion, taking off your headphones. "No- what?"

"What I mean is, let's go out and enjoy some good food tonight, 'kay?"

#Spotify #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #15 chuuya #15 light novel bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai osamu #chocsra

397 notes · View notes