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dyaz-stories · 9 months

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren��t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season #park chan young #chan young #chan young x reader #park chan young x reader #sweet home imagines #park jinyoung #my writing

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russellsppttemplates · 6 months

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Just say the word (Max Verstappen)

A secret relationship is hard enough to deal with when you don't have people constantly shipping your boyfriend with someone else

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first time I'm writing athlete!reader, so I thought about the sports I know better and swimming seemed fitting for what I wanted!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: secret relationship

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"You're alone today, Y/N?", one of the other girls, Ella, asked as you retrieved your waterproof workout plan sheet from the folder.

"I'm going away tomorrow and I won't be back until Monday morning, so I squeezed in my Saturday session now; Carol is coaching with the younger group today later", you explained the fact that you were at the pool without your coach.

At first, swimming was an after school activity since your parents worked long hours and they needed you to be occupied and somewhere with someone looking after you, but as you grew older, your passion for the activity became more serious. Combined with your natural skill and hard work - and, truth be told, a dust of luck from deep pocket sponsors - you were able to become a full time swimmer. Tokyo 2020 Olympics was the proudest moment of your career as you stepped on the podium next to two of the people you looked up to the most, wondering if you were ever going to stand in the top step and hear your national anthem play. Baby steps - Carol told you immediately - this is already a huge achievement, Y/N!

"Do you want to stretch together?", Ella wondered, throwing a foam roller for you to catch once you nodded and getting one for herself.

"Where are you off to this weekend?", she asked curiously. You were playing a risky game, you knew that much, going away only on weekends and travelling to countries where, coincidentally, the Formula One Grand Prix was being held.

Luckily for you, no one seemed to make the connection as the last two years you managed to keep your relationship a secret. You first met Max in a sponsor party at the beggining of your professional career when you needed to up your earnings as the costs of travelling to competitions was getting higher and heavier on your savings. It fell through, but other sponsors came your way and you and Max started hanging out after it. The Dutch driver was funny and charming and after winning your first Olympic medal, you felt unstoppable and confessed your feelings for him. When he admitted he felt the same for you, you went from there on. At first, the decision to keep it secret was both strategic, as Max didn't want you to miss out on any sponsorships or teams backing you because you were in a relationship with him, and personal as he didn't want the world's prying eyes on your relationship.

Two years later, you felt like there had never been a right time to do it so things stayed the way they were, and most of the time, you didn't mind it.

"Austria", you kept the city to yourself as you worked on your hips as they were still tight from yesterday.

"Didn't you go there last year?", she quirked an eyebrow.

"Last year, I had more of a city break weekend, this time around I'm going for a nature approach, you know? No phones, no Internet, digital detox and all of that", you offered, doubling up the excuse so she wouldn't expect to see and Instagram stories or posts from your weekend away.

"Sounds nice! It can really get in your head when you're too long on them - I have a timer on my phone because otherwise I won't even notice the amount of time I spend on social media", she smiled before silently asking if she could take the foam rollers back to their box.

Getting yourself on the water and used to the temperature, you started with your usual warm up routine before following the plan you stuck to the platform.

On some days, the session felt quick, before you knew, the other athletes were already stretching and getting prepped for their own session. Today, it seemed like it would never end, as you looked at the clock and only fifteen minutes had gone by since the last time you checked it. At least your times were improving, you thought, drinking some water before going back to practice your butterfly stroke as dictated by the workout sheet.

It was already evening time when you sat down on your bedroom floor, packing everything you had laid out to take on your trip with you when your phone rang.

"Hey, liefje", Max said as his face showed up on your screen, "how was your day?".

"Good. Had training in the morning, then a physio session because my hips kept hurting, and I found some time to buy a replacement for my moisturiser before I came home to have dinner and pack", you showed him the suitcase, "and you? The car seems good, a nice gap to the others as well", you mused.

"The same old Friday, really. Woke up, came to the track, a little debrief with Alice and then we headed to the track. Only tomorrow will tell, but I'm confident on the pole", he smiled, "can't wait to have you here with me and see your gorgeous face up close".

"You can see it now", you ridiculed as you rested your chin on your phone and looked into the camera so Max could have an interesting angle of your features, "beautiful, am I right?", you joked.

"The most beautiful", he complimented, "are you nearly done packing?", he wondered.

"Yes, just my charger and a few other last minute things left - I'll put them in my backpack tomorrow morning", you reasoned.

"You better get to sleep, your flight is early", your boyfriend encouraged, "I really need it - a proper shower first and then I'll go to bed", you assured, "I love you, Max, see you tomorrow", you blew him a kiss.

"I love you too, gorgeous! Text me updates from your flight, okay?", he smiled, smooching his lips for you to see before you ended the videocall.

The shower helped you unwind for the night, a little list on your kitchen counter to remember you of the last minute things as you turned off the lights and got back to your bedroom, your bed waiting for you so you could sleep a decent amount of hours.

Sitting on the waiting area of the airport, you placed your backpack on your legs and rested your elbows there, grabbing your phone to scroll through social media.

Ella was right, people did spend too much time on these. Everyone around you seemed to be on their phone or tablet devices.

A photo of your boyfriend showed up in your explore page, a fan page showing his walking back to the garage after FP1 and Alice was trailing right beside him.

Scrolling through the carrousel of pictures, you found a small video of them laughing together about something. The comments under it were the same as usual.

No one can convince me they're not together!😌 (to be read as I know I'm delulu)

If they're not, I'll volunteer to show them how good they would be for eachother! 🫣

Such a power couple 😮‍💨🥵

When they finally knock some sense into eachother's head and realise they're meant to be together, I'm claiming them as my parents! 🥹

No matter how many times you saw it, it never got easier. For all everyone knew, Max was single, so they weren't acting as a disregard of you. They didn't knew a regard of you to begin with. So they took interest in his love life and hoped he was in a relationship with some of the women he interacted with. Max usually didn't let many of them start to begin with, but Alice worked for the team, he could only get so far away and be distanced from her.

Max wouldn't cheat on you, you knew that. But the comments made you wonder. Would he be better off with someone else? Someone who could follow him anywhere?

The thoughts often plagued your mind, and they hadn't yet turned to the your other insecurities, so you had to be thankful for that.

Boarding on the plane, you played some music on your earbuds as you fished out your kindle to continue reading the book you started at the beggining of the week.

The buzz was installed on track as you found your spot in the stands just in time to see the marshalls tidying up whatever was left on the concrete so qualifying could start without a hitch.

This was usually how you did it. On Saturday, you would watch qualifying from the stands, waiting a little in the fan zone before Max whisked you into the hospitality with Gianpiero's help. On Sunday, you either stayed on the stands and repeated the same procedure or you arrived early to the track and stayed in his driver's room so to not lift any suspicions. You had been invited to watch a few races with the Paddock Club pass with some of the other Olympic athletes, but it hadn't happened in a while.

To anyone, you were a regular fan. You had your RedBull cap on and sunglasses, and you had never been recognised in one of the races, so you felt calm. The tricky bit of keeping your relationship hidden from the public eye was going to be later, for now, you could just wait and appreciate the fast laps.

"I'm sorry, you're Y/N Y/L/N, right?", a girl in a Ferrari cap called your name. Crap.

"Hi, I am", you smiled, "I'm sorry to ambush you like this - I am a big fan and you're a big inspiration to me. I also swim", she reasoned as she fumbled with her phone, "do you mind if my father takes a picture of us?", she politely asked.

"That's okay, yes", you smiled, taking off your sunglasses briefly as the older man snapped a picture before he shook your hand, "she won't shut up about your achievements! Did you tell Ms. Y/L/N that you're going to be in the qualifiers for Paris?".

"It's Y/N, please", you requested, "That's fantastic, congratulations! I hope it all works out for you and I'll see you around there!", you hugged her quickly before she thanked you and found their seats.

She seemed nice enough and it wasn't like you were a public figure, at least to the general public anyway really, so between all of the people who could've spotted you, she was fine.

"C'mon Max!", you yelled as he and Charles seemed to be separated by a few tenths of a second, cheering loudly when the times were set and your boyfriend got the pole position.

The timing was perfect as Max took a little longer than expected on his interviews, fans scattering to the fanzone and track experiences while you spotted Max's engineer, walking with him when no one seemed to be paying attention to it.

"I'll tell Max you're already here", he smiled before he closed the door of the driver's room.

It always felt a little odd. Like you were doing something forbidden and illegal by being there.

"Yes, we'll meet in a bit", Max told whoever was in the corridor after he opened the door, closing it back when you jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist, "hey, pole sitter", you smirked, nuzzling your face on his neck and kissing the soft skin.

"Hello, liefje", he mumbled against your skin before you pulled away, "kiss?", you asked for his lips to settle on yours for a bit, filling up on eachother's presence.

"No one saw you come here?", he asked. You shook your head, "everybody was paying attention to other things, the only people I encountered already know so we're safe", you stated.

Max noticed the change of tone, but you wouldn't have time to properly discuss it so he let it slide for now, telling you instead about the session and how the car felt, as well as the dinner plans her had for you since the room service menu was "so varied we could make our own little buffet".

You stayed in the room while he had the debrief, leaving together when you made sure no one would see you two.

"Room service called back, they said they'll bring the food in ten minutes", Max said as you got out of the bathroom, dressed in pyjamas and fresh out of the shower, "That's good, I'm starving", you smiled as you sat down.

Max always received the food at the door to ensure no prying eyes would see something he didn't want, along with other precautions like packing up all your things in case someone from housekeeping enjoyed the gossip and took the rumours somewhere else.

"I know something is bothering you", Max began you had taken a piece of chicken to your much, "I noticed it when we were in my room, and even now there's something", he nudged your arm.

Chewing and swallowing afterwards, you moved the broccoli around your plate, gathering your thoughts before speaking up, "do you know people ship you and Alice?", you spoke up.

"Don't change the subject, darl - is that it?", Max tried to understand.

"People seem to think you'd make a great couple, like, they have your whole relationship panned out. Everyone thinks she's very pretty - and I agree with them -, and that you two have chemistry and that it would be nice for you to be with her - looks exchanged and all sorts of ideas", you mumbled.

"Liefje, I'd never do that to you, I don't interact with her that way", Max replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone - and they know who that person is, so really it's just a matter of putting two and two together!", you let a tear fall down your cheek.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much and bringing you such sadness", Max cupped your cheek, thumb wiping the tears that followed suit and looking into your eyes.

"I can ask the team to issue or statement - or we can go public. I don't care what we do as long as you feel better about it", he comforted.

"Do you want to go public?", you asked, afraid of the answer.

"Y/N, my love, being secret was just to protect you, for your good. If going public is the solution for this, I'm the first one to walk into the paddock tomorrow with you, holding hands and everything", he moved his hands to cradle your own.

"You mean that? It's just, I don't want people to assume you're single and throw themselves at you - or throw someone at you! I know Alice won't do it, but other people might and I'm tired of having to lie to people about where I'm going and saying no to dates they try to set up and why I gave a RedBull rain jacket on my car", you chuckled at the last one, remembering your coach's reaction when she saw it, "Since when do you follow F1?", Carol questioned.

"We'll do it tomorrow if you want, or whenever you feel ready, Y/N. I'll be by your side, always", he smiled kissing your lips lovingly.

"I don't have any paddock wag outfits with me", you giggled, "have to make a good impression".

"Please, you could go in these pyjamas and you'd still be the prettiest woman there", he pulled you to sit on his lap as you finished your dinner.

The next morning, people couldn't believe their eyes as Max walked hand in hand with a young woman, the pair of them talking about something between them as they giggled.

A few were unsure of it was really you while others asked their colleagues to please repeat your name, googling you quickly and finding out your achievements.

Soon enough, pictures flowed social media with the paddock's new power couple, gossip Instagram pages having a field day and it wasn't even lunch time.

"This is news", Daniel said as he spotted Max. He had been one of the few people outside of the team who knew about you two, you having made him swear that he would never tell anyone, and if by chance he did let something slip, you trusted him to make a joke out of it and for people to assume he was just teasing Max indeed.

"You won't have to keep it to yourself anymore, Danny", you said as you hugged his side quickly.

"That's good, actually, I think that's what has been keeping me from being focused in racing, it's a real relief, Y/N", he stated and for two seconds, you felt bad for putting such pressure on him, "I'm just kidding! C'mon, you know what I'm like", he gave you a big smile, "now, I have to go, will pop by to see you though!", Daniel said as he waved while he carried on to his team's garage.

Your interactions with Daniel and the team spurred curiosity as the media started thinking and hypothesizing that maybe your relationship was as new as they thought it was. As it turns out, once again, Max Verstappen knew how to keep private aspects away from the media.

For now, they would try to dig more and find out how the Olympic medalist swimmer stole the heart of the Formula One driver.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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stsgluver · 7 months

Text

synopsis. you hate gojo and he loves you.

tags. mildly nsfw, mentions of sex, fwbs (except they're not friends), angst, yn went to school w gojo, implied to be close w haibara and geto, blames gojo for their deaths

“looking for something?”

gojo’s lips were tilted up into a smirk as he dangled your dark panties above your head. his blindfold was gone and his tantalising blue eyes stared down at you, taunting you from above.

you quickly snatched them from him, putting on the final garment that the sorcerer beside you had removed less than fifteen minutes prior. your body was still buzzing but the post-sex haze was settling and you were once again reminded that it was gojo satoru that you were going to to satisfy your needs.

that was what this was for, you reminded yourself, it didn’t change the fact you hated the overzealous and reckless man. if anything, this only affirmed the aforementioned recklessness because who risks a quickie in their place of work during school hours? only an idiot (excluding yourself, of course, you were not to blame for gojo’s charm).

“not even a thank you?” he pouted as he leant back on his desk, reaching for the blindfold that had just been tightly binding your wrists together. you were grateful for the long sleeves that covered the red marks on your wrists because you didn’t really want to be having to waste your energy on your reversed curse technique to heal them.

“for what?” you asked back dismissively, quickly trying to button up each of your shirt buttons with only a little success as your fingers stumbled over each. the clock in his office said that the two of you only had five minutes till class started and that meant you had less than that to make yourself look presentable and not like you’d just done what you had. the first and second years were already suspicious enough of the two of you, you didn’t need to give them any fuel

“for the mindblowing se–”

you clasped a hand over his mouth (something he allowed, he hadn’t had his technique activated since you’d locked the door to his office), “someone could hear you.”

“like they wouldn’t have heard you,” gojo grinned once you dropped your hand. pushing your fumbling hands aside, he helped you fix your clothes. he was slower than necessary, enjoying the final moments of your time together.

