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celestie0 · 2 days

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore.

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head.

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.”

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time.

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.”

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.”

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater.

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.”

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern.

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd.

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle.

And then the kickoff starts.

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net.

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play.

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line.

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball.

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field.

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet.

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.”

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.”

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you.

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus.

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does.

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo.

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team.

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net.

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.

The referee chirps his whistle.

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!”

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

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pedrospatch · 2 years

Text

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess.

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise.

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite.

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside.

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look.

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime.

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude.

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you.

Could Frank actually be right?

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut.

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch smells heavenly—Frank knows it’s your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart.

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly.

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant.

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in.

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair.

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum.

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe.

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside.

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking long since anyone had ever touched him like that.

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that.

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…”

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain.

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage.

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face.

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness.

But he was yours too.

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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spiderbeam · 1 month

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pairing: mercedes driver!reader x lando norris

warnings: lots and lots of swearing reader is very frustrated can you tell, rivals to lovers-ish

a/n: based on this concept moodboard i made!

“What’s wrong with you?”

Lando’s voice trailing after you is the absolute last thing you want to hear now. You pick up your stride, hoping that he at least gets the message that you absolutely do not want to talk to him.

Your fireproofs are tied around your waist, your Mercedes cap thrown on your head to hide the sticky, messy hair you ended up with after the race. Reporters and journalists are out of earshot now, but you’re not particularly keen on risking any sort of confrontation with Lando while there’s media nearby.

Your skin itches. It really itches, and you have to stifle the urge to scratch at your arms. You wonder whether you’re having an allergic reaction for not saying what you actually wanted to say during the post-race interview.

“You were leading in P2 for the grand majority of the race—how do you think you lost your position?”

Goddamn journalists. A week ago, you would’ve chewed his head off. You would’ve been honest. You would’ve been torn between asking what kind of a fucking question is that? and telling him what you really thought—that you lost your opportunity for your first 1-2 with Lewis because Lando went ahead and fucked your front wing trying to overtake you. What pisses you off the most is that he did overtake you, and that he didn’t even get a penalty for screwing you over. After that, you miraculously ended on P3—thanks to Max’s DNF—and Lando with the second place that he ripped from your hands.

But you’ve received your warnings. From Toto, from your PR team, from the Mercedes PR team—fuck, even Lewis has made a comment or two. Learn to take it in stride. This rivalry you seem to have developed with the McLaren driver is not good for your or Mercedes’s image.

You need to handle this professionally, Nina told you. Because while people claim that there’s no such thing as bad publicity—that everyone loves a good rivalry—you know you’ve been pushing the limit. And while you might be a consistent driver, it’s not only your skills that matter in this sport. It doesn’t exactly reflect well on Mercedes if you have Lando’s entire army of fans on your ass every time you post something on social media.

So, you drill the words into your head until they hopefully become second nature. And when that asshole journalist asked you the question—the question meant to get a rise out of you, to get them videos of you cussing Lando and making snide comments at him—you forced yourself to breathe in. And you could see the surprise in their faces when you smiled.

You felt constipated.

You’re not even sure what you answered. Your hands were gripping the microphone so tightly you thought it could snap. I’m grateful for sharing a podium with Lewis. Things like these are common and it’s just part of the sport. Congrats to Lando for P2. You drew blood from biting your cheek halfway through the press conference.

Take it in stride. Deal with it professionally. Don’t rise to the bait they put out. You’re sure as hell not gonna put your seat at Mercedes at risk because of someone like Lando Norris.

No matter how easily he gets under your skin.

“Did you hear me?” You have to swallow the frustrated groan that threatens to rip past your throat. Lando jogs to catch up to you, the scent of champagne pungent in the air. You fear he’s here to gloat—until you notice the sneer he usually regards you with is nowhere to be seen. Instead, there’s confusion, if not a slight wariness in his face. “What’s wrong with you today?”

You jerk your head back, a scowl starting to form. Cameras are still in sight. And while they might not be able to hear you, they very well could get video of you fighting with him and exploit it. You set your lips into a line, shrugging forcefully. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

Lando’s confusion deepens, overlapping with his suspiciousness. He searches your face for something he doesn’t seem to find. Then, much to your surprise, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you ill?”

You slap his hand away, shooting him a glare. “Quit that. I mean it.”

Lando narrows his eyes at you. “You’re acting weird.”

You scoff in disbelief. First he fucks up your race and now he thinks he can just get in your space? “I’m acting weird? You know what—” You’re a second away from giving him a piece of your mind before you hear Nina’s voice in your head. Be professional. Don’t rise to the bait.

For a moment, you wonder whether it’d be worth facing the consequences that will surely unravel if you bitch slap Lando.

You can feel cameras on you—you can see them out of the corner of your eye. You force a smile. “I feel great. Thank you for worrying, Lando.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, Lando stares at you as if you’ve just told him you’re secretly a pile of lizards in a trench coat.

“Are you concussed?” he asks genuinely.

You smile again, grinding your teeth together. You shove him in a way that looks playful, if you ignore just how much force you put into it. Lando’s body jerks back as he gapes at you. “You’re funny.”

“I’m—what?”

Lando is still staring at you in disbelief as you finally walk away. Even as he gets to his driver room, skin still sticky with champagne, he finds himself mulling over your conversation with him.

You congratulated him. In front of a room filled with cameras. There’s video evidence of you congratulating him even after he unintentionally fucked up your last lap.

It’s creeping him the fuck out.

And as he sits inside the McLaren hospitality, phone on his hand as he replays the video of the press conference, he still doesn’t believe it. He also doesn’t understand why he finds it so off-putting. He can’t stand you. You’re annoying, way too smug, and always find a way to grate at his nerves.

Is this some reverse psychology ploy to throw him off his game? It’s far-fetched, but he wouldn’t put it past you.

Your voice still replays inside his head. Thank you for worrying, Lando. You’re funny. Maybe he’s the one with the concussion.

As Lando stares up at the ceiling of his driver room, the only words out of his mouth are—

“What the fuck?”

a/n: i saw lilli mention the idea of a warm-up for writing and i honestly needed this 🙃 i haven’t been able to write anything in a while so yeah…….. i probably won’t expand on this, but my moodboard gave me enough inspo to get this out!!!!

#—landonorris!#drabbles 🌧️#f1 driver!reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #mclaren x reader #formula one x reader #f1 driver x reader

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sugarverse · 16 days

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𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙾𝚞𝚝 📚📖

word count: 3.3k out of 9.4k

synopsis: you, 23 reader, have been working at a library on the corner for awhile until your boss invites a hero to come and visit. The hero also happens to ask for your number... <3

authors note: yikes i know, it was originally in three parts but I don't necessarily know how to break it up, originally the story was 12k. it's written for poc!reader/black!fem!reader so there's mentions of brown skin and eyes but other than that it's your normal x reader. Izuku is aged up to 25, The smut is in the second part.

moodboard for fic by @fizziedoodle !

“Hey Miss!!” You peered down at the smaller voice, simultaneously feeling a book slip from your hand and onto the ground with a thud. The bookshelf wasn’t too high, but you still needed a ladder to organize and dust the top shelf. Which… hadn’t been so pleasant with children running around before their daily read. Regardless, you had a job to do. It wasn’t gonna stop for a ton of kids. You had been rearranging the books in alphabetical order before the kid startled you.. Thank god it didn’t fall on their head.

“Are you gonna read to us today? Or is Miss Maggie?” The kid didn’t look over six years old, blue eyes and long brown hair with freckles littering her face in the sweetest way. She wore a small dress full of sunflowers with bright pink gel shoes. You’ve definitely seen her before, although her name wasn’t ringing a bell.

“I wanted to read one of those pigeon stories you read us last time!” She squeaked, shoving the book in your direction. You let out a sigh of relief, climbing down to the ground. Leaning down to be eye-level with her, taking the book gently from the girl. The title read The Pigeon Needs A Bath.

“This book is pretty thin, You sure you want me to read just this one book, sweetheart?” You ask, handing the girl the book back before standing straight. Your hands found their way into your pockets, looking for your notepad to mark the row complete after you snagged the book back from the ground.

“I’ll go find some more!” She hurried off, going to find even more things to shove in your face. You climb back up to finish your organizing. Their reading wasn’t for another.. what? 20 minutes? You had time to knock out another shelf. Time flew by as you finished reorganizing, hearing bigger footsteps behind you than the average 6 year old.

“I have to stop by Goodwill and get some more books.. I also gotta stop at the post office and some.. other errands?” The owner of the store, Maggie, looked over to make sure she had gotten your attention before naming off a few things that needed done in the shop “You got this reading?”

“Of course, What time will you be back?” You climbed down the last step of the ladder, patting off the dust from the bookcase that had gotten on your apron. It was some cutesy light blue apron you wore so the dust wouldn’t ruin your clothing. It didn’t match everything you wore but the baby blue made your skin pop.

“I’ll be back in time for that uh, Pro hero guy..” She snapped her fingers, trying to place a face and a name. “I don’t know exactly who- my wife wrote him in.” Maggie waved her hand, grabbing her bag from behind the counter as you followed. “But I’ll be back to close, Promise y/n!” She gave you a quick side hug, rushing out the door.

You weren’t too involved with all the hero bullshit, competing for the number one spot on who can save more lives to be rich and famous? Please. The system in itself is ass and it wouldn’t make a difference in your everyday life for one of those snobby people to stop by. The kids seemed to love it, quirkless or not. You walked around to the counter, placing your notepad next to the register before going to sit in the small corner of the shop for reading time. Maggie left with a wave, letting a small chime rang through the shop as it called the children over for their reading, a few already sitting and ready to listen.

The library wasn’t big, it was a corner store completely renovated into a library for children. The second floor had been an apartment where the owner and her wife stayed. It was a cozy little place where neighborhood kiddos would visit for a read, parents come in to buy a few books. Maggie always made sure there was something for everyone, Along with cute little toys and those foam floor mats to sit on. The girl from earlier held 4 books in her hands, rushing to sit near the front with her pile. A few other kids held thin picture books in their hands as well, but only having 15 minutes to read to them, you knew you wouldn’t get to them all.

“Alright, Who’s first?“ You asked, smiling down at them. All twelve of them raised their hand, some even raising both so your attention was on them. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. You thought to yourself as you put a hand over your eyes, pointing to some random kid. He held a small book, standing up slowly and handing it to you.

"My mommy reads me this sometimes..” If you give a mouse a cookie. You gave him a reassuring smile before he went back to his seat. You began to read and in no time at all you finished reading the few books children selected. Thank god it was a Friday, Most children would be picked up right after the reading for afternoon preschool etc. But it seemed like no one wanted to leave.. Was it that hero Maggie had mentioned? You sighed, hopping up and heading to the check out desk where you saw a small line of children waiting to scan their books. The store bell jingled, as if the creak of the door didn’t give away someone walking in.

“Welcome to ‘Maggie’s Magical Bookshop,’ You paid the person no mind as you spoke, handing the last child their book before letting your gaze fall upon the… very tall man in front of you. Noise almost immediately filled the shop, children running up to him screaming-

"Deku!” As loud as their little lungs could. He gave a flashy smile, leaning down to hug the children that ran straight for his legs. He laughed and lifted a few of them in his.. very strong arms. Was it hot in the bookshop? Was the AC fucked up? You force your eyes from the tall man.. fumbling with something on the desktop. Was he looking at you too? Your mind screamed at you to introduce yourself, Quickly walking towards a shelf to do something. Anything besides gawk at him.

“Are you Maggie?” There were hopping children behind him, playing with his gloves and such as he spoke up. You stopped in your tracks, huffing through your nose before turning around to face him.

“No, I’m y/n. Are you the um.. pro? She had been talking about?” He extended a hand, nodding with a cheesy grin on his face as soon as your hand was in his. It wasn’t like you never saw him on the news, but you sure did skip the channel as soon as it was some bullshit hero chart over who had been number one. He was newer to being a pro, you knew that much. He was also so much hotter in person..

“Yes! I’m sorry I’m so early, I finished patrol sooner than I thought!- I hope I’m not interrupting anything! The woman on the phone said before six, I told her I was sure I could make it before then!” Your eyes never left his, watching his gaze fall to your lips for a moment as he spoke.

“You’re fine, There’s plenty of time for you to hang out and sign all of their t-shirts and such. Make yourself at home, The reading area might be best for the swarm you got..” The kids dragged him to where you were just moments ago before he could respond, talking his ears off about different silly topics.

The poor hero stayed until close, kids coming from school to see him before going off to finish homework. It’s the busiest the store has been since opening day! However, Izuku made it a point to stay that long. He spent the last 45 minutes of the store being open to make some conversation with you, he just couldn’t help himself. You had this smile that he couldn’t resist. And quite frankly, he wasn’t used to the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He fought some shit villain every day, What’s a few butterflies? Especially as pretty as you. Why wouldn’t he want to stick around?

“I really didn’t think it would be so calm this week! It feels like I’ve done nothing but catch up on papers!” The hero scratched his neck with his index finger, shaking his head lightly. “I guess I really am doing a good job!- Of course other pros are doing their jobs as well!” He let out a relieved chuckle, looking at you with a big, sincere, smile on his face. “How has work here been? It must be so nice working with so many children!”

You feel your eyes involuntarily roll, shaking your head and leaning against the wall behind you. “It’s nice until some kid gets sick on themselves and their mother isn’t here to help. We have extra clothing in the back because it’s happened more than once.. I don’t understand why kids throw up so much.” Your groan turned into a laugh, eyes leading to lost n found. You had an unamused look on your face talking about it. He noticed but couldn’t stop looking at your soft brown eyes. He felt like he was a kid all over again, the blush on his face never faulting.

“I see adults get sick all of the time if you can believe it..” He chuckled, looking out of the store window for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you have a number I can text? I would love to talk to you more.. If that’s okay with you?” He braced for rejection, It was kinda weird to be hitting on you after dealing with kids wasn’t it? Maybe he should take it back. Was he coming off sleazy? Maybe he should talk to you a few times before he asks.

Your eyes widened in the slightest, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “Sure, Let me see your phone,” You stepped closer to the counter, seeing him fumble in the pouch of his belt before handing you his phone. You went to his contacts, making yourself one of them and handing it right back to him. He had an even bigger, cheesier, grin on his face after he took it back.

“I have to um.. I have to go back to my agency to make sure everything is settled for the night. I’ll be texting you as soon as I’m off!” He spoke quickly, stumbling over his words as he slowly backed towards the door. “I hope you have a good night y/n!” He waved, bumping into the door with his back before quickly leaving. He didn’t want to continue making a fool of himself.

Finally, you could go home as well. Not that he was a problem, but that man sure could talk. It was endearing. You thought to yourself, grabbing your keys and walking out to lock the small bookshop up. There was no doubt that you were attracted to him. Every woman in America.. Japan, Hell the world was attracted to him in some way. But he asked for your number. You felt your chest swell with some kind of pride. By the time you made it home, he had already texted. You two made plans to hang out soon and have dinner together. You talked for hours until you eventually fell asleep. He was ecstatic. You really enjoyed his company.

As the next Friday rolls around, He tells you to put on the most fancy thing you have in your closet. He refused to tell you where he was taking you, only that he’d be to pick you up at 6. You weren’t one for surprises but this couldn’t go too bad. Fancy clothing? Had to be a dinner! You hoped it was just dinner. Your social battery couldn’t take being fancy for more than about two hours max.

And 6:00pm sharp, there he was. He wore a shiny black tux with a handsome sage green tie, carrying flowers for you. Thinking that roses were too cliche, he had bought you a bouquet of daisies and pink lilies. He took a deep breath, walking up to your door and knocking before taking a small step back, wanting to give you some space to avoid smothering you as soon as you opened the door. The gold watch on his wrist flickered in the sunlight, the reflection of the light shimmering across your chest as you answered the door.

You had on a short, silk, black dress, fitting to your body in the best way possible. Your hair was done, your make-up was done, you even had on these cute black glittery heels you got on sale. You looked stunning. He blinked a few times, scanning your body with his emerald eyes. His jaw stayed slack, struggling to speak at first. “You look gorgeous.. I-I brought you flowers.!” He extended his arms out to hand them to you, feeling his face radiate heat from how red he had gotten. He tried to fan himself, laughing softly.

You simply smiled, taking them and going to put them in a vase. “You can come inside if you’d like! It’s not really tux weather, huh Deku?” You teased, turning on the water from your faucet and looking back at him.

He quickly nodded, walking in and shutting the door quietly behind him. “Please- Call me Izuku.” You undid the rubber band on the bouquet, sliding the flowers into the vase along with the small flower food it came with.

“Is that your first or last name?” He looked around your cozy apartment, looking at pictures and the designs on the coffee table. Just soaking in small details. “My first name, Midoriya is my last..” He looked over at you, hearing the small clunk of glass hit the table lightly as you set the vase down. You bent over slightly, centering it at the table and moving the napkins to the kitchen counter top instead. “How’s it look, Izuku?” You looked over at him, standing up straight and leaning your arms on the back of the dining room chair.

He let his eyes drift over to the vase, smiling as he felt his face finally cool down. “I think it looks great! I didn’t want to get you roses, I just thought it was.. boring?” He didn’t want you to be allergic in some way or throw them away right after he left. Then again, He couldn’t ask what your favorite flowers had been. You would have known what he was getting. You began walking over to him, grabbing your handbag. “I think it looks pretty! Are you ready to leave?”

He beamed, nodding and opening the door for you. He gave a small bow for you to go first. You thank him, flicking off a few lights on the way out. He followed before shutting the door. You lock it with a small hum, checking that it was locked before walking you to the.. fucking limo he had waiting? Your eyes shot open in surprise, looking over at him as he looped his arm around yours and walked you to the newly washed, maybe even newly painted, vehicle.

“I hope I didn’t go too overboard? I just wanted the first date to be nice. Ya know?” He flashed a small smile, opening the door for you and hopping in himself as you two drove into town. You looked around the area, seeing fancy liquor and wine glasses close to a very clean mirror. The seats were cream colored and it smelled like new leather. Your eyes roamed, seeing Izuku sitting tense with his scarred hands placed in his lap. Maybe he was trying to avoid making you uncomfortable.. He really had been a gentleman.

You scooted closer to him, watching him quickly move his arm up top of the seat to give you room. You lean your head onto his chest lightly. “Where are we going?” You ask, looking at your freshly done nails. He wanted to leave it a surprise, looking down at you with a small chuckle.

“Nowhere too expensive,” He joked, letting his freckled hand slide to rub over your shoulder. You eased into his touch, smiling and looking down at the tight fit of his pants, rubbing a hand over his knee as well to make sure he was alright.

“That didn’t answer my question, Where we goin’?” You laughed, looking up at him to see he’s already looking down at you with the most lovey dovey face he possibly could. Still trying to soak in the sight of you.

“Don’t you wanna wait until we get there?” He faked a pout, holding back a grin creeping onto his face. You faked annoyance in return, huffing and scratching his knee a few times with your nails. “Fine, Fine.. I’ll wait.” You looked through the tinted windows, feeling your heels squish at the carpet on the floor of the limo.

He looked at the mirror, seeing your pretty shaven legs and wanting to run his hands down them. Your skin was just so soft.. But he didn’t wanna be weird, sighing and looking away from your frame quickly. “You like steak? Or are you more of a sushi person?” Maybe he didn’t even know where you two were going, sliding his scarred hand down your arm lower than before.

“Steak is so good,” You laughed, trying to recall if you had even tried sushi. You think you have? You were up to try it again. You shrugged, “The sushi I don't mind trying, I’m probably just going to get something small.” You fumbled with your nails, picking at them slightly. Eating on first dates was always kinda weird. Especially when the person gets too scared to eat in front of you. Then you don’t wanna eat and it’s wasteful..

“You can buy everything in the place if you want. Don’t look at prices. I’m treating you, y/n.” He leaned down to your forehead, giving a small peck before he looked out the window again. You smiled wide as the feeling of the limo moving started to slow to a stop. The valet opened the door for the two of you, ducking his head down slightly and smiling. “Right this way,”

He bowed at the two of you, seeing the pro hero get out and turn to you. The place was lit with warm lights and music coming from the revolving door as people walked in with big flashy outfits and styled hair. You took Izuku’s hand, getting out and letting your heels clink against the top of the curb and onto the carpet leading to the entrance. He pulled you close, moving his hand to hold your waist. “Do you like it? I know we haven’t gone in yet but the lights on the outside look pretty cool, right?” The valet shut the door behind you two as you walked towards the door.

You were speechless, letting out a small but nervous laugh. “It sure is something.. It already looks too expensive.!” It wasn’t like you were poor, but it wasn’t like you were rich either. This place looked like the start off price was 200 a person for a damn drink! You kept yourself close to the hero as you both walked into the rotating door. The carpet from the walk-way turned to fancy tile that made a lovely click noise when you stepped onto it. The interior was more gold than anything with dark wood complementing the hostess stand and the pillars of the building. Gold designs littered the bar area, making it look more than pleasant. Looking to your left, there was the tallest fish-tank that you think you had ever seen. Still not as tall as the ceilings but it sure was tall enough. There had been lots of colorful fish, octopus, starfish.. Everything was in that damn tank.

heres another link to part two if you don't wanna scroll up lol

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starkeysprincess · 1 month

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Oh hell no girly, you can not leave me hanging with the idea of a personal trainer!Rafe and not write it :( I legit need you to write it pretty please! Just her coming to the gym, getting super shook seeing that it's such a handsome guy, feeling super shy and embarrassed because she is not ''done up'' or even wearing nice workout clothes, just wanting to run out and cancel

bae, trust that I won’t leave you hanging, I’ve been holding off on this au & the moodboard has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust since the middle of July 😭

you'd walk into the gym, wearing nothing but biker shorts and an old baggy oversized shirt that probably embarrassingly enough has small bleach stains from the one time you dyed your hair.

you've been sitting on the idea of having a personal trainer for months but figured it was time to just do it and sign up.

you approach the front desk to greet the receptionist, asking if you can be signed up to work with a personal trainer.

“alright, you’re all set up. now, we just have to see which trainer will work well with your goals and availability” the girl mutters, scrolling the mouse to the computer. “okay, it looks like Rafe is the only one who fits for what you’re looking for”.

“I’ll go get him so the two of you can discuss when you want to start”.

you leaned against the counter, looking around the gym as you waited. watching several girls walk in and out of the gym in their sports bras and tiny shorts and a full face of makeup.

you were too focused on watching people come and go to notice Rafe approaching you until you heard your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I’m Rafe” he introduced himself, holding his hand out and your breath hitches in your throat at the tall, handsome, buff man standing in front of you.

it took you a few seconds to register he even said something because you were too busy gawking at the way his muscles moved under his shirt before you placed your much smaller hand into his, introducing yourself.

“I already know your name, princess” he chuckles, recalling the fact that he did say your name when he approached you.

your could feel your face burning in sheer embarrassment, wanting to turn around and run right out of the gym when you remembered your appearance.

you try your best not to stutter your words as the two of you discussed when your first session would start.

“alright, I’ll see you next week, yeah? ‘M looking forward to working with you” he grins, shooting you a playful wink before heading back to continue working.

“oh my god, i just wanna crawl in a hole” you mutter to yourself when you got into your car, “maybe i should just go back in there and cancel, yeah that would be a good idea except I already embarrassed the shit out of myself enough for today”.