“i need to go teach my class,” you said back firmly, avoiding him by focusing on the ceiling above as he steadily buttoned up the last few buttons on your shirt. he was so calm, not a care in the the world about consequences, and you hated it. hated him.

“they can wait a few more minutes,” gojo murmured, finger slipping under your chin to turn you back to him. you couldn’t see his eyes anymore, hidden by the black cloth of his blindfold, but you knew he was looking directly at you. if you were anyone else, maybe you’d give in to him, you’d go up onto your tiptoes and kiss him, fingers pulling at his hair just how he liked.

but you’re you and he’s him.

gojo gritted his teeth, swiping the paperwork and pens off his desk once you’d left and closed his door without another word. any pent up frustration he may have just released seeping deep back into his body as he felt your cursed energy get further and further away.

it was physically painful to be so in love with someone who, at their very core, blamed his existence for the demise of the people you loved.

#𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x yn #gojo x you #gojo imagines #gojo drabbles #gojo angst #gojo smut #gojo fic

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liyawritesss · 11 months

Note

YOUR EARTH 42 MILES FIC WAS SO FUCKING GOOD OMFG👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾 of your taking requests can you write about how prowler miles met his girl and how he rizzed her up please? Only if you want to of course and again I only read one thing by you but your writing got me hooked!!!!

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ɪ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: Spiderverse!Earth-42!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 3.7k

Synopsis: The sequel to i really like what you’ve done to me, Miles reflects on his first encounter with you, and how he immediately made it his mission to make you his.

Warnings: Cursing….thats about it, I think

A/N: This was a long one in the making and I think I actually like my characterization of 42!miles here. I didn’t wanna make him overly edgy or overly hood or anything, and I hope that you guys will appreciate the subtlety of his personality here. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoirees @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream

Miles remembers the day he first talked to you so clearly. It was almost as if it were yesterday.

The middle of the semester had always been prime time for teachers to start assigning end of semester projects, and while Miles was lucky enough for majority of his classes to have only assigned him individual projects, there was always one class that such a fortune was never the case in.

When the teacher was calling out pairs there was a part of Miles that dreaded who his partner would be. He hoped it wasn't a slacker - he'd had his fair share of irritation and headache from those types of students who never took their schooling seriously. Then again, he didn't necessarily have to, either, considering his uncensored brilliance already, but at least he still made an effort to look like he made an effort. Others didn't have the same sentiment.

He didn't know most of his classmates personally, but knew the ones he needed to know by name and face; due to previous instances of being paired with them for projects in this same fashion. The fact that most of his old project partners were consistently placed in the same classes as him reinforced the begrudging familiarity that came with them. Though there were a few select people out of that circle that he'd found himself knowing of due to other circumstances - clumsiness in the halls, points of contact for school activities, etc.

So when the teacher called Miles' name and the name of his partner, it wasn't a surprise to himself when his head turned to the side to look for them. What did surprise him, however, was when he turned to the seat next to him, only to have found it empty.

He can't recall if he's ever seen the seat empty since he's been in this class, missing the presence of the person who he deemed to be a good student. Always on time, always exact; work turned in, always complete, and always paying attention to the lectures. Their own interactions were limited to the passing of worksheets, exchanges of pencils and the occasional conversations of how irritating the teacher was being.

Miles wouldn't consider the shared interactions to be that one friendship - it was more akin to general acquaintanceship. Though, deciphering her character from said limited interactions, he knew that this was not in normal behavior for the girl. Eyebrows furrowed at the lack of her presence, questioning where she could have been.

Since his partner wasn't there, Miles had been left with a brainstorming worksheet to fill out on his own, but his mind was not on the project. He found himself still wondering about his partner's whereabouts. He could have sworn he'd seen her that day, walking the halls with the same two girls she'd been friends with since the school year started. While the same two girls were in class, having been paired together for the project, the missing girl wasn't. So, when the ring of the bell sounded, signaling the end of the day, Miles knew what his first course of action was to be.

"Aye, yo," his voice carries over to the two girls who'd been packing their supplies up, ready to begin their after school activities of sneaking off campus to go to the mall, "where yo' friend at?"

The first girl, with soft locs pulls into a high pony and shiny lip gloss adorning her lips, who he knew by the name of Key, scrunched her face in a grimace

"What's it to you, boy?" She says chastely, giving him a quick once over.

"C'mon, nah," Miles presses, "y'all know she my partner for this stupid project. I'm just tryna get this shit over with, a'ight?"

The other friend answers next - one of his ex-project partners Taji - her chin resting in her hand, fingers decorated with matte brown coffin shaped nails resting against her cheek. "We ain't seen her since lunch. Said she was gon' go to her locker for sumn' but ain't never come back to the table."

Miles' brow arches, as if quizzing her answer, trying to determine the validity of it. Taji catches onto this, and shoots a similar expression back to him.

"What, you thinkin' I'm lyin' to you, nigga?"

"Are you, Taj?"

"Boy, what I got to lie to you for?"

Taji and Miles had a similar acquaintanceship to that of him and (Y/N), with the former being his partner for a project for their shared arts class in their sophomore year. She was a talented artist, not to mention the one person able to reawaken his love for art, even if it was to a small degree.

"A'ight, whatever, y'all ain't no help."

He let out a sigh, dismissing the girls’ seemingly secretive antics with a wave of his hand, before tucking the same one in his pocket, preparing to leave the classroom. He didn’t have time to entertain the two girls before him, and believed it best to leave them be and return to his dorm room to figure out the project on his own.

“Check the rooftops,” Miles heard Taji say as half of his body begins to cross the threshold of the classroom door. It makes the boy stop in his tracks, turning his head back to see the two girls as they stand as well, gathering their belongings to leave for the day as well, “or somewhere around there.”

“The rooftops are locked, dummy,” Miles corrects, “janitors here ain’t that lazy and ignorant.”

“Oh, so you weren’t just up there a week ago?” Taji replies back, a tinge of tease in her voice, knowing she’s caught him red handed when a small bulge forms on his cheek.

“Yeah, nigga, tighten up, cuz you lackin’.”

“Shut up, big head.”

The faint echo of snickering lingers as Miles leaves the classroom, heavy footsteps carrying him down the hall to the maintenance door that leads to the rooftops.

It’s a routine he’s done many times before, the muscle memory set into motion the second he sees the custodian cart next to the doorway, with the clip of keys attached to the lanyard hanging off the side handle. Expert fingers grab hold of the clip and slide off the first bronze colored key distinguishable for all the maintenance doors in the building - including the rooftop door. Before the custodian exits the bathroom situated next to the maintenance door, Miles is long gone and heads up the next three flights of stairs to reach the navy blue metal door to the school's rooftop.

Miles had become well acquainted with the rooftop of Visions Academy. After the death of his father, he found solace in solitude. He couldn’t skip school and stay in his dorm or return to his apartment, because both would result in his mother worrying and stressing over him and his uncle getting on his ass about the importance of school and sending his mother into more distress than what she was already enduring. He’d come across the remote haven on accident; one morning when he arrived at school earlier than anyone else, he’d made a wrong turn into what he thought was his homeroom, but upon recognizing the darker and tinier corridor he had entered, realized he had in fact entered one of the maintenance hallways. Curiosity got the better of the dark skinned boy, and upon climbing the three flights of stairs, came across an unlocked metal door that lead to the school's rooftop.

For months, that would be his routine. Arriving a couple of hours before classes began to spend time by himself upon the school’s rooftop. He’d watch the sunrise above the Brooklyn skyline, allowing the heat to melt the cold exterior of his skin, shaking off the bitterness that came from lack of sleep and a racing mind from the night before. Miles and the morning sun became good acquaintances that way, greeting each other at each sunrise; it became one of very few things he looked forward to in those days, and continued to be his secret motivation to peel himself from his bed in the morning to attend the school his mother and father worked hard to put him in.

His hand grasps onto the door hand and twists, pushing the door outward and Miles is immediately washed in the evening sun. He steps onto the concrete ground, scanning the area in front of him for the presence of another. The corner in which he usually occupies is empty, and there’s nothing much to see at the moment but scattered leaves on top of firm grayness.

Black and white Jordan turn and trail around the side of the rooftop doorway, still searching for any sign of another's presence. Taji’s tip is proven correct when his eyes land upon a feminine figure, and there’s a slight wave of relief crosses his face upon finally finding the girl who’d been missing from class two hours before.

“Yo.” Miles calls out to her, and yet there is no reaction. With his eyebrows furrowed, he calls out again, but there is no response once again. He begins to walk further towards her, confusion beginning to settle in, but is then relieved when he notices a book in her lap; as well as earbuds that become visible the closer Miles steps towards her.

There’s a peaceful air that surrounds the girl, and there’s a part of Miles that doesn’t want to disturb her, but as much respect as he has for the other, he’ll be damned if he has to wait until next week to explain this project to her. So, with a short sigh, Miles reaches his hand out to touch her shoulder, calling out to the girl for the third time.

“Aye-” he begins, and all it takes is a touch on her shoulder for the girl to jump away from his touch in shock. A short yelp - more like a squeak, if anything - erupted from her mouth, which made Miles purse his lips tight to keep the snort he wanted to release at bay.

“Jesus, fuck-” you curse, shoulders dropping and a sigh leaving your lips the moment you realized who it was.

“You know that’s dangerous, right?” Miles asks, raising a finger to create circular motions towards his own ear before gesturing to you. “Having those things in on max; what if you was out on the street?”

A scowl forms on your lips as you take out one of your earbuds, stopping the music you had filtering into your ears as you were deep into your reading. You held the book by the spine, thumb placed in between the pages and forefinger on the hardcover spine. “I know not to do that on the street,” you reply, “I was just tryna read my book, before you decided to scare the living shit out of me.”

The boy rolls his eyes at your words, then follows your form as you take to sitting on the concrete ground, using the side of the ventilation bed to lean against. A second of silence passes between the two of you, before Miles finds himself sitting in the spot you once occupied, with wiring fans sounding behind him softly.

“You ain’t come to class today,” Miles voices, hands tucked into the pockets of his black and white Brooklyn letterman jacket as he focuses his gaze onto you. The soft click of you closing your earbud case sounds as you pocket them into your jacket to give the other male your attention, “what was that about?”

It takes you a minute to respond, and Miles isn’t sure if it was because you were coming up with an excuse that would satisfy him, or if you were buying your time for the question to be unanswered. “You know we got them projects assigned today, right?”

“That’s exactly why I ain’t go,” you answer, finally, “there’s an odd number in that class. Was hoping that I’d just be able to do somethin’ by myself instead of being partnered with some lazy ass who don’t be doin’ shit for real.”

“Damn,” the boy breathes with a chuckle, amused by her colorful choice of words, “ain’t even give me a chance and I’m already being called lazy, that’s crazy.”

It takes you a moment to catch on to his tease, at first furrowing your brows as you deciphered what his words meant. As realization dawned on you, your brows rose apologetically, having now realized the possible severity of your words.

“No, wait- shit, I didn’t mean like that-”

“You cool, chill,” the dark skinned boy reassures, “I know what you mean.”

He watches as another sigh leaves your lips, in relief that your words were not misunderstood, but also in response to his little joke, and he can’t help but to chuckle again. “You right, though. Don’t nobody in that class do shit for real.”

That little jest did garner a laugh from you, and Miles can tell it’s one of comfort and ease. It’s the kind of laugh his mother would share with him after a long shift at the hospital where she’d have to put up a professional front, and she finally is able to shed the protective exterior and be her cheeky self. It’s the kind of laugh that signifies the forming of bond between people; the development of a relationship; the start of something new.

“A’ight, here’s the deal,” says Miles, his hand coming from the pocket of his jacket, rubbing his nose out of habit, then leaning on his knee to grow closer to you, “we both don’t wanna do this project ‘cus it’s a waste of time-”

“A huge waste of time-”

“-but if we do this project, I can prove to you I’m not a lazy ass.”

He watches as you feign a look of thought, eyes casted upward, lips pursed together with a little hum rumbling from your throat. After a moment, your eyes geared over towards Miles, a teasing smile gracing your lips, before finally answering him; “A’ight, sure.”

You start to rise, and Miles does as well, outstretching a hand to help you up from your seating position. As you dust off the bottom of your skirt from the debris on the ground, Miles picks up your bookbag from the ground and hands it to you once you’ve adjusted yourself appropriately.

If Miles would have been told that he would be dating the girl who was partnered with him for their end of year project, he’d look at you as if you just called him out of his name. And yet, as he glances down at his phone, eyes scanning over your good morning messages together, he finds himself secretly thanking that teacher for pairing them up; he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Hey, Unc?” says the younger, breaking the comfortable silence shared between the two, the ambiance of the morning radio the only sound echoing throughout the car.

“Yeah?” For a second, Miles purses his lips together. He spends a few seconds looking down at the screen of his phone and at the road ahead, as if contemplating on his next words carefully. It doesn’t take much for Aaron to notice the shift in behavior. “What is it?”

The younger’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, creating an extrusion on the side of Miles’ face, before he speaks; “You hungry?”

It’s an odd question posed, Aaron thinks, as it’s one that’s honestly never been posed in this section of their shared routine. Once a job was finished, especially when it went well into the night, and cleanup and debriefing happened during the early morning hours, both were too exhausted to let the thought of hunger cross their minds. Aaron raises an eyebrow at the question, beckoning the younger to explain further, “Am I…hungry?”

“Yeah,” says Miles, “my girl, she uh, she made breakfast, and asked if I wanted a plate. So I was askin’ you if you wanted one too-”

The look on Aaron’s face turned from confusion to bewilderment, and the previous expression was mirrored onto Miles’ face the second his sentence finished. “Why you lookin’ like that?”

A moment passed. A smile cracks onto Aaron’s face, a chuckle falls from his thick lips, a teasing tone already etched into his voice as he begins to speak.

“Oh no-”

“Aww, shit-!”

“Please, tio, don’t-”

“She can cook, too?”

And for the next few second, Miles is sunken into the passenger seat as all he can do is allow the onslaught of teasing and pestering from his uncle to cause heat to rise up his neck at a staggering temperature. In between the questions of other endearing qualities his nephew’s girlfriend may have had, the GPS within the car directs the older to said girlfriend’s address, of which had been keyed in during Aaron’s banter. Amidst it all, the growling of their stomachs was undeniable.

After a series of turns, the pair eventually reached your block, the familiar brownstone buildings and plotted trees along the sidewalk illuminated beautifully by the morning sun. “Right here,” Miles says as he points to the specific brownstone with your address on it, the older easily slipping into the parking spot in front of the building.