#starkeysprincess asks #anon asks <3 #personal trainer!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #rafe x you #personal trainer!rafe x reader #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron blurb #꒰ personal trainer!rafe ꒱

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tolkienocweek · 4 months

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Tolkien OC Week

A fandom event for OCs and underdeveloped characters in Tolkien's world!

This event celebrates both characters of Tolkien's world and our own characters that need more love, by creating and reblogging all kind of fanworks, like fanfiction, fanart, fanvideos, fancrafts, headcanons, playlists, edits, moodboards etc.

The event is modded by @yellow-faerie, @elamarth-calmagol and @stormxpadme and will take place between 25th August - 31st August 2024 for the fourth year running.

NSFW text entries are allowed and we’ll tag them accordingly when we reblog them, but please put them behind a “read more”.

We'll also be tracking the tag #tolkienocweek during this week!

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Event schedule for 2024:

Day 1 (25th August): World Building

Create a fanwork about an original character, and use them as a jumping off point for worldbuilding. Share a dwarf from the far side of Rhun, consider the existence of an Aina before the creation of Arda, explore Rivendell from the point of view of an outsider, or tell us about the underground punk subculture of Gondolin.

Day 2 (26th August): Canon-OC Relationships

This year, it’s not just about romance. Today, explore a relationship between your OC and a canon character. Your character could be a lover or spouse of someone canonical, lf course, but they could also be a friend, sibling, teacher, servant, fan, or even rival!

Day 3 (27th August): Alternate Universes

Share an OC who isn’t canon compliant at all. Maybe you want to add a fourteenth member of Thorin’s company or give a reborn Celebrimbor children with a surviving and reformed Sauron. Or, maybe you want to do a crossover with your Star Wars OC or let your self-insert narrate a coffee shop AU. Go wild!

Day 4 (28th August): Gaps and Ghosts

Create a fanwork based upon a character that Tolkien either thought up and abandoned, such as Odo Took oe the characters of The New Shadow. Or, create someone he missed creating in the first place, like… um… just about anyone’s mother.

Day 5 (29th August): Non-Humanoid Characters

Middle Earth isn't just elves, Men, hobbits, and dwarves. Today, share a character who is something different entirely: an animal, a dragon, a Maia who doesn't take humanoid form, an ent or huron, or a creature of your own invention.

Day 6 (30th August): Background Characters

This prompt is all about people who are in the background of the action: the low-ranking soldiers, the servants, and the ordinary people living in extraordinary times. Or maybe you want someone who isn't so ordinary, like an advisor in the Council of Elrond who never made it onto the page, or one of the Maiar who sank the Feanorians on the stolen boats. Show us their view of the action!

Day 7 (31st August): Freeform

Did we miss something? Do you have an OC that doesn’t fit into any day, or did you want to do a second fanwork for one of the days? Today, create and share whatever you want, as long as it has to do with original or abandoned characters!

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Since we want to celebrate creations about neglected characters all year long, the mods will occasionally reblog posts and fancreations about OCs and underdeveloped characters. If you would like to see your post on our blog, you're very welcome to tag tolkienocweek. Since tumblr's tagging system is often being faulty, don't hesitate to message us, too!

We are looking forward to see and share all the awesome work you come up with!

#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #hobbit #the hobbit movies #lotr movies #silm #the silm #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #the legendarium #ocs #original characters #tolkienocweek

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ilovejeongintoo · 4 months

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟 ℙ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕤

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Siren Wooyoung x Reader, Smut Warnings: Implied hunting, obsessive behaviour, slight stalking?, accidental marriage, harassment(not Wooyoungs doing), technically murder(only mentioned as disappearing), edging, no condom(wrap it up pls), creampie, accidental marriage Wordcount: 4052 Not proofread

One of my other Moodboards that got me cooking up a story.

Summary: Stumbling upon a mysterious new stall that you've never seen before, the merchandise seem to be almost as enchanting as the owner.

The sun has been shining so brightly the past few days that you barely spent anytime outside, rather choosing to stay in the shade. You were mentally thanking yourself for wearing a light dress that covered you but had a light tone to it, you would not survive this weather otherwise.

Today would be the day that the flea markets at the port would open. Just barely ten minutes and not even at the main market, you started seeing various stalls, primarily selling fish and cloth. You stopped on occasion to look at a few items but quickly put them back when you looked at the price.

Moving further in you saw more and more. A few familiar people called out to you, and you replied with a friendly smile and wave. You leaned further into one of the stalls, the shells in your hair making a few soft clinking sounds when they jostled with the movement.

A voice to your right called out to you: "looking for something specific muse?" You looked over seeing a handsome man leaning over the wooden table. The surface was riddled with lots of jewelry but what immediately caught your eyes were the colored shells and various pearls.

"Something like this actually." You pointed over to the assortment. Your eyes keeping themselves locked onto them, fascinated. You noticed him standing up slightly, looking a lot taller than you thought. Your eyes focused on the different silver rings on his hands, moving up to his wrists was a singular silver armband. Further his white shirt was pushed up towards his elbows giving you a look at his veins. You quickly snapped your eyes up, hoping that he hadn't noticed your staring.

The next treasures that you were captivated by were his sharp eyes, dark that seemed endlessly deep.

By his bright smile, he didn't notice you guessed. You looked over the stall now, simpler than the others, clearly new in the port.

"You're new here, I basically know all little businesses here." You said in a matter-of-fact tone. You'd definitely remember a face like that, especially hair that special. Upper half being black, and underneath was a bright shade of blonde.

His smile was still there, teeth on display "Yeah, I'm here just for today. Kind of traveling through here, getting my own stocks and then heading off again. A traveler? You didn't get many visitors at Lumora Bay, the place wasn't even in scripted into some maps, plus there wasn't anything to see here, so no reasons for any tourists. Your curiosity got the best of you "Really? Where are you heading to next?” This wasn’t a place for tourists really. You noticed some glances from locals being thrown at the mysterious man, he was definitely catching some attention.

"I'm just traveling through the ocean, they just take me anywhere, that's why I'm here now, I'm planning to get some rations with the money from these"

A lone sailor? Now that was even less believable than him being a tourist. He didn't look the part, his clothing clearly of higher quality, Dark pants, white shirt and in the back, you could see a brown jacket. His shoes shone a little too much for someone that was traveling a lot, practically reflecting the sunshine.

"The prices depend on what you want and how good you're gonna take care of my treasures." Honestly everything looked like something you've always wanted, though you were sure any of these you wouldn't be able to afford. The job at the local tavern only got you so much.

One item did catch your eye from the beginning, and you kept stealing looks at it, trying to figure out its realness. Clearly the owner of said thing also noticed and picked it up, his big hand enclosing it. He stretched his hand out to you "This one, right? It's also one of my favorites, haven't really found a new owner yet."

A ring with a crescent moon

You have never seen anything similar to it, everything looked like you could find somehow, but that ring was special. It looked so bright even if it’s made of silver, matching his rings immediately.

"You can take a closer look if you want" he gestured to his hand with his head. You took it into your hand, your fingers brushing his palm and noticing the cold feeling of his skin. He pulled his hand back. You pulled it onto your finger and inspected it closer, it was real silver, polished to perfection giving it a smooth surface the little moon part glittering nicely because of a few stones attacked to it, which you only just took notice of.

You looked up, his eyes meeting your instantly, he must have been looking at you for a while. "What do you think? Wanna buy it?" You bit your lip thinking about it. "How much would it be?" You really wanted to give him the right amount of money, the kind of amount that this kind of treasure deserved. It had almost a hypnotizing aura to it.

"Well, I do get my materials out in the sea, so it'll be a little pricey…” You almost sighed right there.

"-But I think it fits you perfectly, so I'll let you keep it, he smiled, for a second it almost looked a little scary.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head planning to take it off when his hand shot across the table holding yours. It was unusually soft. "Keep it, I mean it." He looked serious and he squeezed his cold hand slightly before pulling back. "Oh-Okay, yeah thank you." You couldn't form any real sentences from the happiness that bubbled in you.

"There's only a single one of those in the world, I made it, there's a slight engraving of my initials on bottom."

You held your hand slightly up, your eye level and turned your hand making you palm face your visage. Low and behold, there were two small, curved letters Y.W.

"Yang Wooyoung, that's my name if you were wondering about the maker of that masterpiece." He must be a god at reading your mind because he has done so multiple times now. You felt slightly bad about leaving him without any payment for the ring though, so you thought for a moment before a thought struck your head.

You pulled a one of your bracelets off, seashells that you've found, assorted on a small metal chain. It was colorful, almost looking childish in comparison to his whole wardrobe.

"Here."

You held your hand out, expecting him to take it. If he didn’t want you to pay with money you would trade, it lifted the guilt of taking something precious from him off your shoulder a bit.

He seemed stunned. You had a stubborn look to you, not planning on being persuaded on not paying at all. another dark look crossed his face but staying as he took the gift. Pulling it over his wrist. He stood there silently observing me, almost predatory. I shivered at the idea. A loud voice ripped you out of your busy mind. You startled and spun around, regretting it right after your eyes landed on the person yelling. Motherfucking Zephyr Darkhart, notorious troublemaker known for taking whatever he wanted from the helpless locals. And also, someone that wanted to get into your pants for the past year or so.

And it appears as if your sunny day was about to be put into a cloud of darkness because he also spotted you and started walking towards you. Hoping that he didn't actually see you quickly made your way behind the table to Wooyoung squatting down, hoping that somehow, he would just walk past or something.

You knew it wasn't working when you heard big heavy footsteps kick up some dirt right in front of you.

Wooyoung was next to you, confused expression now on his face at your panicked state. He faced the man in front with the fakest customer service smile you've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Zephyr's voice called me out of my hiding spot. "Now what do we have here? Is that also for sale." He motioned to me on the ground. Some of his henchmen in the back chuckled at the comment, they were the only one finding this amusing.

Before he could make up another one of his asshole comments Wooyoung interjected, now cold faced. No grin to see for miles, you felt goosebumps rising at the tension.

"No."

"Hey buddy, what's that look for? the only reason why you even get your materials for the trash that you're selling here is because of us, because of big, strong men that venture out onto the dangerous sea. You wouldn't survive a single day with all the little sirens out there." Wooyoung wasn't the slightest bit intimidated, the opposite actually, this part now, he found quite amusing.

He leaned forward accentuating his coming statement; "Last I heard, your ships got sunken because of the same "little" sirens."

You couldn't see his face from down here, but clearly, he was looking intimidating enough for the group of men to stumble back slightly. They hesitantly made their exit, after what you presumed was another look of Wooyoungs.

Zephyr didn't step away without getting his last words out to Wooyoung in a threat, that was more pathetic than anything. "You'll regret this." He stole a glance at you and turned and walked away rather briskly.

You finally got up from your seated position, letting out a relieved sigh and tuning to the man next to you. "I'm so sorry, the only reason he came over here was because he saw me." You pinched the bridge of your nose, frustrated that it had to come to a confrontation. "It's fine, I'm glad you're okay, I bet he wouldn't have hesitated to make you one of his victims if you were alone." True, Zephyr should be avoided at all costs, especially when you're alone, the man doesn't know how to take a damn hint.

You didn't feel Wooyoung caressing your upper arm to give you some semblance of comfort, until now.

"Yeah" the air was beginning to fill with a different kind of tension now but before you could explore that any further someone called him over, demanding his help.

He pulled away slowly, or you just thought it was because of how hyper aware you were of his touch.

He stepped away walking to the 3rd voice of the day that disrupted you. He turned after a few steps he spun back around looking at you hopefully. "If you want, later, in the evening, I'll be at the beach selling some stuff and probably relaxing, so… if you want to talk a little." "Yeah" You gulped. "I like the sound of that." You were slightly breathless, nodding and gulping another time.

He grinned that same smile, "Good, I'll be waiting little muse." Were you really going to meet him later? A stranger you just met. You looked back at the ring and then at the disappearing back of Wooyoung. Absolutely you were.

The time couldn't move fast enough for you. Waiting for it to pass, you kept catching yourself watching the clock on the wall. Right across your bed. When the clock hit 9 p.m. you deemed it late enough for you to go Wooyoung. The sky turning a deep dark blue hue, reminding you of him.

Your thoughts seemed to be constantly infested with him, from the moment you met him, luring you in slowly. Your feet touched the soft sand that was cool now, having taken off your sandals.

You were looking around for Wooyoung not seeing anyone on the beach. You looked out into the vast ocean, shiny, peaceful. You kept looking from side to side, hoping to catch sight of the pretty man. You heard a splash looking to the directions of a nearby cavern but before you could go to that direction you were stopped by a iron grip on your wrist, hurting.

Rough hands, not Wooyoung's hands.

"Well, aren't I a lucky man?" And you were hoping you got yourself enough of this guy for the whole year, your nerves really weren't prepared to deal with him a second time. You glared at him despite it probably being smart if you just tried to deescalate the energy here.

"Let go" He raised a brow. "Please just let go." He didn't seem too keen on just letting you off the hook after the stunt from today morning. His crew laughing at him after practically running away from a dude half a head smaller than him.

You cried out slightly when his grip tightened, surely leaving a bruise and then it suddenly disappeared in the next second. You had your eyes closed, so you didn't catch him falling into the water. Or rather being yanked into it.

You looked around, slightly rubbing your already sore wrist. Then you noticed a ripple in the slow waves, a dark shadow moving close to the surface. You moved closer, trying to get a better look as to what’s moving there. You saw a big tail but that was about it. Maybe an abnormally large fish. Though that didn't explain Zephyr falling in, which you were slightly getting worried for, despite him being an ass, he was still a person.

Then suddenly and slowly there was a head peeking out the water, dark familiar cookie two-colored hair looking even longer because its wet now.

And those same eyes.

You moved closer, captivated and curious to confirm your suspicions of the identity of the person.

You leaned forward your feet sinking into wet sand and getting your feet into the shallow part of the water. The shape started to move towards you but stopped a fair distance away.

So, you moved even further getting your dress wet and making it slightly see through. You slipped on a wet rock and dipped underwater for a quick second, but that was enough time for you to see the big, scaled tail attached to a very human torso. You knew what this meant, what he was, a siren. And that also meant that you would die right here.

You swam up to the surface again, desperate to get some air into your quickly emptying lungs. You gasped a little for air, being all the way out here made it impossible to see through the water and make out anything anymore. You didn't have to wait for long and the presence made itself known again now from your back though, it wrapped itself around you. Naked arms and the same rings as before. Then he whispered "surprise" into your ear, and it confirmed everything.

He wrapped himself around you tighter, in a restricting or comforting manner you couldn't tell yourself. Being in the water and having your ability to fully move your body was making you nervous and most of all Wooyoung made you nervous now, for multiple reasons but mainly for what was about to happen next.

He moved your wet hair away from your face, behind your ears. "You know I was surprised when you even came to my little stall, the whole being human thing isn't really my cup of tea. But the most surprising part is having you pick, my self-made ring." You gripped his strong arms to ground yourself a little, high on the nerves.

"Are you going to drown me? Eat me?" It felt a little ridiculous to ask him so directly but if he did it you'd rather just know it now. At that he pressed himself into the back of your head, laughing into your hair. "No, no I'm not gonna drown you. But I wouldn't mind taking a taste from you" You couldn't quite make out if he was talking about what you were thinking of or not. Your core pulsed at the thought that he did. You were feeling warmer despite the cold water.

"I've got a special plan for what we'll do from now on.”

We?

He moved slowly over to the direction of the cavern from before, big rocks hiding what seemed to be large entrance to an open water cave.

He let go slightly and you gripped him tighter at the feeling. He softly laughed and pushed you to the edge of the little pool like area. Making you sit on the ledge, your dress and hair dripping with all the water that it sucked up.

Wooyoung moved slowly up to you, giving a clear view of his naked torso through the water. He sat himself on a ledge that's submerged in the water right where your feet stayed. He then moved closer propping his arms crossed on top of your legs while his head rested on your knees. He tilted his head, making him look far too innocent while looking up at you, it made you urge to pat over his now messy hair. Which you resisted.

You'd rather focus on anything besides the man in front of you, so you choose to take in your surroundings. Some plants were hanging from the ceiling, some moonlight shone through the entrance but what caught your attention next were the light white candles off to the side. And then the various furs and other souvenirs cluttered around, in one place was a big pile of furs almost looking like a makeshift bed.

Was he living here? Off to the side you could even spot some metal and shells, that's probably where he made some of the jewelry that you saw.

Wooyoungs head buried itself a little more into your legs, making you look at him again. He looked cute like this, small, harmless. The tail swishing behind him moving back and forth reminded you that he most definitely wasn't. He closed his eyes savoring the feeling of your body warmth in contrast to his.

His arms moved to the side of your legs, and he picked his head up, looking down. You were truly captivated by every movement, he looked different in the water, almost a mystical air around him. He looked up, feeling your stare on him. "Why did you bring me here Wooyoung?" You asked in a more serious tone than what was probably necessary.

He squeezed you a little at the question. "When a siren makes a treasure and it gets accepted, it means to marry someone. What do you think that ring that I gave you means?" You didn't really get what he meant by that, what does siren courtship have anything to do with…oh. Your eyes widened "No, wait what." You were so confused, scrambling with your hands a little not knowing what to do. "We're married now, so obviously I took you back to my home." He spoke as he took your one hand, putting it on his cheek, rubbing his thumb along the back.

"We belong to each other now, muse." He dragged your hand down to his still dripping chest, right on top of his heart. You felt it thumping rather loudly, pushing against your palm.

"And you know what married couples do? -" He leaned up slightly brushing his cheek with yours, making you instinctively close your eyes. "-they make love." He kissed your neck. "They make babies."

You were expecting something like this to happen but not exactly in this context. You were expecting some sex with the hottie at the port, who was very friendly and likeable, not marrying him and spending your "first night" together. In a cave to top that all off.

He moved along your neck planting kisses anywhere he could and sometimes sucking a dark mark onto your skin. A reminder for this night, that would no doubt keep your mind occupied. Your panties were soaked and not just with water it seemed. Your hands buried themselves in Wooyoung's hair, pulling him away from you. And when he was back to facing you, you locked your lips with his. In a gentle soft kiss. Wooyoung immediately took the chance to deepen it, tilting his head and pressing himself closer to you.

He pulled himself out of the water pushing you onto the cushioned floor that had the fur pile. You didn't even notice his tail transforming into legs, too busy kissing him back with all your energy.

He pulled your strapless dress down your body, your boobs making an appearance. He settled his hands over them, massing them making you let out small noises into his mouth. As he pulled the dress further down after a moment of playing with your tits, exposing your underwear he was stuck staring at it.

So, he went over it with two of his fingers, tracing lines along it and stimulating your nerves deliciously. Not even two seconds later he pushed those also down to get full access to your core. He kept glancing between you and your pussy when he pushed his fingers in to prep you. Thrusting in and out at a steady pace getting you wetter and wetter with each thrust.

Your noises became more vocal as he hit that one spot inside you, making you squirm a little, your hips bucking to meet his fingers. He smiled at that.

Just when you were about to hit your climax, he stopped completely. That heat and tension simmering down a little making, even more when his fingers left you, getting a whine out of you. You felt terribly empty now.

"Wooyoung." You started not even knowing what to say to get him back to abusing your cunt. You didn't have to wait long because he was already lining himself up with your hole, tip waiting patiently at your entrance. He coated himself slightly in the slick.

"Yes muse?" He was waiting for you to say something now. Well fuck it. You locked your legs around his waist and pulled him forward, making him sink into you with a groan. Your arms wrapped around his neck making him lean down and putting his hands on your hips. "Fuck me Wooyoung, please." You said next to his ear a bit desperately.

You missed the dark look that settled over his face, his grin turning more evil. Wooyoung has been waiting for this moment since forever, today definitely wasn't the first day seeing you. He made sure to get your attention today.

And now, he clearly got what he wanted. You wrapped around his finger. He moved his hips, canting them slightly up to hit that spongy spot again. The slide was so incredibly wet he was struggling to keep the same rhythm at your pulsing cunt.

The noises, god the noises were heavenly, better than anything he imagined before. The fantasies didn't compare to the real thing. You were quickly getting closer to that edge, having been left without a release a few moments ago. Your breaths grew harsher against Wooyoung, your grip tighter and your legs clasped harsher around him. You weren't even thinking about the consequences of letting him do it raw.

Way too much in your head to make any smart decisions right now. When you felt Wooyoungs long fingers return to your pussy, on your clit. You were coming undone so fast. He kissed you through it, addicted to the taste of your lips and dragging it out as much as he could.

When you were started coming down your pussy still fluttered when Wooyoung was still thrusting, wanting to get to his own release. It came a moment later, his hips stilling in you and spilling his warmth into yours with a loud moan.

He caressed your hips slightly, pulling himself out of you. That made you wince, feeling a lot emptier than before, after having him filling you up for so long.

You also felt something pouring out of you, but you were too lazy to care. Just tired. The last thing you heard and felt before passing out was Wooyoung's voice and touch.

A pat to your hair, settling a fur over you. And his voice so low that you almost didn't hear it.

"We will stay together from now on, my little muse."

#ateez smut #ateez wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #ateez fantasy au #ateez fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #atz smut

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sunshinesteviee · 1 year

Text

mvp - s.h.

summary: you think steve deserves a prize after his baseball game for being the MVP; baseball player!steve wc: 3.9k warnings: a bit of baseball, but it's honestly not too heavy on it lol. this is mostly smut!! 18+ only, mdni!!!! car sex, but they're in the middle of nowhere, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv (pls be smart); fem!reader a/n: alright this has been in the works for fuckin forever, but it's finally done!! i hope it lives up to the hype lol. huge shoutout to @harringtonswriting for the original idea forever ago, and to @stevebabey for listening to me cry abt this for the past month and a half lol. enjoy!!!

Masterlist

huge thank you to @inkluvs for this^ cutie and to @t-lostinworlds for this gorgeous moodboard!!

It’s a surprisingly nice evening for summer in Indiana. There’s a warm breeze that kisses your cheeks and keeps you cool under the late afternoon sun. Perfect for one of Steve’s baseball games. The last few you went to were unbearably hot, so even though it’s still warm, and you’re still sweating a bit, this is much better. Not that you’re paying much attention to the weather with how close this game is.

His team is up by two points in the top of the ninth, and there’s someone on base, but if they hold them off from scoring, they’ll win. Steve’s pitching, and you know he’s feeling a lot of pressure, especially since this is a pretty important game near the end of the season. But you also know that he’s totally got this. He’s been pitching so many strikeouts this game, and he can definitely do one more.

He stands at the pitcher’s mound, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he squints at his catcher. He looks fucking beautiful, quite honestly. Tan skin glowing in the golden hour sun, the sleeves of his jersey tight around his biceps. Pretty hair tucked under his hat, the eyeblack he’d carefully applied before the game smeared across his cheeks. You might just have to jump his bones when the game is over.

Steve gets into position, presses the ball into his glove, and takes a deep breath. You stand from your seat on the rusty bleachers, metal creaking underneath you, to get a better view of the field. Someone behind you — probably Jessica, another player’s girlfriend — huffs in annoyance, but you ignore her, too caught up in Steve, and sending him all of the good luck you can. He moves into his windup position, takes another deep breath, and sends the ball over the plate in a perfect strike that the batter watches go by.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and whistle loudly, earning you even more dirty looks from the people sitting around you. Half of them are supporters of the other team, so you can’t blame them, but you’re not going to quiet your support for your boyfriend. You know he can hear you — his eyes flick to yours for just a moment when he hears your whistle, and his mouth pulls up at one corner almost imperceptibly. He winks at you, subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone else, but the cockiness makes you flustered and causes you to roll your eyes at the same time.