The younger mumbles a ‘be right back’ before he slips from the car, leaving Aaron in his own solitude, finding amusement in the entire ordeal. Never had he thought he’d be offered a plate of food by his nephew’s girl, and yet, he finds himself reliving the almost identical situation to the time Jefferson wanted to pull up to Rio’s home for a warm plate of empanadas. It had been the first time he had met Rio, and if Miles was anything like his father, then this would be the first time he’d meet the girl that stole his nephew’s heart.

Thirty minutes pass before Miles emerges from the reddish-brown door, and Aaron would have told the boy off for having him wait for long for a plate he offered, if he hadn’t seen the young lady he’d assume to be his girlfriend trailing behind the dark skinned boy.

“Remember, the one on top is your uncles since he doesn’t like pork bacon. And be careful because the food is still hot, I don’t want y’all to burn your mouths-”

“Baby,” Miles says, his tone warm and comforting as his freehand comes to your waist, the other holding the white bag of styrofoam containers containing the breakfast you had prepared, “I know, it’s okay. I’m not gon’ steal his turkey bacon.”

“Yeah, you better not.” You mumble against the skin of his cheek before pressing your lips to the soft skin, pressing deep into the flesh as if to burn the imprint of your lips onto his skin. Once your lips parted from the first kiss, a series of pecks met Miles’ cheek, causing the boy to smile unconsciously by the softness of your touch.

Miles’ wandering eyes caught the sight of his uncle peering through the car window, snickering at the pair, but just as soon as he was caught, the older resumed his original position; though the attempt to restrain the tug on his lips proved to be a struggle. “Is that your uncle?” You ask, innocent but hesitant, not wanting to cross a boundary. Though the state of your relationship was healthy and stable, with lots of communication and expressions of love shared amongst the both of you, Miles had made it clear that easing you into meeting his mother and uncle would be something to take seriously. They were all he had left, and he wanted to make sure that what the two of you had, and were working to develop, was something long term and lasting. The last thing he wanted was for his relationship to crash and burn the second he wanted to connect the most significant people in his life together.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Miles replies, a slight tug on one side of his lips as he turns to glance at the car, then back towards you, “do you wanna say hi?”

You barely understood the words the other had asked you before nodding excitedly. Though as the two of you descended down the tan concrete stairs, across the sidewalk and to the side of the care, the revelation slowly dawned on you that you were meeting Miles’ uncle, and you had no idea why all of a sudden you felt conscious of the loungewear set you’d chosen to dawn that morning while you made breakfast, or the fact that if was through the window of his car - both being the exact opposite of how you wanted your first meeting with Miles’ family to go.

Aaron took the hint with both of you approaching the car, and rolled down the passenger window to speak to the two of you clearly.

“Unc,” Miles starts, taking his hand from your waist to gesture between you and Aaron, “this is (Y/N); and babe, this is my Uncle Aaron.”

There seemed to be a second of stalling on your end, before you took a step forward, bending at the knees slightly to meet Aaron’s eyes. His one hand rested on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning on the arm rest, propping him up.

“Hi, Mr. Davis,” you said, doing your bets to refrain from stuttering, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello to you, too, miss lady,” the older replies, “it’s nice to meet you, too. I heard you made breakfast for us?”

You nodded with a polite smile, “I was just in the mood to cook, and I figured Miles may be hungry; he said you were with him, so I only thought it right to make you a plate, too.”

Aaron purses his lips together in an expression of approval, eyes moving from yours to his nephews as his head bobbing in a slow motion. “Oh, yeah, she’s good, man.”

“Tio, please-” Miles whines, which garners a chuckle from his uncle and a giggle from you; and for a second, the feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach the first time he made you laugh returns. The kind of laughs that signifies the forming of a bond between people; the development of a relationship… the start of something new. It’s from that, that Miles knows that any worries of his family not liking you vanishes.

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anemos-orca · 3 months

Text

The Harbingers Cat

Balladeer x neko!reader smut, MDNI

cw: smut, female reader, reader is the Balladeers loyal assistant, reader draws NSFW, humiliation, fantasizing, probably more qwq

Series Tag: #▪︎HarbingersCat

NSFW under "keep reading"

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Being the assistant (and a neko one at that) of the 6th Fatui Harbinger was not an easy job, but you couldnt deny how much you enjoyed your work. Despite how you sometimes slipped up or were given a shocking flick of electro for doodling on the job, working under the Balladeers direct command was, to say the least, fulfilling. He tasked you with medial jobs that were "below him" such as paperwork, greeting new cadets, and cleaning his workspace. You found pride in your work and were eager to please, each subtle word of praise murmured by your higher up fueling you into wanting more and more. It was such a rare thing that, whenever it did happen, it was like all your hard work paid off and you were rewarded with something worth more than mora itself- i mean, who gets praised by the Balladeer??

Scaramouche was amused by you and your strange willingness to do anything he asked. Sometimes he would make up a "job" so rediculous, it felt painfully obvious how fake it was- but still, you never questioned him. If for the sake of not having to sift through countless morons, Scaramouche could brush off your stupid little mistakes and your gross habit of doodling. Though, as time passed, he noticed that you were beginning to act... peculiarly. He would catch you mimicing his expressions, the way he walked, the way he talked- he couldnt deny how pathetically adorable it was. His little neko assistant bossing a cadet around just like how he would, only to turn around with a cute, satisfied smile (despite your efforts to contain the satisfaction of successfully copying your boss) like a kid who managed to learn how to make a sandwich just by watching their mom do it. He couldnt take you seriously, not with the way your fluffy little ears flinched away each time he snapped his fingers right next to them just to startle you. Not with how your tail would poof up in excitement at the most meaningless and fickle of things. Not with the way those stupidly expressive eyes of yours seemed to sparkle each time he would murmur the simplest of praises.

After even more time had passed, he would catch himself studying the little doodles you had made in days past- whenever you were being covered by some idiot who didnt know the first thing about being his assistant, they reminded him that he wouldnt have to deal with his medial tasks once you came back. He would never admit it, but he tended to be more annoyed with people on the days you were gone. He didnt understand the strange, relaxing effect you had on him, and it was irritating.

You werent a puppet like him, so being in lethally cold conditions all the time weakened your body just like it would any other mortal. Therefore, you were often given a couple days off every few weeks to recover. Scaramouche couldnt imagine what you could possibly be doing on the days you spent cooped up in your tiny room all alone, but he figured you just slept through it. Besides, mortal activities were not his concern.

However, that changed on the day you accidentally forgot your sketchbook in his office. You had already left- it was late and you finished filling out his paperwork for the day- but you didnt notice the precious item you left behind. Scaramouche knew how valuable it was to you, considering the fact that it was always in your little satchel and you never left it unattended, so it piqued his curiosity. Why was a sketchbook, of all things, your most valuable item? Such a stupid thing to do, to hold something so fragile and easily ruined at high value. Despite his subtle curiosity, he couldnt care less about what you did, owned, or carried, so he never demanded to inspect it. Though, given this perfect opportunity to quell his after-work boredom, he couldnt help but take a peek.

The Balladeer leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk with a relieved sigh, satisfied to have a moment of relaxation. He flipped the cover of your tattered sketchbook open and examined the first page, reading, "If lost, return to (y/n) at once. Inspection is strictly prohibited. Doing so will result in high punishment." He scoffed, imagining your stupid kitty ears flattening back in seriousness as you wrote. The first few pages after were filled with redundant doodles of the most random things- creatures, expressions, trees, a large amount of dogs and cats- but as he continued thumbing through, he began to see drawings of... himself? He narrowed his eyes and sat forward, raising a judgemental brow. They started out silly and cartoonish, but within the next few pages, he found well thought out, clean, almost realistic drawings of himself in quite the suggestive poses. He couldnt help but snicker, amused by the newfound knowledge of your apparent crush on him. The drawings of the next page were even more suggestive and lewd, but compared to what he flipped to after that, they seemed tame.

He had plans for that sketchbook. Imagining the mortified, humiliated, and impossibly embarrassed expressions youd make when he would reveal to you that he had seen the way you fantasized about his cock- the thoughts painted a sadistic smile across his face, and for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to starting a new day.

Scaramouches eyes widened and his amused expression grew as he laid eyes upon a completely pornographic drawing of himself that filled the entirety of the page- he was sitting in the very chair he sat in now, fisting his hardened cock, a scandalously pleasured expression spread over his face, and thick ropes of cum cascading over his desk. He had to admit, it was a good drawing, but all he could think about was the lustful expression and blushing cheeks you mustve had while creating such lewd art of your own boss. He wouldnt have guessed your massive crush on him even with your overly eager-to-please demeanor, only thinking his little neko assistant acted in such peculiar ways from vehement loyalty- and he found the idea to be rather entertaining. He finished flipping through your sketchbook, studying every nasty drawing you made of him and, in turn, began imagining his own dirty scenarios about making his secretly filthy assistant help him with more... physical tasks. It excited him, and he could feel his body heat up at the tought of it. Slyly chuckling to himself, the Balladeer shoved your sketchbook into the top drawer of his desk and left for the night, being sure to lock the door to his icy office so you couldnt sneak in and take back what was rightfully yours.

You, on the other hand, were not. The moment you set your satchel down in your little room, the lack of its familiar clunk sound due to your sketchbook being inside made your heart drop. You frantically searched every inch of your room, overturning and messing up every nook and cranny looking for that blasted sketchbook, but it was nowhere to be found. It was too late to go looking for it- it was past curfew, and if you were found snooping about, you would be punished and questioned. How could you possibly face another Fatui member and explain that, "Oh, im not being suspicious, dont worry! Im just desperately looking for my lost sketchbook that contains highly inappropriate art of the 6th Harbinger, my boss." You gulped hard, an overwhelming feeling of guilt creeping through your skin and into your bones as you remembered where it last was. His office. Your tail bristled and your mind began to race, panicing at the thought of what was going to happen tomorrow- surely he had seen it and flipped through the pages, infuriated that his stupid little kitty assistant was drawing porn of him. Was he going to kill you? Imprison you? Exile you to the fridgid wilds of your homeland? Archons, your heart had never beat so hard in your life. It felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage to run away and hide. However, no matter how much you stressed, there was nothing you could do except face the consequences of your actions in the morning. Your stupid, foolish actions.

#genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche smut #scaramouche smut #genshin scara #scara x reader #the balladeer #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #▪︎HarbingersCat #balladeer smut #genshin impact x reader

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sadesluvr · 4 months

Text

Ōrālis

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification.

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake.

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain.

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die.

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.”

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb.

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner.

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?”

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.”

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically.

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.”

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did.

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.”

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot.

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…”

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.”

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged.

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.”

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.”

You scoffed.

“That is not true.”

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture.

“Is there a significant other in your life?”

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small.

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on.

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.”

You swallowed.

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.”

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.”

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true.

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself.

“Do you partake in masturbation?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.”

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?”

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting.

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...”

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.”

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him.

“H-How —“

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.”

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this. “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.”

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building.

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer.

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.”

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all.

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.”

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.

Today that wasn’t the case.

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this.

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.”

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you.

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.”

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head.

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.”

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this?

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later.

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.”

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine.

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted.

This was what you wanted.

Right?

Right.

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better.

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke.

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?”

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control.

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before.

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.”

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis.

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in.

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…”

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had.

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them.

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation.

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months.

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,”

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma.

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.”

#florence writes!!#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane smut #tdk! scarecrow #dc x reader

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a-killer-obsession · 3 months

Note

First of all congrats on 250!! You deserve it. 🎉 Your writing is just so delicious always. ❤️‍🔥

I couldn’t decide so pick whichever you vibe more with: 1Q (mostly bc I think it would be funny trying to keep Kid quiet you feel me?) or 3S

Can’t wait to read everything that people send in!

Loud

Prompt: Quiet

Additional Tags: afab reader, no reader pronouns used, established relationship, public sex, blowjob, creampie

WC: 1k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Kid was not a man anyone would ever describe as ‘quiet’. Boisterous, opinionated, aggressive, frankly deafening with his signature roaring laugh, now those were ways one might describe Eustass ‘Captain' Kid. Your boyfriend was all manner of obnoxious in his manners, but it was part of his charm. And when it came to bedroom activities, he was more than happy for the whole ship to hear, in fact he took great pride in it. You, on the other hand, were more reserved. You didn't like everyone knowing every time you got railed, that was your own private business. Kid would fuck you in front of the whole crew if you'd let him, but it was something you'd absolutely never let happen. You enjoyed sex, and it wasn't that it was taboo to you, you were just a private person.

Then there was his libido; he would fuck you anywhere and everywhere if he could, but you were the kind of person who refused unless it was behind locked doors. Which is exactly why the workshop, crows nest, pantry and navigation room all had locks on the inside now. He knew your limits, he didn't question them, even if they sometimes resulted in him having to keep it in his pants for a little longer till he could get you alone. Which is why on this day, he was more than surprised when you took his hand and led him to the nearest alleyway, still covered in the blood of some now dead marine as you kissed him hard and unbuckled his belts with well practised precision.

You couldn't deny yourself this time, not after watching the way he crushed a marine's throat with his bare hand after coming to your aid, not even with his metal hand. It'd sent electricity straight to your core, already soaked with arousal by the time the battle had cooled enough to pull him away, the sound of fighting still heard just outside the alley. You forced your hand down the front of his pants and stroked him, already hard from the unexpected promise of a quick fuck in a public place, so close to the fight, so close to being caught by the rest of the crew. The threat of being caught was so incredibly arousing for him. He groaned as your hand squeezed around his cock, and you clamped your other hand over his mouth.

“Are you stupid?” You growled, “keep it down! They'll hear you!”

Kid's eyes rolled in pleasure as you shoved your fingers in his mouth, gagging him with them as you pulled his cock from his pants and stroked him. You pulled your fingers out, wet with saliva, some of it dripping down his chin. “Make a sound and I stop,” you threatened as you dropped to a squat in front of him, running your tongue up the underside of his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath before biting down on his flesh hand as you took him in your mouth. You stroked with your hand what you couldn't fit in your mouth of his large cock, and your spare hand went between your legs, pulling aside your drenched panties. He could hear the wet squelch of your fingers sliding in and out of you as you pleasured yourself, moaning around his cock. He let out a groan and you stopped, letting his cock go as he whined.

“What did I say?” You growled, slipping your panties off before standing, “shut up”

His brows shot up in surprise as you shoved the damp panties in his mouth, and he could taste your arousal on them, making him whine. You grabbed his hands and pulled him so his cock was pressed against you and his body was pinning you to the wall. “Now be a good boy and fuck me,” you purred, lifting your skirt for him and exposing your round ass.