The rest of the inning flies by with a pop-up to right field that’s easily caught by Steve’s teammate, and another strikeout pitched by Steve — one that the batter watches go by. You’d cheered again, even louder than before, and blew him a kiss as he ran off the field.

Now you’re waiting for him, not so patiently, on the bleachers. You usually have to wait a bit while the team debriefs, and while you don’t mind most of the time, you’re feeling antsy today. You want him in more ways than one, and you don’t know how much longer you can wait. Thankfully, due to a good game and short debrief, it’s not too long until the players start filtering off of the field. Steve is always one of the last ones out, but you stand up in search of him anyway.

“Harrington!” you shout Steve’s name as he exits the dugout, waving a hand in the air as you bounce on the balls of your feet excitedly.

Hearing the sound of your voice, Steve’s head whips in your direction, and the biggest smile you’ve ever seen is on his face. He gives you a wave before turning back to the teammate he’d walked out with, saying something you can’t make out as he slaps his back and then makes a beeline for you. After the game, his uniform is awry; jersey half tucked in, hat on backwards, and he’s so sweaty, but somehow, you don’t mind. His bat bag is slung over his shoulder, but it’s quickly dumped on the ground as he approaches you in favor of scooping you up into his arms, “Baby!”

You let out a shriek and throw your arms around his neck as he lifts you off of the ground. Your toes are barely an inch from the grass, but it’s enough to have you clutching onto him. He’s still sweaty, having just come off the field, but you don’t mind. “Steve! You did so good, baby!”

Steve sets you back on your feet, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead with another blinding grin, “Thanks, honey. All for you.” His hands are still looped around your waist, resting gently against the small of your back. “Heard you cheering the entire game.”

“Yeah?” you ask, returning his grin as your fingers trace along the neckline of his jersey. “Good. Matt’s girlfriend kept giving me dirty looks for cheering so loud, but I think she’s just jealous her boyfriend isn’t as hot or talented as mine. I’ve got an all-star. The MVP.”

Dark pink colors Steve’s face from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears, even though he’s still smiling at you, “Stop it. I’m not—“

“Don’t even start!” you quickly cut him off, placing a finger against his lips, “If I remember correctly, it was you who pitched a bunch of strikeouts, and held them off in the last inning. I’m so proud of you.”

He wants to argue, but you’re staring at him full of pride, so he gives in. His cheeks are still flushed pink as he smiles at you, pursing his lips to kiss the finger still pressed to his lips, “Thanks, baby. Love you so much. Couldn’t do it without you.”

You know that’s not true — you show up to all of his games, and sometimes you pack him extra snacks and water, but that’s about it. He’s the one who puts in all of the hard work during practice, at games, and during all of the other time he uses to improve. You are really proud of him, in every single way, and you want to let him know. Threading your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, you lean up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “I think the MVP deserves a prize. What do you think, handsome?”

Steve’s eyes grow wide, hands spreading over your hips to keep your body flush to his. He stumbles over his words when he finally speaks, “Shit, baby, I-I… yeah, okay.”

Leaning up on your toes, you give Steve a grin before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Should we go?”

“Oh, definitely,” Steve nods quickly, leaning into you for a kiss. He kisses you with just enough force that you bend at the waist slightly, giggling against his lips as you grasp at his shoulders.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you push at him gently, though you’re grinning when he pulls back.

He lets out a soft huff, eyes narrowing playfully at you as he grabs his bat bag and hoists it up over his shoulder again. He’s quick to start the trek back to his car, turning to face you as he walks backward with a cheeky grin on his face. His arms are held out to his sides as he calls, “You comin’ with me or what, babe?”

Not wanting him to get too far ahead, you jog to catch up to him, slipping your hand into his as your shoulders bump, “You don’t even know what the prize is, Stevie.”

Scoffing, Steve turns to you with a smug and knowing smile on his lips, “Oh, I know what it is.” Still, he’s gentle with you, giving your hand a soft squeeze and throwing a ridiculously exaggerated wink your way to make you smile. He dumps his gear into the trunk of his car, letting it close with a loud thud as he turns to you, arms caging your body against the side of his car. His breath is hot on your neck as he dips down so his lips ghost over the skin just below your ear, “The prize… it’s not actually a physical prize, right?”

You can’t help it — you let out a laugh, head tilting back as you wrap your arms around Steve’s neck to draw him in closer, “Depends on what you mean by physical…”

“Baby,” Steve groans with a laugh, taking advantage of your exposed skin by pressing wet kisses up the side of your neck and along your jaw. You want to reply with another sarcastic remark, but your breath hitches as his teeth graze your skin. So, instead, you cup his jaw in your hands and pull his mouth to yours for a kiss.

The sun is starting to smolder low in the sky, nearly sinking beneath the horizon to cast the sky in pretty oranges and pinks as Steve finally pulls out of the parking lot and heads for your shared apartment. His hand reaches over the center console to rest on your thigh, a warm, heavy weight on your bare skin. He’s already been causing trouble, with the way he’d kissed you against the car, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it home in a timely manner.

Music is playing on the radio, something top 40 that Steve is humming under his breath as he drives. You’re having a hard time figuring out what the song is with the way his fingertips press into the softness of your inner thigh and brush up ever so slightly. Sucking in a breath, you glance in his direction, only to find that aside from the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, he’s keeping any indication of what he’s thinking off of his face.

He looks so pretty in the golden light streaming in through the windows that it’s almost hard to believe he’s real. Reaching out across the gap between you, you tuck a few strands of his messy hair behind his ear and then drag the pad of your thumb across his jaw. You trace over a few of the cute moles scattered over his face and wish you could kiss each and every single one of them, but he’s a bit too far away. Letting out a dramatic sigh, you let a lock of his hair slip from your fingers back into its place.

At the forlorn sound, Steve’s eyes flick from the road over to you as he laughs under his breath. He twists just a little bit further to press a kiss to the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he asks, “What, sweetheart?”

“I think I might combust if I can’t kiss you or touch you within the next minute.”

Steve lets out a laugh, breath hitching as your own hand drops from his hair to his thigh, “We’re like ten minutes from home, honey.” He’s trying his best to stay casual, but he’s feeling about the same as you, especially with your hand on him now.

“Can’t wait ten minutes, baby. Want you now. Don’t you want your prize?”

“Jesus christ,” he huffs out quickly, hazarding a glance to the hand on his thigh that’s creeping upwards before scanning the road, “Alright, okay, baby, just— just let me pull over. Fuck.”

There aren’t many perks to living in the middle of nowhere Indiana, but if you have to pick one, being able to pull over pretty much anywhere you want to fuck your boyfriend in the front seat of his car is definitely up there. It takes a moment before Steve spots a secluded area and pulls off of the road, dirt and gravel crunching under the tires as he rolls to a stop. The second his car is in park, you unbuckle your seatbelt and nearly launch yourself over the center console into Steve’s lap.

He laughs in surprise, but it’s cut off by your mouth on his, kissing him like it might be your last chance. There’s not much room in the front seat, and you huff as your knees press into the console and the door on either side of his lap, the skirt of the dress you’re wearing riding up your thighs. It’s not exactly comfortable, but you quickly become too distracted by Steve — his lips pressed to your neck in a bruising kiss, his hardening cock underneath you — to care. And the way he’s gripping your hips to pull you closer isn’t helping.

Your hips roll forward as you press closer to him, drawing stuttering breaths from both of you. It feels like his hands are everywhere, sliding up your exposed thighs to your waist, warm even through the fabric of your dress, before traveling further up your body to cup your breasts. You’d had to forgo a bra in this dress, and Steve isn't oblivious to this fact; he’d noticed right away, and was going to take advantage of that.

Wet kisses press to your collarbone as he dips lower, fingers sliding under the thin straps of your dress to tug them off your shoulders, “Looked so pretty in the stands today, baby. Y’always do, but this pretty little dress…” He all but groans, pulling the top of your dress down your chest. More kisses trail along your exposed flesh, the dull scrape of his teeth followed by another hickey pulls a gasp from you.

With his mouth on you, he’s making it real hard to form a coherent sentence, “Christ, Steve— we can’t— don’t have time for—“

A sharp tug to the hair at the nape of his neck finally gets his attention, and he pops back up with a huff, narrowing his eyes playfully at you, “Sorry. Sorry. Not my fault you’ve got perfect tits, honey.” He squeezes your breasts as if to make a point, not quite roughly, but not gently either, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Steve,” you admonish playfully with a roll of your eyes, slapping at his chest. You giggle, though, leaning forward to kiss him again. Your fingers work at the buttons on his jersey as you kiss. It’s not really a necessity, but you want to feel his warm, golden skin and the hair on his chest, kiss the moles that are littered on his torso. Your fingers trail down his chest, and you can feel it heave at your light touches, a stuttering breath as you inch closer to his pants.

After unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper, the two of you shuffle around in the front seat to get his pants and underwear down enough to free his cock. Your hand wraps around the base, a gentle touch as you stroke up his length. Precum leaks from the tip, messy on your hand as your thumb rubs over his slit. Steve hisses at the touch, hips trying to push up into your hand, “Shit, honey—“

“Feel good?” you ask, a bit smug as you twist your wrist mid-stroke.

“So good. Need— ah— wanna touch you, too, babe. Lemme…” Steve trails off and one hand presses into the small of your back, reaching down behind you with the other one to pull the lever on the seat. The seat slides all the way back to give you more room, but it moves quickly, leaving you scrambling to hold onto Steve and his jersey. He laughs at your surprised expression, hands moving to settle on your thighs, “That’s better. More room.”

His palms slide up the lengths of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part until they slip under your flowy dress and bump into the fabric of your underwear. One finger slips just underneath the lacy trim at the edge, running back and forth lightly, “Can I?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding quickly as Steve’s fingers press into the wet spot forming on your panties. “Please, baby.”

He rubs your clit softly through your underwear once, twice, and just before you’re about to complain, his fingers hook into the fabric and tug it to the side, tracing up your slit, “Already so wet for me, huh?”

“You– fuck– you look so hot in your uniform, baby, ‘s not my fault,” you huff, shifting your hips to try to get him right where you want him.

Steve’s fingers dip back down, circling your entrance in a teasing touch before two ease into your cunt. He’s slow with it, almost infuriatingly so, as he spreads you open. You gasp into the crook of his neck, only just remembering that this is supposed to be about him, and resume the slow stroke of your hand on his cock. The air is filled with soft breaths as you touch each other, Steve’s breath warm against your skin, and it’s all you can hear, even though the radio is still playing quietly.

When his fingers curl inside of you, pressing into the perfect spot, you whine, “Want you inside of me, Stevie. Need you.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a grin, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. He hums around his fingers, pulling them from his lips with a small pop sound, “Taste so good, honey.”

Pleasure twists low in your tummy at the sight of his fingers in his mouth, at his dirty words, and you whimper. You can’t wait much longer, so you don’t, shifting up onto your knees the best you can in the tight space without bumping into the roof of Steve’s car. One of your hands slides over Steve’s shoulder, keeping yourself steady as you slip the other hand between your bodies to line Steve up with your entrance.

Warm hands rest at your hips, fingers splaying out wide to hold you as you sink down onto Steve’s cock slowly. You both moan softly, your thighs shaking as you lower yourself until he’s fully inside of you. There’s always an aching stretch, and it takes a moment for you to adjust, gasping into the crook of Steve’s neck, “Shit, Stevie, you– you’re so big, fuck.”

Steve laughs, a breathless sound, hands flexing against your skin as he fights the urge to thrust his hips up, “Y’sure know how to sweet talk.”

“Shut up,” you huff playfully, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jersey as you rock your hips forward once. Steve lets out his own strangled, gasping noise at the sudden movement and you grin, feeling smug.