He groaned around the panties and grabbed your hips hard, pulling your pelvis a little away from the wall and eagerly sheathing himself in you. You made a strained moan as he began to fuck you hard, immediately setting a brutal pace that had your legs turning to jelly. The panties barely muffled his grunts as he used you like a cocksleeve, and your nails dug into the brick wall in front of you as your palms rubbed raw from the force of his thrusts. His hands ran up your body, under your shirt, tugging your bra down to free your tits so he could grope them, using them like built in handles to hold you more upright against his body as he pounded into you, your hands finding his thick thighs and grasping at his pants like you were holding on for dear life.

“Yes, yes,” you moaned under your breath, “just like that- fuck- just like that”

Your legs shook hard as you clamped around him and came, fluids running down your legs and catching on your thigh high stockings. You felt the soft patter of fabric against your back as the panties fell from Kid's mouth, his metal hand slamming against the brick wall and cracking it as he let out a roar and painted your insides white, cream dripping down your thighs to add to your own mess as he pulled out, head resting against your back.

“Captain? Was that you yelli-oh,” you both looked to the side to see a very startled Bubblegum, staring like a deer in headlights as cum dripped down your legs and Kid's softening cock lay still exposed over his lowered pants. “NEVERMIND!” He shouted before quickly fleeing, and you quickly turned around, smacking Kid on the exposed part of his chest hard enough to leave a red handprint.

“I TOLD YOU THEY'D HEAR!!!” you scowled, Kid letting out a bellowing laugh at your frustration.

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #AKO 250 event #eustass kid #kid one piece #eustass captain kidd #kid x reader

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immajustvibehere · 6 months

Text

Amidst a Crashing World (4/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: You follow Arthur back to camp, who isn't so happy about the decision. Yet, you are convinced that you have to be there for the last train heist of the van der Linde gang.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

8000 words

You tried to take your time while following Arthur's tracks. A ride through Murfree country never had been one of your favourite past time activities. Since you had to ride through the territory to reach Annesburg, you were familiar with all its paths and knew where Murfrees could hide; but the familiarity didn’t change the fact that you just preferred to not be in danger. If you had a job to do in Annesburg and had plenty of time to spare, you would ride around the territory, but if you had to be quick, you always had your rifle and gun ready. Today, you’d rather be quick and follow the tracks directly. Arthur had a decent head-start and there was no way you would arrive at camp simultaneously.

Soon, you heard noise in the distance that you immediately associated with camp life; the clattering of plates, mumbling, occasional shouts. The noise was still muffled because of the forest. It was eerie, really. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it seemed to be misty and dark. If you had still been with the gang when the decision was made to camp here, you surely would have protested.

Already, you were awfully close to camp, but there was nobody standing guard. Maybe things had significantly changed since you last were part of the gang, but you wondered...because back then, when their bounties were still low, there still was someone keeping watch pretty much all the time. You rode along the earthy path and tents appeared. You scanned the campgrounds to look for someone familiar.

It didn't take long before eyes were on you. Javier was the first one to approach, greeting you in a friendly manner while you dismounted. Soon, a small circle had formed around you. Miss Grimshaw with mixed feelings about your long absence and sudden return; Tilly and Mary-Beth who wanted to know what you'd been up to; Karen who offered you a beer. Through the crowd of people, you saw Dutch and a sleazy blonde guy emerge from the darkness of the cave while Arthur put his head out of his tent to see what the commotion was about.

You couldn't dwell long on Arthur's expression, his mouth slightly open, fists clenching, while you walked past his tent to approach Dutch, who strolled towards you with open arms.

"Miss y/l/n!" Dutch greeted you, his big hand taking yours and shaking it as if you were business partners meeting to discuss a scheme. His hand was warm and slightly moist, which disgusted you, but you forces yourself to put on a grin. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beat up to your throat, you were this anxious not to reveal that you had Arthur had reconnected.

"Dutch," you nodded. You weren’t sure if more formalities would have been appropriate, but you had never called him “Mr van der Linde” and you saw no reason to start doing so now.

"Good to have you back! I had sent for you a while ago...", Dutch locked eyes with Arthur for a moment, who still stood by his tent, flabbergasted, "Rumour was you were dead."

"Well", you smiled charmingly, "I didn't want to be found just yet. I had some loose strings to tie up, wouldn't have wanted to get the gang entangled with my private business."

Dutch looked at you with a touch of doubt. So did the man with the blonde hair, you didn’t appreciate how he checked you out. Not just to find out if you weren’t a trap and had the law behind you, but purely sexual, trying to determine what you hid under your clothes. His gaze was unsettling.

"Anyways", you continued, "I read the paper recently and figured you'd appreciate an extra gun."

"How did you find us?", the blonde guy interrupted.

"Some of you guys can be tracked down quite easily", you smiled sympathetically, "I had some work in Annesburg and...well, your grocery runs..."

You'd rather blame Pearson for leading you to camp than Arthur. As far as you were concerned, you hadn't seen Arthur since he had broken your heart a year ago.

Dutch chuckled and it sounded strangely cold and tense, "Good to know we've got you back. We wouldn't want you as our enemy."

"Never", you smiled honestly, "Just tell me what needs to be done, I'll do it. I owe you for letting me roam for a year."

Dutch put a hand on your shoulder, then invited you to get comfortable. The remaining day was spent with talking to people, putting down your bedroll and sneaking some spices into Pearson’s stew. It was a matter of getting accustomed to camp life again, and frankly, you enjoyed having other people around. The only thing you avoided doing was getting close to Arthur and he didn’t seem keen on approaching you either.

By far the best aspect of being back at camp was catching up with everybody. You hadn’t realised how much you had missed all those familiar faces. Whenever you did a chore, you actually felt helpful, because there were people that needed and depended on you doing your part. Playing with Jack for an hour was rewarded with Abigail being thankful and looking way more relaxed. Putting some more spices in Pearson's stew was appreciated with winks and relieved smiles. But you never forgot the purpose of your return. Three days had passed, and still, not a single word had passed between you and Arthur. Your worry grew that the man might be seriously angry at you.

While you thought about this on your third night, tending to the camp fire while everyone else was slowly retreating to their bedrolls, you saw Micah approach. It was his low chuckle that made you look up.

Now, three days had been plenty of time for the girls to warn you about him and his two suspicious companions. Apparently, he managed to sneak them into the gang without getting Dutch’s actual approval first – and you knew that wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do. Your muscles tensed as Micah closed the distance between you.

"Miss y/l/n", he made a half-assed bow before sitting down on a chair close to you, "I think we never had the pleasure of a proper introduction."

"You know who I am, I know who you are, Mr. Bell", you said coldly, focusing on the flames, "I don't think we need more introducing."

"It's just…", the man uttered and made some weird noises with his mouth, as if he was licking his lips, but you weren't looking at him, "I don't know if I can trust you. You just appeared, all of a sudden."

Raising an eyebrow, you responded: "You mean like your pawns? Joe and what-was-his-name? Pete?"

You observed Micah shift uncomfortably in his chair before replying: "Cleet and Joe know how to fight."

"So do I", you shot back sharply. Finally, you looked the man in the face. The warm, flickering orange of the fire cast him in a light that made his features look more intense than they were at daylight. The shadows danced menacingly across his face. You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Micah Bell, but you knew Arthur didn't like him, neither did Abigail or Mary-Beth...or anyone, really.

Micah made the mistake of placing his hands on the table and leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper: "Women like you-"

But you swiftly interrupted him, drawing your hunting knife and driving it into the table next to Micah's hand. For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed dangerously and you feared he'd take the knife and gut you. Instead, he leaned back casually with a chuckle: "Yer a feisty one, aren't you?"

You swallowed, unsure if you were brave enough to continue this conversation. Making an enemy wasn't exactly your plan, especially if Micah could, in any way, become an inconvenience for your little escape plan. But you sighed, stood up and said with the steadies voice you managed: "I recommend you don't find out." You left the knife in the table, just to spare you the embarrassment of failing to pull it out of the wood smoothly.

You turned your back and strode away, your stomach churning with the adrenaline of the confrontation. Normally, you wouldn't be so bold…but "normally" you didn't have to deal with guys like Micah. Sure, the gang had seen their share of members that were disrespectful, especially towards women – but never like this. Micah’s aura alone made you shiver.

Making your way to your horse, you soothed your nerves by tending to the animal, offering it a few carrots and stroking its mane. Patiently, you waited until Micah retreated from the fire and went into the cave. As the camp settled into quiet stillness, only disturbed by the rustle of leaves and the sound of your horses’ hooves, you retrieved your knife and headed back.

As you passed Arthur’s tent, you caught a whisper of your name. You paused, curiously.

The flaps were partially closed, but when you peeked inside, you saw him standing next to his table, the warm light of a lantern warmly filling the tent. It almost looked cozy, certainly better than your bedroll on the dirty and hard ground. Arthur’s gaze was intense as he looked at you. You asked "Yeah?", hoping he’d clarify if he wanted to talk or something, but Arthur didn’t reply. Hesitantly, you stepped inside his tent, your hand still holding the canvas open, just in case you read the situation completely wrong.

It was only when you came closer that you saw his features were irritated. He approached you with a big step, grabbed you by the arm and pulled you further into the tent, so nobody outside would see that you’d just entered

"What the hell were you thinking?", Arthur spit at you, eyebrows furrowed and the grip around your arm tightening.

"What I was thinking?", you tried to speak calmly.

You knew exactly what he was referring to. Arthur had picked up the conversation as if you had just walked into camp five minutes ago and not like three days had passed already. You continued: "That I won't sit tight for a week and wait to see if you've made it out."

"Y/n...", Arthur sighed disappointedly.

"Arthur please", you wailed, trying to loosen his grip around your arm. He let go, not before his thumb lightly caressed the area his fingers had been digging in, as if to apologize.

You looked the man straight in the eye. He was still somewhat angry, but so were you. Though you found your anger insignificant under the scorn of this big man and you hated being on the receiving end of it.

Arthur finally averted his gaze: "I can't save you too."

"You won't have to", you replied sternly.

Arthur sat down on his chair, sighing as if he had just been told his mother had died. He didn't look at you, standing there like a scolded child.

"Did you read the note?", Arthur asked after a while, referring to his good-bye letter that you had crumpled and disappear under your bed, before your eyes could read any sorry, love-sickening words or promises that wouldn’t be kept.

"No!", you replied quickly, "I saw you left one, I didn't bother."

"Look, Arthur", you tried desperately to get the man on your side again, "I don't know how the train heist'll go. Maybe you die, maybe I die. Maybe we'll fail to safe whoever needs saving. But then I got at least...four days left to spend with you."

Arthur looked at you sadly.

"Because I won't go back to my fucking cabin and mourn you like I've mourned you the last months. I'll keep you alive. Or I die trying, I don't really give a fuck", tears pricked your eyes. Gosh, this place was depressing. You wished you could speak more calmly, more put together...but you understood why everybody behaved like a nut-case around here. Somehow, the forest sucked out all the joy you have.

"Okay", Arthur sighed, and he looked like he could understand or was at least ready to end the discussion. He opened his posture a little, nodding towards him as if to invite you. You approached slowly, not quite sure of what he expected you to do.

"Come 'ere", he mumbled. You sat down on his lap, snaking his arms around his body while he did the same. The two of you had been close when you made out. There had been barely any distance between you, when you had cut his hair. However, this was different. You nuzzled your face into his neck in the silence of the night, with no other intention but to be close to him. Finally, you had time to bask in his scent.

It was a calming scent, familiar somehow. Homely, in the best of ways. It calmed you down. All the while, Arthur enjoyed your closeness just as much; pressing you tighter to him, enjoying the proximity he had denied you when you had asked if he wanted to sleep next to each other’s. He didn't know how much he had needed that. A warm, loving body in his embrace. He felt your fingers restlessly scratching his jacket, as if they tried to complain about the extra layer. He felt your breath down his neck and your body squirming on his lap.

The two of you sat like that for a while. Arthur started to caress your hair, letting his fingers run through your strands while he waited for you to calm your breathing.

Arthur realized that he was making a mistake. He loved the way your body pressed down on him, loved how your body moved and reacted to his subtle touches. He absolutely feared and hated that he would crave the feeling forever. He had denied sleeping next to you only a few days prior because he knew both of you would suffer if either one dies. It’s similar to being parched, only to be allowed a small sip of water. Enough to satisfy you for the moment, but making you realize how much you really craved water. This embrace was the same.

"Can't stay here, can I?", as if you had read his thoughts, you smiled sadly and peeled yourself off Arthur. He moved his arms reluctantly from your body and glanced to his cot.

He'd prefer it too...to have you lie on top of him, sleeping peacefully.

You spoke again before he could answer: "I always fear that this camp'll be overrun by Murfrees at night."

"Charles 'n I killed probably most of ‘em. There wouldn't be enough to bother us", Arthur tried to reassure you. His voice was a little dreamy, as if the image of you two sharing a cot was still very vivid on his mind.

"Yeah...", you replied and stood up. Arthur's hands slid into yours, so that you now were holding hands as you stood next to him. The affectionate gestured surprised you a little, it send a pleasurable tingle into your stomach.

"Good night, then", you sighed and brushed your thumb over Arthur's back of his hand.

"G'd night, darlin'", Arthur mumbled. He might have been disappointed that you came to camp but softening him was as easy as putting old bread in a bowl of soup. And there he was, all soft and soggy after five minutes intimacy. Admittedly, you felt softened and calmed down too. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep after your little run-in with Micah, if it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Arthur had now made up. Your goal and purpose was in clear sight again; somehow protect this man and be there for him, in case Dutch or anyone else betrays him again.

Satisfied, you walked to your bedroll and crept onto in, falling asleep quiet easily.

Nothing much would be happening until the train job in a few days – at least, that was what you believed. Of course, you were wrong.

The next day, you had volunteered to go on a grocery run with Uncle and Pearson. You had never been particularly close with them, but it wasn’t a detective’s job to see them whisper about something behind your back. While you waited in front of the grocery store and watched the young boys that helped out load your carriage, the two men walked off to the train station. They gave you some mumbled excuse, you had barely understood what they had said, but now you watched them in the distance as they ran their fingers over the train’s schedule. On their way back to you, you could pinpoint the precise moment they realised your eyes were on them, because they straightened their backs and put on innocent smiles. You gave them a sympathetic smile in return.

On the ride back, there was an uncomfortable silence between the three of you, before Pearson finally asked: "Why did you come back, y/n? You said you saw the papers...you should know that this won't last much longer..."