You lift yourself back up slightly, a sweet, slow drag of his cock through your tight cunt, and then rock back down, grinding into him. Steve swears under his breath, hands moving from your hips to your ass to help you fuck yourself on his cock. It takes a moment, but you settle into a rhythm with Steve’s help, circling your hips against his, back and forth, up and down. Your thighs start to burn from the effort, but it’s worth it for the dazed look Steve has on his face.

“Christ, babe,” he mutters, squeezing your ass as he presses wet kisses across your chest, “ridin’ me like a champ. So good for me.”

You clench around him at his praise, moaning in a way that should be embarrassing, but you’re too far gone to care. Your fingers travel up from the collar of his jersey to his hair, curling into the strands at the nape of his neck under his cap, and you surge forward to kiss him. It’s messy, your lips sliding against his in an open-mouthed kiss.

It’s so hot in the car that between the warm summer air and the warmth radiating from your bodies, the windows of the car start to fog up. If anyone were to see the car, they’d know exactly what was happening, but thankfully, there’s likely no one around for miles. Sweat beads at Steve’s hairline as he begins to thrust his hips up to meet yours, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your ass hard enough that it might leave bruises. You falter as his hips smack yours with a filthy sound, pushing your face into Steve’s warm shoulder as you moan, “Steve, fuck— ’m close— oh god, I need—”

“I got you, baby,” he mumbles into your skin, his breath fanning across your shoulder, making you shiver. One strong arm hooks around your waist while his other hand finds its way between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with the thrust of his hips. He’s babbling, praises for you spilling from his pretty, pink lips, “Look so pretty on my cock, baby, takin’ me so well, yeah? Fuck, I love you so much, you’re perfect. So fuckin’ tight for me, y’close, huh? Gonna cum for me?”

You can feel the way he twitches as you clench around his cock, your thighs tight against his hips, entire body tensing as pleasure washes over you. Your chest pushes into his as you tip over the edge, slick skin against slick skin, “Oh god, fuckfuckfuck.”

The thrust of Steve’s hips up into yours grows sloppy, but he doesn’t let up, thumb swiping over your clit as you ride out your high. He’s not far behind you, groaning your name into the crook of your neck as he cums hard. You have enough of a mind to continue to rock your hips against his until he’s spent, breathing hard.

His hand on your back pushes under your sundress, stroking up the curve of your spine gently, a soft and intimate touch. It’s silent as you both try to catch your breath, trading soft kisses on damp skin and parted lips.

You speak first, a small laugh as you push your sticky chest off of Steve’s, “Holy shit, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah it is,” he says with a cheeky grin, giving your ass a rough squeeze as his gaze dips down to your breasts. He leans forward, pressing another soft kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the nipple, making you shiver. He all but giggles at your reaction and leans back into his seat, with a heaving breath, “Fuck, it is hot, though. Lemme open the windows.”

Reaching over with one hand, Steve opens the driver-side window, letting in the cool evening air. It feels nice on your warm skin, and you close your eyes, turning your face into the breeze. You can feel his eyes on you, and when you look back at him, he’s still staring at you, eyes a soft honey color in the last of the sunlight.

“I love you,” you say, quietly, almost shy.

“I love you, more, honey,” he replies easily, a grin breaking out on his face.

You kiss him one last time before pushing up off of his lap, wincing as he slips out of you. Shuffling backwards, you pull your underwear back into place, and tug the top of your dress back up your chest, adjusting the straps. Steve helps you back over the console into the passenger seat before fixing his own clothes. You’re still flushed, so you quickly roll your own window down and stick your arm out. Your fingers flutter in the breeze as Steve pulls back into the main road, turning the volume of the radio up.

Steve’s hand reaches out towards you, settling on your thigh once again, though maybe a bit more innocently this time. You rest your hand over his, your fingers curling between his as you tease, “Hope you enjoyed your prize, MVP.”

He laughs, head tipping back against his seat, hand squeezing your thigh gently, “Shit, babe, after that, I think you deserve the MVP title.”

a few other tags hehe

@underoossss @sattlersquarry

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #baseball!steve #baseball!steve harrington #baseball player!steve #baseball player!steve harrington #sunshinesteviee #sunshinesteviee writing

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missannwinchester · 1 year

Text

Plaything, Joel x Reader SMUT

Thank you for the moodboard, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 💕

18+

adults only

SUMMARY: You're Joel's pretty doll.

part 2 here

Stars shining bright above you

WARNINGS: creepy behaviour, Joel dresses reader up like a doll, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship mentioned, oral sex, sex, rough sex, hair pulling, pet names (baby, doll, darling, etc.), spanking, age gap (reader is in her late 20s)

You sighed in your sleep when Joel opened up the blinds. The sun was shining straight at your face and you rolled over, facing away from the window, but Joel didn’t give up. You heard him walk around the bedroom and fiddle with his old, beloved record player. He always corrected you, “it’s a gramophone”, he would always say, but you didn’t really care.

You smiled when you heard the song, hiding your face in one of the pillows.

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Joel walked up to the bed and sat on the edge. His calloused fingers stroked your hair, gently, almost hesitantly. You hummed to encourage him to keep going. It was way too early to get up, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

The thing with Joel was that he liked his routine. He was strongly set in his ways and some people found it bizarre, but it never bothered you. Before every work day he needed to prepare his clothes for the following day. He always ironed what had to be ironed, and folded what had to be folded… or more like he folded even the things that you would never bother to fold. After that, he always poured two glasses of water and brought them on a tray to your nightstands. In the morning he liked his coffee strong and bitter, his toast crispy and with butter. For you, however, he was willing to scramble eggs or even make something as extravagant as chocolate chip pancakes. There were days though, when his routine looked different. Like today.

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Still stroking your hair, he started humming the song, admiring your soft smile and barely noticeable, shallow wrinkles. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, making you finally open your eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged you and pulled down the comforter.

He was very strong, never had problems with lifting you up. Sometimes it made you wonder how that was even possible because most men his age couldn’t stop complaining about back problems.

“I wanna sleep,” you argued.

“Not now,” he said and grabbed your shoulders to pull you up to a sitting position.

“Get up, I need to get you all ready,” he said, holding you by your chin and you reluctantly got up.

Was Joel a weirdo? Most definitely. You tried not to think about it because it creeped you out too much. At first you thought of it as a deal breaker, but you quickly realized that it was actually one of your favorite things.

“Get in the shower, I’ll be right there,” he instructed and you nodded before kissing him on the lips.

He smiled and watched you go. You left the bathroom door open and you knew he could see how you stripped from your pajama set and turned the water on. After a short while he joined you in the shower, and placing his big palms on your hips he turned you around to face him. You were both standing under a wide stream of water, watching each other’s bodies, tracing water droplets down your shoulders and chests. Joel’s cock was semi - hard, and your fingers traveled so far down his chest you could now brush your thumb along his length. Joel took your shampoo and poured a generous amount on his hand, getting ready to wash your hair. Your eyes closed as soon as his hands touched your head. His fingers rubbed the shampoo into your hair, applying just the right amount of pressure. He massaged every inch of your head and you’d lie if you said you didn’t enjoy it. When he was convinced that your scalp and hair had enough, he directed you gently under the stream of water again. He made sure to leave no foam, rinsing your hair thoroughly. Then, he put some conditioner on and you had to wait. It was a well practiced routine by now. You knew exactly he didn’t want you to be idle. He helped you kneel down on the slippery shower floor and he took his bar of soap and started cleaning himself.

Your greedy hand rushed to his balls, caressing them, feeling every inch. Your other hand grabbed his cock at the base. He sighed, loud enough for you to hear it over the running water, when you took his tip into your mouth. You sucked on it, still massaging his balls. He grew harder under your touch and you smiled, licking water off Joel’s shaft with your tongue. The bitterness you tasted came from the soap and you grimaced. You waited a short while for water to rinse the soap residue from his body, using your hand to pleasure him. Then, you licked the side of his length again before taking him into your mouth as deep as it would go. He let you control this experience so you picked your own pace, taking breaks to suck his balls too, pressing your nose into his pubic hair as you did. After a while his hips started rolling into your face uncontrollably and you knew it was a sign that he’s close. You focused all your attention on his balls for a little longer and then swirled your tongue around the tip to tease him just a little. Then finally your mouth slid down his length and the tip brushed your throat. You bobbed your head, picking up the pace until he grunted, grabbed your head pressing you into him and spilled his cum inside your mouth. Some of it ran down your chin, mixed with your saliva and water, but you managed to swallow most of it.

You stood up and Joel ran his thumb across your chin in an attempt to clean it. He turned water off and wrapped you in a towel before drying himself.

“Head,” he muttered and you bent over.

He wrapped another towel around your hair and let you straighten up.

“Upstairs now,” he ordered before kissing you softly on your lips.

Upstairs. The upstairs was a part of the house that the two of you would never ever want anyone to know about. You walked up the stairs slowly and as always you felt as if you were flying backwards through time. You knew you could open a museum here. You walked through the dark corridor towards one particular bedroom. You opened the door and walked up to the windows and started opening the old fashioned drapes, letting the sunlight into the room. Everything here wasn’t just old. It was historical. From the carpet to the chandelier. You unwrapped your hair, letting it fall down your shoulders and you took off the towel covering your body as well. You hid those under the bed just in time for Joel to walk into the room.

“So beautiful,” he admired you.

At the beginning of your unique relationship it bothered you that Joel wasn’t a talker. You couldn’t get out of him what he liked, not even his favorite color. Even though you were very uncomfortable the first time he took you upstairs for this, you really appreciated how he could open up here.

“Come here, my doll,” he requested and you took a few steps to get to him.

He was wearing the clothes he had prepared for himself last night - dress pants and a shirt. The sleeves hugged his bicep perfectly and stretched dangerously when he grabbed you and pulled you against him, kissing you passionately. He could still taste himself on your tongue.

“Come on, let’s get you all ready,” he whispered and walked up to a chest of drawers.

He pulled a pair of white underpants, the kind that women used to wear sometime in the past, and kneeled down to your feet. You grabbed onto his shoulder and lifted one of your legs, sliding your foot into the underpants. Then you did the same with your other leg.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he praised you and ran his fingers up your legs before pulling the underpants on.

“Now something for the top,” he told you, stuffing you into something that resembled a corset, but wasn’t as restrictive as you imagined a corset to be.

“Beautiful. Who’s my most beautiful doll?” He asked and you knew he expected an answer.

“I am, Joel,” you said and reached out to caress his cheek.

“Yes, dear. Sit down, I don’t have much time,” he said lovingly and you let him lead you to the most extraordinary vanity in the whole world (at least according to you).

The carvings in the dark wood were very detailed, gold elements around the edges looked like the most thoughtful embroideries. You looked at yourself in the framed mirror of the vanity, completely unbothered by a crack in the top left corner. You remembered asking Joel why he never replaced it, but he told you that it just wouldn’t have been the same vanity.

“When do you have to be at work?” You asked.

“At 9,” he sighed. “I think it’s gonna be a really tough day today, you know?”

Joel reached for a vintage perfume bottle that you knew had been filled with your very modern detangling spray. He sprayed your wet hair with it and grabbed a hair brush. Gently, starting with your ends, he slowly brushed through your hair.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“The boss is coming over, you know how he is,” he explained.

He took a hairdryer from a drawer and plugged it in and you remembered the first time you saw it. You laughed hysterically at the absurdity of all of it and life flashed before your eyes because you were sure that your perverted sugar daddy would choke you to death with a medieval pillow and bury you in the backyard. Since that hadn’t happened, you convinced yourself to just go with it until you started enjoying it probably as much as he did.

Joel finished drying your hair leaving it damp and hid the dryer meticulously. He gently ran a brush through it again and then clipped a section at the top of your head. He took a basket with rag rolls he made himself and started carefully putting them on your hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” he commented and you caught his gaze in the mirror. “And so shiny,” he said and leaned down to smell it.

He slid his lips down a strand of your hair before putting it in a rag roller. It was things like that that used to make your skin curl, but you got used to them. Sure, if you thought about it it was still creepy, and even though your mind was telling you to run and never look back, your heart always gave you excuses to stay.

“It’s because of all those fancy conditioners that you use on it,” you say with a smile and the corners of his lips also lift up.

“Anything for you, my pretty doll,” he hummed in your ear, brushed his stubble against the soft skin on your neck and left a sloppy kiss on your pulse spot.

You had been wet since the shower, but feeling his lips on your neck awoke the desire in you again. The desire you knew you had to repress for now. Joel’s thick fingers were surprisingly skilled and he quickly managed to curl the whole bottom section of your hair and unclipped the rest. He was humming Dream a little dream of me.

“I’m gonna be thinking about you all day, you know? I’m gonna be thinking of your hair and your lips and your thighs and your breasts, all of you, you know that, darling?” He told you when he was done.

“I’m gonna be thinking about you too,” you confessed and he kneeled next to you.

Joel put his hand on your lap and rested his forehead on your shoulder. You would have turned to face him, but the massive chair you were in didn’t allow it.

“I know, my doll, I know,” he said and brushed his fingers against your clothed clit.

“Please, Joel, I need you to touch me,” you told him huskily, but he shook his head.

“Not now, now get up,” he instructed and you bucked your hips to chase his hand. “Up!”

You reluctantly obeyed and walked up to the bed. You crawled on top of the embroidered blanket and sat, looking at him with a pout.

“Now, be a good doll and wait for me,” he said and kissed your forehead, stroking your cheek. “I’ll come play with you at 5.”

You nodded and watched him leave the room. You heard his heavy steps on the creaking stairs and you lied down, waiting for him to leave the house.

Your days always looked the same. You ate breakfast, cleaned up a little, watched tv, and listened to music. When you didn’t have anything in your hair you could go to a mall or on a walk, but today you just read a book in the garden. You kept checking the time so that you didn’t disappoint Joel. You wondered what he might do if he didn’t find his doll where he left her, but you decided not to check. Not today, probably not ever. He was a peculiar man and you thought he was fairly docile, but you knew his rough side and you certainly knew how strong he was. So, you made a compromise with your brain to at least be obedient if you chose not to run away.

You heard the creaking steps before Joel opened the door to the bedroom. He looked tired and you knew that his day was just as bad as he had predicted.

“Good afternoon, darling,” he muttered tiredly and crawled onto the bed to kiss you.

“Hey.”

“You’re such a good baby, waiting here for me,” he whispered in your ear and grabbed your hands, pulling you off the bed.

You let him lead you towards a big closet, the one you were told not to open under any circumstances because the heavy door had a tendency to fall out of hinges. Joel opened the door carefully and you took a few hesitant steps. You reached out to touch a collection of old dresses, well to be fair some of them only looked old, but were made for you by Joel who had a few hidden, pretty unusual talents.

Joel chose a dress of his liking and started dressing you up. Corset, ribbons, lace inserts, tiny buttons. He looked like he was in a trance and you didn’t dare to interrupt him, just wanting him to relax. Next, he sat you on a stool to put on your stockings. He gently caressed your legs while putting them on, and kissed both of your knees. Your least favorite part was the uncomfortable shoes, but it wasn’t like you had to do a lot of walking anyway.

“My prettiest doll,” Joel said and looked at you with a shy smile. “Go sit in front of the mirror, darling, look how pretty you are.”

You did your best not to wince with every step, but soon you made it to the vanity and sat on the massive chair in front of it. You knew that now, Joel would take your rag rollers off and he did. One by one, they were gone, being put into a basket you held for him. He pinned half of your hair up, leaving the rest of the curls intact and took a dark green ribbon to tie it on top of your half updo. When he was satisfied with the look, he grabbed the massive chair by its armrests and turned it towards him. He kneeled in front of you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose in the crook of your breasts. His hot breath tingled you and sent a wave of arousal down your body. The corset had your breasts pushed upwards and Joel rested his face on them as if they were pillows. He moved his head to the sides, scratching your delicate skin with his graying scruff, making it red. He pressed his clothed crotch into your calf with a grunt and looked up.

“Almost ready,” he panted.

You wondered if he didn’t take more pleasure from this than from sex and you thought about asking him, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Joel searched for something in a leather bag and a while later he pulled out a lipstick. He put it on your lips with precision, then he colored your eyelids and he glued on fake eyelashes.

“Perfect,” he gasped, still on his knees in front of you.

“Am I your prettiest doll now?” You asked, stroking his cheek.

“You are,” he nodded eagerly. “You are my prettiest doll, darling, you always are.”

Even though Joel was a fan of routine, he still managed to surprise you. This time you didn’t expect him to grab your head and kiss you as passionately as he did, smearing your red lipstick all over you. One of his hands made its way up your leg, under the long dress, the other was behind your head, fisting your curls, pushing your face into his with unprecedented strength. He pressed his thumb against your clit over the underpants and your hips rolled in search for some friction. Joel reluctantly pulled his tongue out of your mouth and started rubbing your lipstick down your neck. Still assaulting your neck, he nestled himself between your legs and wrapped them around his waist.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed and you clung to him.

Joel lifted himself up from his knees and carried you to the bed. He laid you down only partially so that your butt was still in the air and kneeled down again to pull the underpants down. Then, he lifted both of your legs to rest them on his shoulders and hiked the dress up, covering you with it. Your arms freed you from under the dress, but it was so big that you could only see your feet swaying in the air as Joel ate you out like a man starved.

He made a dozen new hickeys on the inside of your thighs and nuzzled your wet heat with his nose, inhaling your arousal. His tongue slid between your folds and he lapped at your wet pussy humming contently from time to time. You were horny all day long and waiting finally paid off. You squirmed on the bed, desperately trying to stop yourself from pressing his head into your crotch. Joel’s mouth was now on your clit as one of his thick fingers slid inside you. Your pussy was making obscene sounds as he finger fucked you, the vibrations from his muffed moans were sending waves of pleasure through your whole body. You started whimpering, tossing your head left and right, fisting the sheets beneath you and then, finally, you let out a husky moan and your legs trembled around Joel’s head as you came hard on his tongue. Joel brought his wet fingers to your lips and you sucked on the greedily, tasting your own juices.

“Perfect little doll,” he commented.

He let you sit on the edge of the bed and he stood up, your face level with his crotch. He pressed your face into it, and your cheek pressed into his considerable hardness. Your tongue nudged at the side of his still clothed cock and he guided your hands to his belt. You quickly took off his pants and he slid his boxers down his legs, freeing himself finally. He grabbed you by your hair, pulling lightly, then forcing you down on his length. Tears streamed down your face and saliva dripped down your chin as he face fucked you for about a minute. Then, he pulled out of your mouth and wiped the tears off your cheeks. You unbuttoned his shirt and he tossed it behind him before climbing on the bed. You followed, moving to the center of the mattress. He never fully undressed you. This time the only thing he took off were the underpants.

“Turn around, all fours,” he instructed and you obeyed, struggling to move in the layered dress.

When you finally managed to assume your position, he pushed your head into a white pillow and hiked the dress up. He pulled your hands behind your back for leverage. One of his strong hands was holding your hands behind your back by the thick material of the sleeves and the other was slapping your butt, with each slap your buttcheeks jiggled harder. You whimpered into the pillow, the white embroidery was scratching your cheek. When Joel was satisfied with your rosy butt cheeks he entered your wet pussy, bottoming out with a grunt. You moaned as his big cock split you in half, but he probably couldn’t hear you. Now, both of his hands were squeezing your wrists, using your own body as something to hold on to as he fucked you relentlessly. You could feel his tip so deep inside you you thought you might come any second. He didn’t show his rough side very often, actually probably just in the bedroom. You knew it was pointless to try and match his rhythm so you didn’t move, letting him rut into you, moving your body further up the bed with each powerful thrust.

“Fuck so tight!” He panted. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, pretty doll,” he praised you.

This position was your favorite, it really allowed deep penetration, nudging spots inside you you never even knew about.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby, so fucking deep, fuck! Yeah!” He gritted through his teeth.

Next, he let go of your hands and they fell, limp on your sides. He dug his fingers into your waist and literally fucked you on his dick, moving you effortlessly as you lied, being a whimpering mess, unable to move as another orgasm shook your whole body. Joel felt your walls fluttered around him and it only made him more feral. You could feel that his movements were becoming more erratic, less rhythmic and you knew he was close. His stamina was incredibly impressive, but it didn’t surprise you anymore. Finally, he bent over, pressing your body into the bed, you now laid flat on top of it, under his pressing weight. You couldn’t feel him as deep inside you anymore, but his strong movements rubbed your clit against the tactile bedding. His nose was buried in your hair, he was grunting right into your ear, a little too loud, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. The next thrust pressed you under the bed for a longer while and you knew Joel was cumming deep inside you. You didn’t know if it was the thought of his cum inside you or the harsh bedding under your clit, but you came again, just as strongly as before.

Joel was panting on top of you now, but a moment later he rolled off you, his softening dick sliding out of you and you whimpered quietly. You lied like that, with Joel by your side, his heavy arm draped over your worn out body. He kissed the back of your neck and sighed. When your heart finally calmed down a little, you rolled over on your back. You brought your hand to your face to discover that one of your eyelashes fell off and the bow that was once in your hair was now just a dangling ribbon, sticking to your sweaty forehead like the majority of formerly perfect curls. Joel’s face was covered in your lipstick and you could only imagine what your face looked like. Even your corset came loose and somehow got a bit twisted to the side. Both of your stockings were pooled around your ankles and one of your shoes fell off and was nowhere in sight.

Joel moved closer to you and his hand moved all the sweaty hair off your face before leaving an open mouthed kiss in the corner of your lips. You lazily caught his lips and slid your tongue along his bottom lip.

“Look at you, little doll…” he muttered, still panting heavily.

He picked up the lash from the bed and shook his head with disapproval.

“Did I play too hard with you, little one?” He wondered.

He sat up and looked at you with a sigh. He reached out to pull your stockings up.

“All broken now…” he muttered, looking for your shoe.

You supported yourself on your elbows and looked at him, his hands running through his disheveled hair.

“Let’s get you fixed up, pretty doll.”

PART 2

Thank you for reading

~missannwinchester

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year

Text

I’ve Been the Archer, I’ve Been the Prey

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (after 6 year jump)

Warnings: Talk of pregnancy, angst (with a happy ending), brief mention of injuries

Summary: After everything, Daryl is still trying.

A/N: Part 2 of Help Me Hold Onto You. If you haven’t read that one, you may want to before this one. This isn’t great but I needed to put something out if for no other reason than to help me feel better. I hope y’all like it.

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Moodboard by @dannyo000

The infirmary was quiet, and for that, you were thankful. Autumn had arrived, cooler temperatures and less fresh foods available left people’s immunities lacking. A couple of flu cases had been reported, but all in all, everyone seemed to be doing okay. Siddiq was setting up for your weekly visit. He had demanded those because of your declining health since you’d found out about the baby. You were never supposed to be able to have children. It took years for this to happen, even though you and Daryl had never taken precautions.

You sighed. Daryl. The two of you hadn’t spoken since that day over a month ago. He had remained close but never asked about appointments or your health or the baby. Not a single word. A part of you had hoped he’d at least try now that he knew. Another part of you scolded that part with something about setting yourself up for disappointment.

You knew the archer wasn’t in Alexandria today. He had left a few days ago for Hilltop after Maggie had sent word of a threat lingering nearby. Of course Daryl had left. Everything was more important than you, after all. You shook your head clear of those thoughts, looking down at your rounded middle.

“At least I have you, little one.” You smiled, albeit sadly.

“What’s that?” Siddiq peered out of the exam room, eyebrows raised.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Ready?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come on…back.”