"Well…”, a quick grin hushed over your face before you forced yourself to sound more serious, “I said I would be back. And I'm loyal to Dutch." As soon as the word “loyal” had left your lips, you saw the men stiffening, Uncle shooting dangerous gazes to Pearson.

You let them hang in suspense and fear a few moments longer, before you smiled and snorted: "Oh, relax. I'm just fucking with you."

The flabbergasted faces of the men made you laugh.

"I came back to help Arthur to get everyone out before it's too late", you said truthfully and before you could add something, Uncle laughed triumphantly: "I knew it! Mary-Beth will be so happy to hear that you two are together!"

Your cheeks grew warm so quickly, you had barely registered Pearson’s words. Then you fumbled with the reins and tried to put some force behind your words: "I never said anything about being together with Arthur."

"But you were in his tent yesterday, weren't you?", Uncle asked in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer, and so did the girls and whoever he gossips with, apparently. So, you didn't say anything and chewed your inner cheek.

This was the perfect moment to change the topic and make the men aware that you figured they want to leave camp. You would help them - this was why you were there, after all.

Finally, you managed to swallow and said: "Anyways...I have guard duty from 2 am until the morning. You can slip away during that time...if you're in Annesburg before the sun's out, you should be in the clear", you said, eyes on the road.

"You're a good one, y/n", Pearson said happily, "Though I don't quite agree with the way you overseason my stew-"

"I can't overseason what's not seasoned in the first place!", you interrupted loudly, but it was in a friendly manner.

They briefly talked about what they'd take with them, that Mary-Beth would join them and you listened, already coming up with excuses on how it could happen that three people disappeared while you had guard duty. It felt like you had it all figured out. It was a relief to know that three people would be taken care of by tomorrow. The harder was the punch in the face when you arrived back at camp and found most of the men missing.

The Indians had come and asked for help at the oil factory, and Dutch had jumped at the opportunity. You had a terrible feeling, but you knew that riding after them wouldn't make much sense, so you bided your time until most of them returned...without Arthur and Charles, that is.

The question burned on your tongue. Where was Arthur? Was he okay? But as far as you were concerned, officially, nobody knew that the two of you were on speaking-terms. You couldn’t exactly walk up to Javier and ask him where your lover was. Maybe, you could have asked John, but you would have felt like an idiot for being so worried after only a couple of hours.

Arthur returned at sunset, grumpy face and slouching shoulders. When you approached him, he shot you a warning gaze. Not a dangerous gaze that made you think he was mad at you, but a silent warning, a peep at Dutch, and then he disappeared, walking off to eat an apple at the outskirts of camp. Charles hadn't returned, so you thought something might have happened to him, but Sadie finally filled you in on the details. The chief's son had been shot, was probably dead now, but nobody in the gang had been hurt, as far as she knows.

You waited a few more minutes, before you stalked after Arthur, finding him sitting in the dirt and watching the river in the distance.

Arthur briefly twisted his head in your direction as if to make sure that it really was you. He gave you no sign of recognition or invitation to join him, you simply heard a sigh, then saw some more smoke puffing from the cigarette between his lips.

"Dutch…he…He saw that a man was about to gut me, and jus’ walked away”, Arthur stumped his cigarette on a tree like an angry child would kick a stone, “Eagle Flies’s dead, 'cause of me…"

You weren’t quite sure if you understood what had happened at the oil factory, but you sensed that Arthur was extremely upset about it. Somehow, you couldn’t just say something bad about Dutch, because it didn’t matter if he had left Arthur – you hadn’t been there to begin with. Yet, staying at Arthur’s side was the sole reason you now sat down in the moist earth of this unsettling forest. Even now, you though you heard somebody scream in the distance and the darkness swapped places with the setting sun quickly spread throughout the woods and distorted shadows in the distance.

There was only little space left between you and Arthur, as you sat next to each other, watching water flow down the river. If anyone from camp saw you like that, they could probably put one and one together; but right now, you couldn't care less.

Had you ever seen Arthur so hurt and unsure of everything? You remembered, unfortunately quiet vividly, how under the weather the man was when Mary had to reject him or when he heard that she had married another. Back then, the whole camp felt Arthur’s sour mood and had done its best to offer distraction and ease the burden he normally carried a little bit. Today, you were the only one who seemingly had noticed that he wasn’t feeling well. Given the hostile mood at camp, this was probably for the best.

"He was a good guy, then? Eagle Flies...?", you asked quietly, sensing that Arthur would like to say a few more words about it.

"Yes. Hot headed and easily twisted by Dutch's speeches, unfortunately. Dutch did more damage to the tribe than..., well, I don't know. He was the chief's only son. And Rain Falls is...maybe wiser than a fool like me can ever hope of becoming", Arthur was brabbling, mumbling his words, making them tricky to follow. You tried your best, nonetheless.

"Thought I'd stay with 'em. Help 'em bag and leave...", Arthur admitted, his fingers brushed over the soil, picking out dried blades of grass, "Charles sent me back 'nd said there's people here needing me."

This caught you off guard. Leaving with the tribe would mean leave you behind with this mad bunch of degenerates, with Micah and his companions that looked at you like they just waited for an opportunity to catch you alone. Could you blame him, though? His father figure and mentor was ready to let Arthur be killed off.

It was at this point that you truly realised: The gang would be no longer.

Also, Arthur had no obligation nor responsibility for you. It had been your choice to leave your comfortable home to try and protect him here. Maybe it had been a bad idea to begin with. You should have stayed at your cabin and prayed or asked witches to bring Arthur back to you. The two of you weren't a couple. Arthur might have admitted to feel something for you, but that didn’t have to mean anything…not in the world he lived in.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Arthur was leaning in before he pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple.

"I love ya", he mumbled.

Your heart skipped a beat. Or several, actually, and your mind was blank.

Two minutes of quietly trying to convince yourself that the outlaw next to you, can’t possibly commit to anything, that the last time you spent together at you cabin and made out could have been a dream, and now he straight up told you that he…

It was your surprised and blank face that prompted Arthur to say: " 's okay. Ya don't 've to say it back. Or feel the same. 's just...almost dying...", Arthur swallowed. There was something like fear in his eyes, like he was rethinking his entire life, regretting the paths he had walked, the people he had killed. And not having told you sooner.

"You won't die. Not if I can help it", you assured, those were the only words you managed to say.

Arthur chuckled sadly: "Bullets travel fast."

You looked at each other as if you had walked into a dead end. Arthur had just told you that he loved you and you couldn’t say it back…or were afraid to say it back? You had already said something similar, a few days back, why did this feel so much more important?

Then you shared a hesitant smile.

"Oh, yeah”, you started again, “Pearson, Uncle and Mary-Beth are thinking of leaving tomorrow at dawn. I'm on guard duty, so they'll have safe passage."

"Okay", Arthur nodded, "come 'n see me at night before ya take yer post. I got s’mthing for yer..."

You nodded confusedly, but with peaked interest.

Nobody had to wake you at 2 am, because you had barely managed to fall asleep. It would be another half an hour before you swapped with Javier, so you took your time to warm up some coffee. Cup in hand, you sneaked into Arthur’s tent.

The man was completely knocked out and snoring on his tiny cot. As much as you loved the idea of sleeping in his tent with him, both of you would never fit on it. Arthur slept peacefully, sprawled out and without fear that someone hostile would sneak up on his. And yet, here you were. Disturbing him felt like a crime, but he had practically told you to wake him.

"Arthur", you whispered and put your cup down on the table, lighting the lantern so he'd see you when he woke and not get startled. When he didn’t react, you repeated his name slightly louder.

Nothing. You thought hard; was it really that important to wake him up? Couldn't it wait until the morning? If anyone, Arthur really deserved his sleep. The curiosity though...

"It's me," you said, now lightly touching his shoulder. This did the trick, Arthur opened his eyes and shot up. It reminded you of trying to pet a cat when it was asleep – it would always wake up as if you had stepped on its tail.

"Oh", Arthur's shoulders relaxed when he realised it was you. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, adapting to the dim light in the tent and groaned, "Gimme a second."

"D-don't worry", you stuttered, now definitely feeling bad for waking him.

You watched as he stretched his legs and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake the sleepiness. After a few more moments, he stood up and walked over to his wardrobe chest. With an aching and tired groan, he pulled out a holster and a gun belt which was already dressed with bullets.

"I wore this when I was 'bit smaller", Arthur commented, his voice deep and gravelly. He walked up to you, placing the holster on the belt and then gently putting it around your waist. Though sleep-drunk, Arthur tried his best to not touch you anywhere inappropriate. You smiled affectionately as Arthur closed the belt buckle and mumbled: "I won't let you go in a fight with your gun crammed into yer pants."

That being said, he pulled your gun out of your waistband. You didn't stop him, as he briefly inspected the weapon, finding it in acceptable condition and dropping it into your new holster.

"Might need to adjust it, t’have it sit right. Guess you got the rest of the night to figure out which height you wanna wear it", as Arthur's raspy sleep voice faded, you noticed a sad undertone.

"Thank you, truly", you said, rattling the belt lightly to make it sit better.

"Sure", Arthur tried to crack a smile.

You held eye contact for a few seconds. Something needed to happen. Either one of you had to admit that they were deeply worried the other one would die later tonight or a hug, a kiss...anything. You knew that Arthur felt the same, that he was itching to break the silence, but neither of you found the courage.

"I'll...go on guard duty now. Wouldn't want to see Uncle and the rest try'n slip away with Javier still keeping guard."

"Sure", Arthur repeated and sat down on the cot, more than ready to go back to sleep, "Call on me if there's trouble."

You nodded, took your cup and walked out the tent.

The swap went smoothly, as were the first one and a half hours and then you heard something in camp stir behind you. About quarter of an hour later, Uncle, Pearson, Mary-Beth and Karen stood before you. Well, Karen was lying on a waggon, snoring. Uncle had mounted the horse that was pulling the little waggon and the other two were on foot, smiling at you hesitantly.

"You've got some money on you?", you asked, almost in a whisper.

"God damn it, we should have known that she wanted something for leaving us go!", Uncle cursed, and you couldn't quite tell if it was being sarcastic or not.

"No, you idiot", you complained, as friendly as you managed, "Money for your train. For a life afterwards, I don't know...to get a some fucking distance between you and this rat hole."

"Oh", you heard Uncle mumbled and it irritated you that he really believed you would want them to pay.

Pearson answered: "We got a few bucks. Should last for at least one or two stations."

You shook the head and pulled out a ten-dollar bill – your savings and the only money you had taken from home. "Take some more then, and hurry. I'll sweep the tracks behind you. Stay on the main road", you quickly rambled because you realized the sooner they leave, the better.

It was dark, the light of the moon barely reached the ground and the dim lantern they had was soon swallowed up by the trees. You grabbed an old broom and swept away their tracks for about 50 yards before you went back to your post.

Before most people started rising, you put on some coffee and used the last bit of porridge that had been in a big sack at the supplies pile to make some proper breakfast. For one thing, nobody would start wondering about Pearson's absence as quickly and for another, you might as well use the last pit of porridge, ideally, you won't be here tomorrow to suffer from its absence. You'd either be long gone or lying dead in a ditch as food for ravens - either way, the porridge won't be of any use for you. Neither would it be for Jack, John, Abigail, Arthur...and the other half decent people that were still here. Ideally.

Nobody seemed to notice that people were missing, expect for Miss Grimshaw - but she kept quiet for some reason. Arthur gave you a knowing smile when he passed you to get some coffee, as you retired again to catch up on some sleep.

Your nerves woke you some time before noon. The men were loading their weapons and brushing their horses. The suspense in the air quickly got rid of your remaining tiredness. This was your first big job, after all. Every moment your brain woke up from its slumber, you realised that you had never done anything similar before. You had robbed the odd fella and held up a couple of waggons…but robbing a train with army pay roll? You wondered if you hadn’t overestimated yourself.

As you stood up and got dressed, you noticed Arthur standing close to the cave and having a discussion with Dutch. The cold glares they exchanged sent shivers down your spine.

As you passed Arthur’s tent, a letter caught your attention. It was, besides the lantern, the only thing that occupied his table and you were sure that it hadn’t been there at night. You wouldn’t have though much of it, hadn’t you caught the name “Mary” on the cover. A quick glance at Arthur reassured you that he was all packed up, now somewhat agitatedly walking to his horse with the rest of the men. You made a couple of big steps, grabbed the letter and you eyes passed quickly over the lines “From Mary, To Arthur” before it startled you that there was something besides paper in this cover.

This was when Dutch’s shout: “Let’s ride!” echoed through camp. You slipped the letter into your satchel and joined the others.

You would never have admitted it, but you were anxious. Again, in your mind, you went through the clientele that you had robbed before. Drunk fools, rich looking travellers that weren’t significantly armed…any situation where you clearly had the upper hand. when you ran with the gang. Alone, you had stopped one or the other rich looking traveller. This, however, would be a battle for survival. Ideally, you had the money and would slip away before anything happened, but everyone knew that bullets would be flying sooner or later.

While riding, you stuck close to Sadie. You craved talking to Arthur, hell, as much as a comfort-providing look would have been great...but there wasn't any. Your anxiety only rose when he rode off with John to get some dynamite and you were stuck with the rest...You knew Sadie was fine, the others were not entirely trustworthy. Micah used the absence of Arthur and John, maybe the only men who would have been ready to defend you, to fall back in the group and make some “small talk”.

"You sure you're ready for this? Fine lady like you shouldn’t play outlaw with the men", Micah chuckled sarcastically. You were glad when Sadie interrupted him and threatened to cut his balls off, if he didn't shut up. You couldn't have come up with a witty reply for the life of it, you worried way too much about how the next two hours would turn out. The feeling of having to throw up was somewhat overwhelming, had you opened your mouth, you doubted something good would have left it.

Only when Arthur and John rejoined the group, you calmed slightly.

Things took their run. You had to ride hard to catch that train, your mind going crazy about the commands Dutch yelled every opportunity he got. You didn't understand why he wanted you to board the train - Sadie and Cleet were to board the train half-way, John, Arthur and you should jump on at the end. There wasn't any time to talk back or complain, even though Arthur didn’t seem to agree with that either.

You steered your horse closer and closer to the waggon as Arthur rode up beside you: "Jump!" he yelled, because he had noticed you hesitated for a few seconds too long. You sent him an unsure gaze, which he took as a sign to board the train first. He made it look easy, jumping on a train that was going at the speed of...well, a train. Your horses had trouble keeping up.

But as Arthur extended a hand to show you that he'd catch you, you inhaled, untangled your feet from the stirrups and took a leap of faith. Unceremoniously, you crashed into Arthur, who did his best so you wouldn't fall over. You had barely collected your bearings, when John yelled at the two of you: "Come on, push!"

The thought that this has been a terrible idea crossed your mind multiple times as you struggled to keep up with the two men. It was them who shot most of the enemies, you were happy with sometimes hiding behind a corner and aimlessly firing at the guards, so they'd have to hide and give John and Arthur the time to reload. Hunting unsuspecting deer and rabbits did not compare to shooting at humans, you concluded, as you missed three shots. But your attempt was enough to make the guard hesitate before aiming his weapon at John, which was the split second that Arthur needed to gun him down.

This game continued for a couple of wagons. You jumped over crates and climbed on the roof of wagons that you were surprised of how much your body was capable. Your only goal was to not get left behind by the two men. Arthur sometimes turned around to make sure you were still following properly, but both of you were so out of breath, that it wouldn’t have worked to exchange a few words.

You didn't know how or why, but all of a sudden, the wagon in front of you had caught fire. John was quickest to react to Bill's yell to jump on his horse. Arthur looked anxiously between you and Dutch, who now called for him to jump on his. Riding behind Dutch was your last available option for a lift: Micah. Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Dutch pressured him to jump already. You whirled around and almost jumped happily, when you saw your horse straining to keep close to the train at the other side.

You whistled and it understood. Not even thinking about not making the jump really helped. You simply jumped, almost slipped from the guardrails but somehow grabbed onto your horse. Your fingers tightened around its mane, the reins fluttering around too vividly to catch it. Clutched your legs around the horse as tightly as you could, your spurred it on to skip the burning waggon. You stopped fearing for either your or Arthur's life at this moment. Hell, your only loyal companion the last couple of years had been your horse and you swore if a bullet as much as grazed it, you would find the gun that had done it and kill the owner barehanded, if needed.

Arthur was already on the next waggon and as he shouted at John to uncouple the burning one before it blows up the train, he positioned himself again, ready to catch you if needed. It was a smoother boarding than your first try, Arthur only gripped your elbow so you wouldn't topple over.

Arthur's eyes were already fixed on the gatling gun, then he pointed at acouple of crates: "Hide there!"

Arthur shoved you behind the crates and you saw a panic in his eyes as everyone noticed a man on a cliff in the distance that alarmed everyone of the crime in act.

Suddenly, everything happened awfully quick. Arthur had just finished putting the gun together and John had manged to unhinge the burning wagon. Three seconds later, it gave a loud boom and the waggon toppled over. For a few moments, you heard nothing. Your ears tried to adjust from the explosion to the constant noise of the train rattling through its tracks, when one gunshot pierced the air. John fell off the train like a sack of potatoes.

You hadn’t even seen where the shot had come from, but the man was dead before he could fire another - Arthur had been quick to draw his gun.

"I'll get John! You protect that money!", Dutch yelled, he and the rest of the riders turned their horses around. Looking at Arthur’s sceptical face, you knew that he didn’t believe Dutch would actually look out for John.

"I'll go stop the train!", Bill yelled.

Arthur spun around, carrying a case with ammunition for the gatling: "Whatever you do, do not stop the train! You secure up ahead but keep us movin'! I'll deal with the patrol when they come through!"

While the others ran off, Arthur rpinted towards you: "Go collect John. I don't trust Dutch to not jus' leave him."

"He's probably dead! I won't leave you too-", you quickly answered, out of breath.

"No!", Arthur interrupted, "You go collect him and I'll meet ya at yer cabin with Abigail 'n Jack!"

"I can't just-"

"Yes! You can god damn it!", Arthur was irritated. You were running out of time. The first bullet of the patrol hit the waggon, "Listen t' me. Yer gonna be fine and I'm gonna be fine. Here-"

Arthur took of his hat and pressed it onto your head.

And that didn't feel right. It was like he gave up his most prized possession. It didn't even fit but wobbled uncomfortably on your smaller head.

"No", you croaked. Your throat became dry from all the yelling, otherwise you wouldn’t understand each other because of the noise. Not again. Not again this “good-bye” scenario. He couldn't leave a letter, so he left you with his hat?

"It’s a promise", Arthur explained, "I'll get my hat back, understand? You jus’ take care of it for now."

You shook your head violently, the hat wobbled: “Take care of your hat, take care of your journal! I don’t want to-“

"If there's as much as a scratch on it", Arthur tried to joke, but it didn't sound like a joke. His voice was serious and stern. Then he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you up from your cowering position behind the crates. He lifted you like one would lift one’s opponent in a fight, just to have them on eye-level before delivering the punch to their face.

"I'll meet ya at yer cabin", Arthur promised again, and his face was so close, you thought he might kiss you, but then another bullet from the patrol splintered the wood of the crates you had sat behind a moment before.

Arthur said something that confused you: "Watch yer head" and before you could make sense of the words, Arthur pushed you against the shoulders and you went flying off the train. The second before you hit the ground, rolling along and crashing into a tree you remembered to keep your head up and it might have prevented you from dying, because the impact was brutal.

When you crashed into the tree you thought you were dead. You couldn't breathe. Everything went black for a few seconds before your body spasmed up in panic, trying to get air into your lungs. It didn't happen.

You were going to suffocate. You struggled for air until you were too exhausted to try. You were lying in the dirt, your whole body hurting, with no air in your lungs.

In the last possible second, when your vision already became blurry, the smallest bit of air filled your lungs and prolonged your suffering a little longer, until the next tiny gasp for air.

You didn’t know how long you'd been lying there before you managed to breath somewhat normally, ignoring the excruciating pain that each breath brought you.

In between blinking you saw Arthur's hat lying some feet away and wondered if that had been the real joke; to protect his hat while flying off a train.

Your first action was to crawl to the hat and put it on, no matter how pathetic it looked. Arthur had pushed you so far, you were surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Even if another patrol rode next to the tracks, he wouldn't see you.

With all the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself into a standing position on a tree and fought your way through the woods.

John was surely dead, or Dutch and the rest had done their job and collected him. It made no sense to spend your energy walking back, but you did so anyways. Your hands always reached for the nearest trunk to hold on to, your left leg didn’t react well to the weight you tried to put on it, so you just dragged it.

To your surprise, when you closed in on the man lying on the tracks, he was moving - and still there.

"John?", you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath, anxiously looking around. Nobody was close, even the train was so far ahead by now, that the gun shots were muffled.

When you got no response, you nudged John with your boots which made him blink lazily. There was blood seeping through his shirt and jacket. Had you ever seen so much blood? It was his left shoulder, too.

For a few seconds you just stood there, wondering. Would he even survive? How should you get him to your cabin?

In an act of desperation, you whistled, hoping your horse would be close by. And it was. You had to hold back tears of joy when it came galloping along.

"John", you squatted next to him, even though the movement hurt you greatly, "Come on, we gotta get out of here. I can't lift you on my horse alone."

Thank God, your horse was well trained and knew how to lower itself for people to get on from the ground. You still had to pull and push the half-conscious man, but you had a significantly easier time. Your body ached from all the straining, and you were quiet sure that whatever damage you had taken from the fall was significantly worsened by the exercise, but it wasn’t like you had a real choice.

You rode, as fast as the constitution of your horse would allow, straight to your cabin. The sun was setting when you arrived. John had passed out a couple of times during the ride, and it was only when you had given him some alcohol to drink and had cleaned and bandaged his wound, that he passed out - but snoring and quiet peacefully.

You had no time to inspect your own body and assess the damage the fall had done, because as soon as you were done with John and had thrown him onto your bed, you heard a horse approach.

Jack and Tilly.

According to Tilly, Arthur was still alive, but had gone to Annesburg with Sadie to get Abigail who had been taken by Pinkertons. This scared you shitless, but at this point you were too exhausted to show it. Instead, you offered Jack something to eat and then had the two of them settle down inside the house. You waited at the garden gate, listening for riders.

It was dark and almost midnight when you saw a dim light in the distance. It came from the opposite direction of where you'd expected Arthur to come from, so you pulled your gun. But soon, you were able to make out the rider. The dim light of a lantern illuminated Sadie and behind her on the horse, Abigail.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Last chapter: here

I apologize for the many typos, but I figured it was better the chapter would see the light of day instead of rotting in my drafts any longer. Took me way too long to begin with heh.

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon @nervousmumbling @pheesupremacy @destroyer-of-za-warudo @ratbrainbabycowboyprincess

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction

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certifiablyinsanez · 19 days

Text

This post is dedicated to our favorite sexual sacrifice, Emberlynn Pinkle, and why she is an important character even if we never see her again. Let’s buckle in for a crazy character analysis of someone we’ve only seen for 4 minutes.

There are many facets of this short that hold importance, including but not limited to the mysterious pendant, any potential foreshadowing, parallels between Emberlynn and pre-Ozzie’s Stolas, etc. What I want to talk about is the character of Emberlynn herself and what is truly represents.

Many anti’s of the show are foaming at the mouth over her, particularly the fact that Emberlynn is a caricature of the Hellaverse fandom that was created specifically to make fun of us. Funnily enough, many of us who have been in actual fandom spaces are not unfamiliar with people like Emberlynn, and at some point, a fair number of us admit to being like her, which is the main thing I want to touch on.

People watering Emberlynn and the short down to a cheap shot at fandoms and fans of the show is intellectually lazy. It can be seen as a critique of peoples’ own biases considering many of us that have been in fandom spaces have done so for a long time. And it’s funny, because these people have been threatening to doxx fans, harm them, send messages to their bosses to get them fired, to schools so they’d lose scholarships, etc. The kind of people that would order a hit on us in hell…Many anti’s and people who are against cringe culture often participate in it unwittingly. Take for instance, the anti’s of the Hellaverse shows who dedicate entire blogs to picking apart everything from character interaction to even three second frames. They take over the tags associated with the fandom just so they can pump bitter content out, and are actively hostile when fans confront them over their weird behavior. Because fans of Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel are normally not the kind of people who would watch entire seasons, keep up on content and lore, or interact with actors and fandom over something they hate. We would just…not watch it and not interact. And it’s that kind of strange behavior that is intrinsic in fandom. Fandom spaces have forever had a dark side, that much is undeniable, but now more than ever there has been an influx of people unaccustomed and socially unequipped to participate and interact in the spaces that have been infesting it.

I have been in fandom spaces since 2013 and my first fandom was Hetalia. If you know you know. Many people in these spaces have been targeted for being “freaks” for years, but the areas where we have thrived, made friends and enjoyed ourselves was relatively untouched by the “normies”. That’s definitely changed in recent years, especially when the pandemic forced people who would normally socialize in other spaces come to ours. We all remember alt fashion blowing up in 2020 just for people to be finding entire wardrobes of it at goodwill not even 2 years later. And when they came in, they started adding rules and stipulations. They would allow themselves permission to interact with us weirdo outcasts, but only in a way that could give them plausible deniability later when they knew the trend wouldn’t last. They would enter a space that was nerdy and when furry iconography would show up they would whine about furries “making it weird” when it was already “weird”. They would dress and call themselves punk but still think it was important to listen to “both sides”. And when it comes to the Hellaverse, it’s popular, and entering the mainstream via Amazon picking up Hazbin, but if you’re not willing to be critical of its unsavory parts then you’re complicit in things like rape, violence, drug use, etc.

These people have infiltrated our community, which sounds extreme but when I remember it from my teen years vs now, I think these people genuinely would’ve combusted on sight. Like I said before, I was in the Hetalia fandom for many years. If you don’t remember, people were cosplaying as Germany and doing the Nazi salute at cons and concentration camps. It was bad. It was equivalent to our new blackface Alastor controversy. Back then, the fandom handled it ourselves. We all agreed that that was unacceptable behavior, and people would express disgust, but they were also productive. Fans would post about how we needed to realize that there was real history behind this show and that we needed to be mindful when participating in that environment. I saw many cosplayers altering their costumes to be more mindful. Germany cosplayers would refuse to wear iron cross, which isn’t even technically solely fascisitic in nature, but did it anyway because it was seen as respectful. I’ve seen a resurgence of the fandom on tiktok recently and all of us are allowing ourselves to enjoy it, because for years we had to pretend that we were stupid weirdos for liking it to begin with. Fandom has to allow itself to be cringe again, as it has been affected by people that are in an echo chamber of self righteousness and acceptability.

Getting back to Emberlynn, I have hardly ever seen a take off of a character like this. Even when it was shown that Baxter was coming in season 2 of Hazbin I saw maybe a handful of fan arts and videos. But Emberlynn has EXPLODED. I watched the short when it had been out for only 26 minutes, and within the hour my feeds across all social media were full of her.

I genuinely think that it’s because she is the epitome of fandom, where all of our cringe has been rolled into one character. Her self insert name is literally a reference to old fandom. She’s a proshipper, a selfshipper, she gets into shipping wars and has been fighting with people online for almost a decade. She said the pendant was from an episode “569”, which is strange wording because episodes aren’t usually formatted that way in any sort of media, which could potentially mean that she’s watched over 500 episodes of Akuma no Otto. Her room is full of pornographic material, figurines, the BODY PILLOW. I mean come on. Her parents are fully aware that she watches hentai. She was upstairs moaning and crying while interacting with Blitz and being stabbed and her parents did not go up to check on her, nor think it was out of the ordinary. She is pastel goth, a subset of the gothic culture, and writes self insert fanfiction. She’s A MONSTERFUCKER. HELLO?? When everyone in the Hellverse is as hot as they are…come on. When she dies and goes to hell her sinner form has furry influences. All of us love her because even if we were never fully like her (ie stalkerish, obsessive), we’ve been like her in some way at some point, or even now. I write fanfiction. I’m part of alternative fashion and culture. I’ve been into cringe stuff for a while. I’m not necessarily super into furry stuff, but I love the suits, the artistry and even had an idea for an oc once. My profile pic is literally my Sinner OC.

Emberlynn is a return to form for the standard of fandom spaces and I think to those of us that truly embrace the lifestyle, it’s refreshing. She does not exist in the realm of acceptability; she’s fat, intense and unapologetic. And yet, she’s still super hot, funny, and entertaining. We don’t love her because she’s a respectable fan, we adore her because she’s insane. I’m a cofounder of a Facebook group about being fans of the Vees and we all agree that she would actually do well with Valentino, because that cutie needs some disrespectful eldrich cock ASAP lol. It’s refreshing, and even if we never see her again, I still find her completely relevant and interesting.

Emberlynn Light’ness Demonanya Pinkle, you are PRECIOUS.