You were levering yourself up from the chair, the physician’s brow drawing inward just as a sound came from behind you. Following his gaze to the door, your eyes widened.

“Dixon?”

“Hey.” He greeted quietly. He looked like shit, covered in dirt and the dark remnants of walker innards. Cuts and bruises littered the skin you could see. How much of the bright red blood on his skin and clothes was actually his? The man looked as if he hadn’t slept in days and would keel over any minute. “S’it okay that m’here?”

You blinked at him a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah.” How did he even know? “Yeah, sure. I was just heading back.”

He returned the nod, shifting from foot to foot uneasily. “I’ll, uh… I’ll jus’ be here then. If’n ya need me.” Daryl had yet to meet your eyes.

“Okay.” You turned toward the room and took a couple of steps, too lost in your thoughts to notice the almost comical discomfort Siddiq nakedly wore. Daryl’s here. He actually came. Stopping just short of the doorway, you twisted at the fabric of your sweater. “Hey, you could, y’know…come back here with me.” You turned back to the bowman, finding him staring back with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Sure. Okay.”

You didn’t wait for him and squeezed past Siddiq to quickly climb onto the exam table. Daryl entered a moment later, your eyes narrowing at the limp he sported. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t even move toward where you were set up. It really seemed as if he was trying to be as imperceptible as possible.

But he was here.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s see what your little cauliflower is up to, shall we?”

A glance at Daryl saw him looking lost and mouthing the word ‘cauliflower.’ It was too adorable for you not to smile. “Siddiq likes to call the baby the fruits and veggies that represent how big it is.” You quipped, pulling up your shirt to just below your breasts. The archer seemed to have forgotten all about the mention of food, now staring at your rounded belly with wide eyes. You had forgotten that he’d never seen you like this beneath your clothes.

The jelly on the end of the wand was cold and caused you to flinch, snapping both you and Daryl out of your respective thoughts. The room filled with the static noises of the machine until suddenly a quick, repetitive thudding sounded. You smiled and watched the screen, knowing from previous visits exactly what you were seeing and hearing. You let your gaze shift to the side, where the archer was leaning slightly with narrowed eyes on the monitor. “Come here.” You beckoned him with a finger.

A moment of hesitation but then he limped toward you, halting next to your legs. You found yourself wishing he had taken the two extra steps to be beside you but quickly dismissed it.

“S’tha’ sound?” Daryl asked quietly.

“That’s the baby’s heartbeat.” Siddiq smiled toward the screen, watching the little humanoid shape move. “See that? That’s a foot.”

You couldn’t help but beam as you watched the show play out in front of you. Siddiq pointed at different things and told you both what they were. At one point, the baby yawned and you almost giggled, but your eyes tore away from the screen when you felt something brush your arm. Daryl had moved closer but he didn’t seem to realize. His piercing blue eyes were shining, unblinking, and locked on that screen. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound. Just stood there with this raw emotion on display for anyone to see. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

Your hand moved of its own accord, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. His reaction was instant, a single tear making its descent toward his jaw when he looked at you. “That’s your baby, Daryl.” He stared for a moment more and then back to the screen. You knew this softness wouldn’t last. The anger would return the moment you left this room, but for now…

Siddiq asked you again if you wanted to know the gender and you refused. He gave you the speech about needing iron and that you absolutely must find someone to send out for prenatal vitamins. Much to your chagrin, he prohibited you from any kind of work now. You waved him off and headed for the door, feeling Daryl on your heels. He was probably still staring at the picture he had been given.

“Ya goin’ home?” He queried once the door closed and you stepped out into the cold air. You tossed him a look over your shoulder.

“No.”

“Whatcha need? I can get it an’ ya can go rest.” Dog bounded over, stopping at your hip for ear scritches before continuing to his owner.

“I’ve got work to do. Some of the solar panels have to be moved.” His footsteps audibly picked up speed. Oh no.

“Whoa, hey, wait a sec.” His grip on your arm was gentle, just enough pressure to get you to slow down and let him step into your path. “Doc said no work.”

“I heard him.” You made to sidestep around him, sighing loudly when he moved with you.

“Ya need ta go home.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like in a shower? Or maybe go back and get that leg looked at?”

“Nah, only place m’goin’ is ta yer house so I know ya actually go inside.”

You closed your eyes and counted to ten in your head, pulling in a deep breath through your nose. “Dixon, get out of my way.” He only squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. “That shit doesn’t work with me anymore.” You stepped the other direction, only to be blocked again. “Move before I move you.”

“I’d like ta see ya try.” He smirked. You found you had to bite back a smile.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nah.”

“Why do you care?” You asked, mimicking his stance. It was low, you knew it.

“What ‘bout all those things doc said about yer health? And if’n that ain’t enough of a reason, tha’s my baby inside ya.” You lifted your chin defiantly. Yeah, okay, you felt like shit. Nauseous and tired and weak almost constantly but you’d be damned if he was going to waltz in and start bossing you around after what he’d put you through. Daryl’s shoulders dropped, his hands falling to his sides. “Y/N, ya told me I could be part’a this as much as I wanted. Just…let me take care’a things.”

You held your coldness a few moments longer, finally just too tired to continue. “Fine. I’m going home.” He gave you a small nod and moved aside, letting you pass. “And don’t follow me!” You yelled back before you rounded the corner and he was out of sight.

Being home and not out in the community was not something to which you were accustomed. It filled you with a nervous energy that had you picking at your nails or bouncing your leg almost constantly. Regardless, your aching back and swollen ankles were quite content to be laid out on the couch. And it was a downpour outside, cold and windy.

You tried to focus on the book you held in one hand, the fingers of the other twisting the silver arrow pendant that hung from the chain around your neck. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t taken it off. It reminded you of when Daryl was yours and you were his, when things felt right and safe. The familiar weight of it kept you grounded. Michonne had said you couldn’t part with it because your heart still belonged to him. The statement had made you so angry, but that made it no less true.

But then you had seen him with her. This…Leah. Thinking back on it now, you could remember how she’d reached for his hand and he had moved it. How she’d stepped into his space and he’d turned his head, maintaining some distance. But she’d said something, close to his ear, and he had turned quickly. She’d caught him by the mouth in a feverish kiss and you had looked away, but he was already walking away from her when you looked back. You’d made a noise then, a broken sob, and he’d seen you. You could clearly remember that horrified, desperate look in his eyes. He’d called your name and begged you to stop, but the ache in your heart had propelled you forward.

He may not have wanted that kiss, but why was he with her, alone in that cabin? He had wanted to explain after finally coming back, but you had shut him down. Why hadn’t you let him explain?

A knock at your screen door made you jump, the book falling to the floor and your hand reaching for the knife on the table. Glancing out the window, you found the sun had disappeared, leaving nothing but darkness and shadows. How long had you been sitting there?

After two tries, you finally made it to your feet and padded over to the front door. Maybe you should have brought the knife with you, but something told you that there was no threat on the other side. Hand hesitating over the knob, you finally grasped it and pulled the door open.

Daryl was soaked to the bone, breathing hard and trembling in the cold wind. He still looked like shit.

“Dixon? What’re you doing here? And why are you…panting?” You asked, mildly amused.

“Bike stalled few miles out. Wanted ta give ya this.”

You hadn’t noticed the pack in his hand at first. “Oh.” You stated simply. “Okay, um, come in.” You unlocked the screen door and pushed it toward him, a blur of wet dog pushing past both of you before shaking off in front of the fire and making himself at home there. “Thanks, asshole.” You chuckled, shaking your head and waving the archer inside.

You led him to your small dining table and reached for the bag, his cold fingers brushing yours as he passed it off.

“Did you walk here in the rain?” You asked, giving him a once over while unzipping the bag.

“Uh, sorta. Maybe more of’a jog. S’fucking cold.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shook your head and opened the pack, your expression falling. Four bottles of prenatal vitamins, three bottles of iron supplements, a handful of peppermint candies, two small blankets, a stuffed elephant, and a tiny pale green onesie. Stunned into silence, you looked back at him.

He was rubbing his upper arms, either to combat the chill or out of nerves; you weren’t sure which. “Doc said ya need those vit’mins an’ tha’ yer iron is real low so those other things will help. Tha’ candy’s good fer when ya feelin’ sick, an’ I saw some stuff fer babies so I grabbed wha’ I could ‘fore I had ta get outta there.” He didn’t even stop for a breath and kept his eyes on the bag. When you didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat. “Alrigh’, if ya need anythin’,” he took a radio from his belt and placed it on the table, “m’on channel four. Don’ try ta go get nothin’. Jus’ call me, okay?”

You nodded and placed the bag on the table. Your heart was pounding, overflowing with gratitude and remorse and guilt and so many other emotions you couldn’t place right now. All you could focus on was him. Standing in front of you, drenched, tired, cold, limping, and still absolutely willing to do anything for you. “What if I’m craving pickles and peanut butter at 3am?”

Still shivering, the look he tossed you was even more amusing. “Migh’ be some in the pantry. I can check.”

“Mhmm. And what if my feet hurt and I want them rubbed?” You slowly started toward him, looking at the things on the table, running your fingers along the bag and then the radio.

The confused frown only deepened. “Ain’t no masseuse, but I’d give it a whirl.”

“What if I just wanted you?” You stopped, a step or two away, and finally met his eyes. “What if I wanted to hear you tell me what really happened that day?” Your eyes began to sting, your vision blurring.

“Y/N,” Daryl whispered. It almost sounded like a plea; like he felt as if you were toying with him, dangling this in front of him with the intent to pull it away when he reached for it.

But you reached for him first. Your warm hand sat against his chilled cheek, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch.

“What if I wanted to tell you over and over how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am for how I’ve treated you?” Your voice broke, the tears cascading down your cheeks. Daryl wasted no time in gathering against him, holding you as close as he could while you sobbed. He was wet and cold but that didn’t matter. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

“S’okay. M’here now.”

You felt his lips press against the top of your head, his hand rubbing circles on your back. After you had shown him nothing but bitter disdain, he was comforting you. You allowed it until you could pull yourself together, placing your hands on his chest to move back but only the slightest bit.

“Come with me. We’ve got to get you dry and warm.” You walked around him, closing and locking the door before offering your hand. He took it without hesitation.

Hours later, you both were lying on your bed. Daryl was clad only in his damp boxer briefs and you were in your tshirt and sleep shorts, both under the blankets and facing one another.

“I should’ve let you explain. We lost so much time, you missed out on so much.” You sniffled and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Don’ matter anymore. M’here now. S’all gon’ be okay.” He reached to tuck some hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on your jaw. “I missed ya.”

You felt new tears collecting on your lashes and tried your best to keep them from falling. “I missed you so much.” You moved first, closing the distance to press your lips to his. He reciprocated immediately. The kiss was desperate, meant to convey everything that hadn’t been said. You parted quickly, both of you too weary to seek anything more just yet. With your forehead against his, you smiled and pressed one more chaste kiss to his lips. “Daryl?”

He hummed in response, his eyes already closed, the circles his thumb was tracing over your hip stuttering and slowing as he began to relax and drift off.

“Want to officially greet your baby?”

His eyes opened at that. “Wha’?”

You moved back just a little and took his hand in yours while you scooted up to lean against the headboard. Your free hand pulled up your shirt so you could press his palm against the curve of your belly. He didn’t have to wait long before a flurry of kicks rippled beneath his hand. His eyes lit up and he was propped on his elbow in an instant.

“Holy shit.” He whispered. “Tha’ was them?”

“That was our little cauliflower.” You replied, smiling brightly. He moved closer, resting his head against your chest so your fingers could card through his hair. His hand was still glued to that spot. “Talk to them. They can hear you.” You encouraged, shimmying down a little so the pillows propped you up more than the headboard. If Daryl was bothered by your movements, he didn’t complain. He was already invested in a different conversation.

“Hey, kid. I’m yer dad.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon angst #Spotify

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