#helluva shorts #helluva boss #helluva boss blitz #emberlynn pinkle #helluva boss emberlynn #Emberlynn Light’ness Demoanya Pinkle #hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hazbin memes #tumblr fyp #hellaverse #vivziepop #i love fandom #fandom

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 9 months

Text

Bully

Summary- Gareth decides to take up a summer job as a counselor at his old summer camp. Unfortunately, he didn’t expect to see you there too.

Genre- Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings- reader childishly bullying Gareth when they’re kids

Word Count- 1.9k

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @aidansloth @esme-viridian @toomanyfandomsimfanvergent

(tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added 🫶)

Gareth wanted to laugh as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

Jean shorts, sneakers, bright yellow tee with the camp logo plastered right on the front. The same as when he was a little kid, only now he was a big kid, and it looked just as ridiculous as it did then.

At least every other counselor was wearing the same thing.

He exited the bathroom and gave a few of the older counselors a wave as he made his way to the rec hall for orientation. He recognized a few faces from school as he entered the old building, just a few other people he would see in the halls in school. The place was just as he remembered it.

Yellow lights, wood paneled walls, and that familiar wet paint smell that seemed to never leave the halls. The nostalgia made him smile, remembering a few past moments from his time at summer camp. Swimming, hiking, and he always loved when he was able to look around the trees and bushes and bugs when they did nature walks. There was only one thing that he hated about camp and that was-

“Gareth?”

That voice made his body tense up immediately. He hadn’t heard it in so long, and yet he knew exactly who it was.

He turned and was shocked to see you standing there, same outfit as him, looking just the same as you did so many years back. You were older, but he still had that same feeling he did about you when he saw you last. And it wasn’t a good one.

“Hey,” You said with a smile, taking a few steps closer to him, “how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since we were little, you look…” Your eyes graced him up and down, “older. Like little you just got bigger.” You giggled.

He pursed his lips and tried to look anywhere except for your general direction. But his mother raised him too well to be anything other than a gentleman,

“Thanks.” He said plainly with a smile, “You look almost the same too. Save for, you know, getting taller and older and all that.”

He couldn’t stand the fact that he was forcing himself to be nice to you, and he knows that he shouldn’t hold a grudge over something that had happened so long ago but he just couldn’t look past it.

You made his life miserable, and now here he was, in the same predicament as he was all those years ago. Stuck at the same camp all summer.

“Are you counseling here too?” You asked him, noticing his uniform.

“Yep. Figured it would be nice for some extra money.” He shrugged and glanced inside the small room, seeing the other summer counselors taking their seats, “It was nice to see you again. Maybe we’ll run into each other again while we’re here.”

“Maybe.” You said with a smile as you turned and walked your way back, entering one set of double doors as Gareth entered the other.

It was strange seeing him after so long, and you’re sure you could sense he felt it was strange too. Maybe for a different reason than you…

The room was quiet, and as Gareth looked around there weren’t many open seats, just two near the middle were left open and he felt hopeful until he saw you sit in one of them. One empty chair left, and of course it was next to you.

He groaned to himself, making his way to the empty chair and keeping sure to not acknowledge you and focus his attention to the front of the room. Though he could already sense your eyes on him. Only quick glances here and there, but you couldn’t help but try to get a better look at him.

He had fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, not even paying attention to the camp director at the fronts yearly speech, announcing the new additions to the activities schedule and the new rules that had to be put in place thanks to a few of the campers sneaking off in the middle of the night to try and get to the kitchens for a midnight snack. He didn’t even notice his own name being announced until you nudged him with your elbow.

His attention was brought back to the camp director, announcing the two of you coming back to camp as counselors after being campers yourselves many years ago. But even the welcoming looks from the seasoned counselors and the much too bright smile of the camp director wasn’t enough to shake the bad feeling he had gotten since he saw you.

All those memories from years before had come flooding back into his brain after trying so hard to forget them. He remembered then why he hadn’t come back for so long.

He knew you were both grown now, just reaching the cusp of adulthood and having many of your own experiences as you grew up, but he didn’t care. That didn’t change the way you treated him.

When he saw you standing there in that hallway he couldn’t help the wave of unease that washed over him.

He didn’t see a girl he knew from camp nearly a decade beforehand, he saw the girl that made his life hell on earth for weeks on end.

The girl that would hide his change of clothes in the woods after swimming in the lake so he would be stuck freezing cold in a bathing suit for half the day. The girl that would accidentally step on his letters from home before he got to read them. The girl that time and time again would accuse him of being the bully just because she was a sweet and innocent little girl but he knew you were nothing close to sweet and innocent.

For the first time in his life, you showed him what hate felt like.

His zoning out has caused him to not realize the little start of camp meeting had ended, and he was one of the last people sitting in those uncomfortable plastic chairs.

He sighed and decided he wouldn’t let you get the best of him this year. He wasn’t going to let the bad memories of the place ruin his chance to many any good ones. He was no longer a scared boy, he was a man, or at least he was close to one.

Gareth stood up and walked out from the aisle of the rickety plastic chairs, following the other counselors outside to go to their selected cabins and meet the groups of kids they were each assigned for the year. He had only just stepped a few feet outside before he felt someone grab his shoulder,

“Hey,” It was you. Again. “Can i talk to you for just a sec?”

Gareth sighed and pulled his arm back, glancing over and seeing that the other summer counselors were still walking with the director,

“Sure.” He said to you, still trying to keep up with the group as you walked next to him.

“Look, i know that we didn’t get along all that well when we were kids-“

“That’s one way to put it.” He cut you off, and you could see that you being around was irritating enough to him.

“I know that i was a bitch to you, and i shouldn’t have been. I treated you horribly and you didn’t deserve that.” He could hear that you were being sincere, but he still couldn’t shake the fact that you had made him feel so horrible all those years ago.

“I didn’t. Why me? Why, out of all the other kids we were with, did you pick me to torment?” He couldn’t even look at you, keeping his gaze on the counselors a few yards ahead of you.

“I don’t know… To be honest with you, i didn’t even hate you. I don’t even think there was one time i thought i disliked you.” If there was any time to be honest with him, it was now, “I always thought you were really nice, and from what i remember you were pretty cool, for an eight year olds standards.” You smiled and let out a giggle to ease the tension but he had kept himself still.

“Look,” You quickly stepped in front of him, stopping your walk and making him finally look at you, wether he wanted to or not, “I just wanted to apologize. You didn’t deserve that, no one does, and i just wanted the chance to say that i’m sorry. So… I’m sorry.”

Gareth stood there and stared for a moment. You saw the puzzled look on his face and gave him a moment.

He wasn’t sure how to feel.

He was so angry at you for so long, years passing of him trying so hard to get rid of those terrible memories that you caused, and he wanted to still be mad at you but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to continue on with this anger he’d held onto for so long.

Though it can’t fix the damage you caused, it was still nice to hear you finally utter those two words he’d been waiting so long to hear.

All he wanted was an apology after so long, but now that he had gotten it, he didn’t know how he should feel towards you.

He looked you over for a moment. He couldn’t see that hateful girl anymore, all he could see now was a girl with a remorseful look on her face who very clearly felt so much shame for the way she treated him.

“Thank you.” He said plainly, not sure of what else to say that could make the situation any less awkward.

“Of course. I feel like an apology is well deserved for the way i treated you. And if you want to, maybe we could just use this summer as a fresh start with each other?” You wanted to be hopeful, and seeing his eyes finally lock with yours gave you the littlest bit of security you needed.

“Yeah.” He said with a smile, “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” You smiled back, “And i promise i won’t put a frog down your shorts this time.”

The two of you shared a laugh, and you thought you could see a bit of pink on Gareths cheeks as he looked down at his shoes.

“Good, that was definitely one i forgot about.”

You smiled and looked just up ahead of you at the other counselors huddled in a group, watching the girls and boys split up to their respective areas to meet the campers.

“I guess this is where we part.” You turned back to Gareth and gave him a small smile, “It really is nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too.” He smiled and nodded in agreement.

You reached your open hand out for him to take,

“Friends?”

He took your hand gently and shook it once between you,

“Friends.”

You held your hands for just a moment, enjoying the silence with one another before noticing the girls and boys moving further down the paths to their respective camps,

“I’ll see you around, ok?”

You smiled to him one last time, and he smiled back before his hand slipped from yours.

He watched as you quickly jogged to catch back up to the other girls, and he figured he should do the same, but he couldn’t help but stare with a smile for just another moment.

For someone he hated so much an hour ago, he even shocked himself with seeing how pretty you’ve gotten. A fresh start between you two would be the perfect thing in his eyes.

At least this time he’d be able to get to know a pretty girl.

(this was written for my summer camp AU event, if you’d like to request a fic or HCs for it please let me know!🖤)

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #gareth emerson #gareth emerson x y/n #gareth emerson fluff #gareth emerson x female reader #gareth emerson x reader #gareth stranger things #gareth the great #gareth emerson x you

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Note

Hi again Bestie!

This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!

aaa thank you so much for responding!!

OMG HI BESTIE!

Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!

(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)

Loathe/Lust

You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.4k

Spring, 2013

At the end of the world, there were very few constants.

One, you were fucking tired of jerky.

Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing.

Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller.

Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts.

Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky.

And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life.

Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit.

If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone.

But you were.

And you hated him for it.

And he knew that you hated him for it.

Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it.

“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.”

He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…”

“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him.

“I ain’t wrong.”

“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.”

He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out.

“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?”

“Big,” Joel said wryly.

You glared at him.

“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…”

“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…”

“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.”

You paused for a second, looking at him.

“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead.

You pulled on gloves.

“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?”

You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes.

“Anything you want me to tell people if…”

“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.”

You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive?

“Right.”

You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?”

“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.”

“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move.

There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved.

“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.”

He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed.

“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked.

You looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Every now and then.”

“He doin’ OK?”

“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.”

He shrugged.

“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.”

“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.”

You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze.

“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle.

“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.”

“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up.

“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.”

He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle.

“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips.

“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.”

He smirked.

“Whatever you say, Brat.”

You woke up early but Joel was already gone.

You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked.

“Just you.”

He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

“What…”

“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?”

He shrugged.

“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.”

“You really don’t…”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.”

He left while you were still staring at the book.

It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years.

This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door.

He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one.

“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies.

“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.”

“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly.

“Think so,” he called after you.

You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally.

He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller.

“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves.

“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…”

He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes.

“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it.

“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?”

“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!”

He was quiet and you went back to stitching.

“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment.

“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time.

“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…”

“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be.

“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.”

“Intervened?”

Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…”

“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair.

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.”

“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…”

You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time.

“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…”

“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…”

“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.”

You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller.

“Good to know.”

He was gone by morning.

The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”

“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him.

“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.”

Joel fucking Miller.

What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller?

It was two months before you saw him again.

This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked.

“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.”

“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?”

He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again.

“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.”

“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked.

“Every goddamn day.”

You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate.

“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?”

He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared.

You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face.

“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!”

You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim.

One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one.

“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic.

One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine.

Not this time.

You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there.

You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you.

Instead, it was Joel.

“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy.

He rolled his eyes.

“Move, Brat.”

You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning.

“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw.

“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…”

You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide.

“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.”

He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin.

“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.”

You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh.

“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke.

“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.”

“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him.

“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.”

“You and me both.”

It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup.

“What?” He frowned.

“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite.

Joel laughed.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.”

“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.”

You considered him for a moment. He frowned.

“What.”

“Why’d you do it?”

His frown deepened.

“Do what?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…”

“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer.

You scoffed.

“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.”

“How do you know I hate you.”

“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore.

“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little.

“You call me brat…”

“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…”

“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.”

“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him.

“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?”

“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!”

You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel.

“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…”

You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone.

After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?”

He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand.

“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.”

“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much.

He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission.

You gave it.

You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs.

Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you.

“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words.

“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…”

“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.

“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…”

“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.”

He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body.

“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…”

He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate.

“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…”

You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did.

“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?”

“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…”

“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.”

He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…”

He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them.

“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…”

You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release.

“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”

Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core.

“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back.

“Want me to what?” He asked.

“Beg for it.”

He smiled a little.

“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.”

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.

“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him.

He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too.

“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.”

“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…”

“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.”

You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow.

With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst.

“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…”

“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…”

He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you.

He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you.

“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine.

“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice.

“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest.

He laughed.

“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.”

You smirked.

“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?”

“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.”

“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.”

You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too.

He laughed a little.

“Night, Brat.”

His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.

#joel miller x female reader #fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #enemies to lovers

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jaethecreator · 5 months

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Aahh I was wondering if you could maybe write binnies reaction to Jisung buying him the skirts he had been eyeing for awhile, playfully ushering binnie off to try them on. ! <3

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay first request here we go, be prepared !! i hope you like it <3

Stray Skirts by @jaethecreator wc: 3.1k

Tags: BinSung, Cross-dressing, Skirts, Thigh Highs, Top Han Jisung, Bottom Seo Changbin, Fluff, Smut, College Student Han Jisung, Producer Seo Changbin, Slight Confidence Issues, Praise, Body Worship, BJ, Jisung is horny and Changbin suffers (in a good way).

If you looked at Seo Changbin from the outside, you’d have multiple thoughts. One: he can look quite intimidating. Many colleagues found the producer quite hard to approach. However, those close to him knew him as a mood-maker and the victim of many giggle-fits. Two: he was big. Large arms hugged by the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, and an even larger chest actively trying to escape said shirt. Three: his wardrobe was darker than most. The clothes Changbin tended to wear ranged from mostly ebony to cool black. No one but his boyfriend knew the plethora of colors hidden in his closet...

If you looked at Han Jisung from the outside, your thoughts would vary. One: he looked like a bit of a nerd. Large glasses with a sheepish smile were his go-to. Two: he’s quiet. The only time he wasn’t quiet was with close friends or his boyfriend. When he was comfortable, however, Jisung could be just as loud as any extrovert. Three: people assume he can’t be the top when standing beside his boyfriend. Behind closed doors though, the number of times he’d left Changbin pleased as punch with cum leaking from his hole was countless.

Initial thoughts aside, no one could guess from looking at the two in public that Changbin liked to cross-dress. Specifically, he loved to wear skirts. Feeling so free and pretty appealed to him more than he’d like to admit. When he’d first confessed it to Jisung, he was shy. The apples of his cheeks and the shells of his ears were pink, even as Jisung carded his fingers through Changbin’s curly hair and assured him nothing was wrong with what he loved. After learning the fact, he enthusiastically bought his boyfriend a skirt with hearts in his eyes the next day. Changbin found it hard to truly ask for things, always eager to please and satisfy—but there was nothing more that Jisung wanted to do than treat his boyfriend with whatever he wanted.

But Jisung didn’t just stop at one skirt.

Much to his wallet’s display (queue crickets chirping and cobwebs inside), Changbin was gifted skirts every two weeks. He still hadn’t built up the confidence to go shopping for them in person yet, so Jisung took to learning his sizing himself and surprising him every few weeks. Thankfully, an "accidental" discovery made his purchasing easier this week.

Changbin had left after having dinner with Jisung in their apartment to make his way to the studio he worked at, where he'd presumably be working on music till late at night. Unfortunately for Changbin, he had left behind his work laptop. Feeling stressed (even though it wasn’t him who left the computer), Jisung noticed and immediately grabbed the charging cord to unplug it. However, the unplugging of the laptop had woken the screen, and Jisung’s curiosity got the best of him.

The tab that had caught his interest was a site called Stray Skirts.

Jisung glanced side to side as if somehow Changbin was watching him (he wasn’t, obviously). He tilted his head as his eyes scanned the clothing website's page. After they settled on the wish-list icon at the top right, Jisung licked his lips determinedly and clicked once more. A screen filled with beautiful skirts opened, each selectively hearted by his adoring boyfriend. A soft coo left his lips, knowing Changbin would have looked drop-dead gorgeous in every single one. Truly, Jisung had never seen something not look perfect on Changbin—like it wasn’t made for him to wear.

Quickly choosing, Jisung added the top 3 skirts from Changbin’s wish list to the shopping cart. The first was a black faux leather miniskirt. The second skirt was a gorgeous mesh black floral print, much longer than the first one he’d seen. Lastly, the third and final skirt was Jisung’s favorite— a cream lace miniskirt that would pair beautifully with any piece in his boyfriend’s closet. He could already feel his heart fluttering just imagining Changbin opening his gifts and looking so pretty in his skirts, soft thighs spreading underneath them as he sat down. The way the leather of the first skirt would hug the front of his tummy and the curves of his ass, highlighting two of Jisung’s favorite parts of Changbin’s body. Warmth rose to his cheeks, while also sinking elsewhere.

"Get it together, Jisung..." He mumbled to himself.

Trying to calm his excitement, Jisung shook his head like a snow globe and began to put in his card information to make the purchase. He knew using the same account already logged in could risk Changbin finding out about the surprise, but Jisung couldn’t ignore that his boyfriend had reward points available to be used at checkout. Being a college student was tough, so if he could save money while pampering his boyfriend—Jisung was all up for it. After purchasing, he set up the tracking to be sent to his phone and email instead of Changbin’s.

Once he finished paying and knew he’d left no way for his boyfriend to discover the surprise, Jisung triumphantly puffed his chest and placed his hands on his hips—feeling proud of himself. However, this didn’t last long. The second he’d exhaled he felt his posture deflating, as he realized now he’d need to see his boyfriend in person and would have to keep the surprise a secret. Part of him started to feel a little guilty for taking so long to bring his boyfriend’s laptop, but surely he could forgive him in the name of love and romance.

Speaking of his boyfriend, it seemed he’d realized he’d left his work laptop at home by the vibration in his pocket. Changbin was calling Jisung’s phone asking him to bring it probably, so he put the computer away in its bag. Once he answered the phone, Jisung was greeted by Changbin’s sweet voice.

“Yeobo… I think I left my laptop on the coffee table. Can you bring it, please?”

“Jagi, please. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Not mine! My boyfriend would run 100 miles if I asked!”

“I would! You’d have to carry me back though, I don’t think my legs could take all that cardio..”

“Mine neither, but that’s beside the point! Be careful on your way, Jisungie—I love you!”

“Love you too hyung!”

If you saw Jisung’s face, you could tell his smile was warm and genuine. His eyes and lips shared the same expression, swelling with happiness and love after talking with Changbin on the phone. He couldn’t wait to see his boyfriend, even if he’d only been gone for an extremely short time. Was it possible to be just as excited about the gift as Changbin would be once he received it?

————————3 days later————————

The day the skirts arrived was perfect. Jisung’s classes were canceled because of an incident on campus, and Changbin had decided to work on some song lyrics at home. This meant the couple could be lazy together, basking in each other’s warmth and presence. There was nothing more that Changbin wanted to do than spend the day snuggled against his boyfriend.

Changbin had left Jisung’s koala grab to shower, returning from their bathroom with only a towel wrapped low around his waist. Wet messy curls rested perfectly on his head, looking more delicious than he did going in. Jisung couldn’t help but ogle at his boyfriend’s body, causing the other to smirk and flex his arms. However, Changbin's arms weren’t the first parts Jisung's eyes had landed on.

The swell of his chest came first. Jisung's eyes darted from the top of Changbin's hair to the pair of tits that stared straight at him. He knew the socially acceptable term for them was pecs, but the way the soft flesh often filled the cups of Jisung's hands said otherwise. As he watched Changbin, he couldn’t help but wet his lips. It was easy for Jisung to imagine his teeth taking each nipple into his mouth, giving both buds equal pleasure as he elicited the prettiest of whimpers from his beautiful boyfriend.

God, Jisung was puddy..

After his eyes had their way with Changbin’s plush chest, Jisung's eyes trailed down to the pudge at his waist. Jisung had lovingly marked the skin there plenty of times before and Changbin never tired from the attention. He found the softness of the other’s torso delectable, always trailing his lips and fingers over what he could. Jisung would take the flesh of Changbin’s tummy between his teeth, nipping with his nose pressed into his skin, hands resting on both sides of his waist. He'd hold his beautiful Binnie there, indulging in the little belly that had formed from never saying no to what indulged him.

He’d have continued surveying the sight before him, but at some point, he'd realized Changbin was trying to get his attention by calling his name.

“Baby?”

“Baby..?”

“Sungie...?”

“Sung-ah!”

“Jisung-ah!”

“Han Jisung!”

“Yah, are you even listening to me?! Hello?!”

Jisung was startled as he blinked, realizing he’d zoned out into his own Changbin fantasies when said fantasy was standing there. His eyes immediately looked up, watching as the other stepped closer towards him. Jisung’s hands moved to rest on Changbin’s hips. He held him there, giving him all his attention—his breath waiting on whatever word Changbin would say next.

The older had wanted Jisung to pay attention, but his eyes looked up at him like he was the stars in the sky. He couldn’t help but blush, feeling shyer by the minute.

“Wah.. what’s this atmosphere now? Do you feel bad for not answering?”

Changbin teased him with his words, then used one of his stubbier hands to push a curl behind the shell of Jisung’s ear. Afterward, he used the same hand to begin petting the back of Jisung’s head—an amused smile on his face.

“I was just thinking, Binnie. What’s up?”

“Did you not hear our Alexa? She said a package arrived. I was asking you if you ordered anything?”

“Ahhhh, did Alexa say that? She must be running low on battery.”

“Jisungie. She plugs into the wall.”

“..Right. Well, you should know by now what it is hyung! Did you think I’d forget your skirts?”

Feeling more bashful than before, Changbin looked down while smiling like a fool. Even though he loved the spoiling and pampering from his boyfriend, he’d never say it out loud—but Jisung could read him like a book.

“Yeobo.. you know you don’t have to buy me new ones every few weeks. I never wear them out in public anyways.”

Changbin spoke with a pout on his face. He felt guilty getting so many pretty skirts and never having the confidence to wear them out of the house. He wanted people to see them—he wanted people to see how much Jisung loved him.

A gentle hand meeting his cheek brought the older out of his thoughts. Jisung’s thumb rubbed the soft skin as he felt heat rising under it. When Changbin was blushing prettily like this for him, he couldn’t hide the satisfied smile that’d spread across his face.

“Doesn’t matter. I think you look perfect in every single one. And you feel happy in your skirts, right Binnie?”

Softly sighing, Changbin pressed his cheek further into Jisung’s hand, causing the apple of his cheek to squish against his palm. Jisung giggled at this, which in turn caused Changbin to as well. The sound alone reminded Jisung of wedding bells, but that was a thought for later.

“I’ll take that as a yes. While you finish drying, I’ll go and get the skirts! When I get back, you should give me a little fashion show~”

——————A few minutes later——————

Jisung returned to the bedroom holding the box of skirts as Changbin turned his attention to it. The other had simply changed into his briefs, prepared to get himself in a skirt soon. With a pleased smile, he broke the distance between them and began undoing the ribbon that tied the package together.

A soft gasp left Jisung’s boyfriend, which surprised him. Normally he was much louder than—

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! YOU DIDN’T!!!!! YAAAAAAAH!!!!”

Jisung’s hands had clamped over his ears, eyes screwed shut as he laughed. While Changbin let out happy noises and giggles, the younger was internally gushing at how overjoyed his boyfriend was. Jisung was sure they’d receive a noise complaint, but it was the furthest thing from his mind. When he saw Changbin excitingly putting on the mesh skirt, it felt like an invisible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Nothing felt better than making the other so happy.

Anything and everything he’d been stressing out over the past two weeks disappeared from his mind simply because of how happy his boyfriend looked. He’d remember them all tomorrow, but now—he felt free. Free to indulge in his lover’s happiness.

“Do you like them, jagi? I’ve been keeping it a secret!”

“Aish, how could you keep this from me?! They’re beautiful, just like the day I saw them online!”

“You know, I couldn’t have done it without you. We make a good team!”

“..What do you mean, Sung-ah?”

“Remember when you forgot your laptop hyung? I saw the site from there!”

“..Yah. So you spied on my laptop?”

“In the name of love! And romance! Romance isn’t dead! I kept it alive all by myself for the past 3 days, I swear!”

“You’re too funny sometimes... I’m just kidding, yeobo—that doesn’t bother me!”

“Oh thank god.. I thought I was in trouble.”

“Even if you were, how could I be mad when I look this good in the skirt you bought me?”

Jisung’s gaze lowered from Changbin’s face to the skirt he’d put on first, watching his boyfriend playfully wiggling his hips. Was it normal to find someone so cute and sexy all at once? The younger felt his lips parting to speak, but nothing came out as Changbin quickly motioned for Jisung to leave the room, claiming he had to grab something as a surprise for him.

“A surprise for me? Hyung, are you trying to one-up me?!”

“Don’t say something like that! I’m just returning the favor, that’s all. I’ve had them for a while anyways...”

Jisung tilted his head, curious about what his boyfriend could be referring to. However, Changbin gave him a look that meant “If you don’t leave now, I’ll make you leave” which was hot in theory, but he also didn’t feel like getting pushed out of their shared bedroom—so he exited on his own accord. When he returned, Jisung felt his jaw go slack.

Changbin was sitting on the bed wearing the cream skirt Jisung had bought him over his black briefs and a pair of white thigh-highs. Jisung’s mouth went dry as he took the view in, still not used to how cute his boyfriend looked wearing the clothing. Changbin’s legs were already gorgeous and thick, but the soft material of the thigh-highs stretching over his tanned skin and hugging his plush thighs was enough to send Jisung into cardiac arrest.

“You look like a dream.”

“Wanted to put the skirt on for you, Sungie. Wanted to look pretty when you came back.”

Changbin all but batted his eyelashes, even as Jisung walked closer to the bed. Using both hands, Jisung gently separated his boyfriend’s legs to give himself more access. One by one he placed kiss after kiss along the flesh of Changbin’s inner thighs, his hands smoothing up and down the outer sides. He could feel a subtle squirm here and there, which only filled Jisung with the confidence he needed.

Jisung carefully filled the space between them, one of his hands holding the back of Changbin’s head as he pressed their lips together, hovering over him. Once the older’s hands met his waist, Jisung deepened the kiss, free hand splayed against Changbin’s back. The hand that took solace in his curls began to tug, causing his boyfriend to whine softly as their lips parted. He knew it was time for him to make his baby feel good.

“So fucking gorgeous...”

He mumbled against Changbin’s plump lips, taking the bottom one between his teeth. Jisung gently laid the other against the bed, his hands moving to squeeze at his chest. Mewling and whining underneath him, Binnie was looking gorgeous—large muscles all for show. It was so sexy knowing that Changbin could overpower him at any second, but that he chose to submit so beautifully underneath Jisung every time.

Jisung gently licked a stripe between Changbin’s pecs, hands continuing their ministrations until he took a nipple into his mouth. A soft gasp left his boyfriend, Changbin’s lips performing a perfect “o” shape as his eyelashes fluttered. The younger couldn’t help the wetness of his lips as he pulled away, looking like a man possessed.

“Fuck.. feels like these tits were made for my mouth, hyung. Are they mine..? They’re mine, yeah?”

He pressed a kiss to the nipple he’d finished sucking on, then moved to Changbin’s other pec. Underneath him, his boyfriend could barely answer the question asked to him with a strained “Mhm..” The pleased noises escaping Changbin were a sign that it was time for Jisung to go further.

If Changbin hadn’t been able to answer fully before, Jisung pulling off his skirt and briefs and then taking him into his mouth had left him speechless. The lips around his cock sent a shiver down his spine, his toes curling in response as well. Jisung had Changbin throbbing between his legs, his strong hands gripping the bed sheets beside him. Moans escaped the older left and right, feeling debauched and at Jisung’s disposal.

“M’gonna cum, Sung-ah... Binnie’s gonna cum.”

Jisung hummed around his shaft as Changbin whined, feeling like he’d see stars soon because of how good the other made him feel. The fact that Jisung was still fully clothed in front of him somehow made it even sexier in the older’s eyes. He screwed them shut after the realization, doll lips so pretty and pink as they formed moan after moan. Jisung continued to swirl his tongue, sucking Changbin through until his orgasm.

With a huff, Changbin’s hips jolted several times before cumming into Jisung’s mouth. The younger was plenty prepared to take every drop while his boyfriend writhed on the bed sheets. While swallowing, Jisung gulped down Changbin’s load and pulled back, a groan leaving his lips.

“Hyung.. you look fucking delicious. Need to be in you... need my jagi filled with my cock.”

His voice was croaky, making Jisung sound so desperate for him that it took Changbin’s breath away. Quickly, the younger began pulling his clothes off and wriggling out of his underwear, revealing how hard and dripping with precum he was. Changbin gasps at the sight, eyes trained on his boyfriend as Jisung reaches into the nightstand for lube and begins coating his fingers. When his attention turned back to Changbin, a smirk was plastered across his face.

“You like being filled up.. right Binnie?”

#jae asks 💫#jae changbin writes 🐇🐷#jae jisung writes 🐿️#skz #stray kids #seo changbin #changbin #han jisung #binsung #skz changbin #skz jisung #skz han #skz writing #skz imagines

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