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punkshort · 1 month

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Roommates | 10. just us two

Pairing: (ex)pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into your new lives together.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol and food consumption, massive quantities of fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader is on BC), oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, some sex tape action 👀

WC: 7.1K

A/N: Okay, we've reached the end of the road for these two! I can't believe I'm wrapping up another fic, jfc. Thank you so much for sticking around and expressing so much love and excitement for this story. It means so much to me that I'm able to share this part of myself with people who are just as happy as me about these characters. This chapter wasn't really necessary, most loose ends are already tied up but they deserved to be happy, so this entire chapter is just love and fluff and smut. Shout out to @txtattoostark for listening to me yap and for the watermelon moonshine inspo. Enjoy, and thanks again ❤️

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Joel smiled to himself as he watched you in the kitchen with his mom from his spot in the living room. The old radio next to the sink, dusty and missing two buttons, was softly playing jazz music while you both worked on dinner. It wasn't the trailer park he grew up in. The small ranch house his mother bought with the life insurance money she received after his father passed away wasn't too bad. He begged her for years to let him give her some money, to buy her a place closer to town, to pay for new appliances at the very least, but she always refused. Instead, he found himself visiting her whenever he had a few days off so he could fix the sink or the washer or cut the grass.

He didn't mind. It was a good excuse to come visit. He enjoyed catching up and spending time with her.

But now, with you? Watching the way you seamlessly moved around the kitchen, laughing with his mom and stirring things in pots while swaying your hips in those tight denim shorts... yeah, this was different. This was much better.

"Hey, brother," Tommy said from behind, startling him out of his rosy daydream. Joel stood with a smile to engulf Tommy in a hug once he kicked off his shoes.

"You look tan," he remarked, then reached for Maria and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"New Orleans was sunny," Tommy said, holding some bottle of clear alcohol in his hand. "Brought back some moonshine. Watermelon. Mama's favorite."

"Oh, Tommy! Maria! You're back!" their mother cried from the kitchen before wiping her hands on a towel and hurrying over to the front door, her worn out blue slippers catching on the rug as she walked. "How was your honeymoon?" she asked after she squeezed them both within an inch of their lives.

"Amazing," Maria said happily. "We had such a great time. Have you ever been?"

Mrs. Miller shook her head. "Maybe James will take me one day."

"Is he here?" Tommy asked, handing his mother the liquor.

"No, he's visiting his daughter out of town this weekend. Come on, I have some snacks out."

The four of them entered the kitchen and you swiveled around with a big smile. Setting down the wooden spoon you were holding, you threw your arms around Maria's neck, then Tommy's.

"How was it?" you asked them, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

You and Maria fell into an animated conversation about some haunted ghost tour when Tommy cleared his throat and propped his hands on his hips.

The pair of you stopped talking to look at him questioningly, then realization dawned on you. You smirked and shook your head before digging into your back pocket to pull out a folded bill and slapped it into his palm.

"You were right, Tommy."

He laughed and tucked the money into his shirt pocket.

"Thought you mighta forgot."

Joel frowned and looked between the two of you curiously, but Maria seemed to know exactly what was going on because she was already chuckling to herself.

You glanced over at Joel, who was eating a cracker with cheese, and your expression softened. "Best hundred bucks I ever lost."

"The hell you givin' him a hundred bucks for?" Joel asked incredulously, but you just slipped your arms around his waist and rested your chin against his chest with a smile.

"I lost a bet," you told him.

He practically melted into a puddle under your touch. He couldn't get enough. After a year of denying yourselves or sneaking around, it felt so good to be open. He refused to ever take it for granted, so he tilted your face up and pressed a tender kiss against your lips. He felt your mouth twitch into a smile when Tommy groaned in fake disgust.

"Thought we were the newlyweds here."

You broke the kiss to shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Try and keep up."

Joel tossed his head back and laughed, then released his hold on you so you could return to the stove. Maria washed her hands and picked up a knife to chop vegetables and Tommy reached for the bottle of moonshine their mother left on the counter.

"Let's crack into this," he said, and Joel nodded. He weaved through the kitchen to open up the cupboard where the glasses were kept, grabbing five tumblers. You were swaying again with the music and you gently knocked into him with your hips, just enough to tease him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Watch yourself, baby," he warned with a wink before placing the glasses down next to Tommy so he could pour.

Joel couldn't remember a time he had seen his mother look so happy. The five of them sat around her dining room table, a table made for four but you all squeezed in, knees knocking together underneath, arms brushing against one another, and it felt perfect.

He leaned back in his chair after finishing his food, one arm draped along the back of your chair, his other hand loosely holding his glass of moonshine and he smiled. He tried to pay attention to Maria and his brother tell stories about their honeymoon, but he had a hard time looking away from you. Eventually, he stopped trying. His gaze slid down your face, admiring your smile and the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

He was so fucking lucky.

Tearing his eyes away to bring his glass to his lips, he caught his mother watching him across the table with a knowing smile. She winked at him before giving Tommy her attention once again and Joel felt his face warm.

Once dinner was over, he and Tommy stood to clear everyone's plates. A habit that was formed early on in their lives. Whoever didn't cook had to clean up.

After the dishes were done and the leftovers were packed away, the two brothers refilled their glasses and wandered out to the back porch where their mother, you and Maria had ended up.

Maria and Mrs. Miller were strolling around the yard, their mother pointing out plants and flowers and telling Maria some long winded story about each. The deer hate this one. Cindy up the street cut a chunk of this out of her garden for me, can you believe how big it is now? I got this from Home Depot on clearance half dead, look how good it's doing.

"Better go save her," Tommy murmured before jogging down the steps. Joel plopped himself next to you on the porch with a sigh and clinked your glasses together.

"Lucky you already got the flower tour earlier," he told you.

You bit your lip and chuckled. "She really loves her garden."

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was setting and you could hear the crickets coming to life all around you. Birds swooped anxiously overhead, rushing back to their nests for the night. A cool breeze floated through the air, rustling your hair and making you shiver.

"C'mere," he murmured, patting his thigh. You smirked and shook your head but put your glass down and stood to perch on his leg, wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly and giving him a chaste kiss.

He hummed in approval and licked his lips. "Taste good."

"Like watermelon?" you asked, fingers twisting around the long strands of hair on the back of his head.

He nodded. "And you."

You kissed him once again, lingering a bit longer that time so you could fully appreciate the softness of his lips between yours and breathing in deep the scent of soap still stuck to his skin.

Then voices began to grow louder behind you, indicating your alone time was coming to an end.

Tommy stumbled on the stairs leading up the porch and you turned around on Joel's lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you right where you were, before teasing his brother.

"Better take it easy. You been out for two weeks at work, you ain't callin' in tomorrow 'cause you're hungover."

Tommy rolled his eyes and took your abandoned chair.

"Yes, boss."

"How are things at the bar, Joel?" his mother asked, sitting down with a sigh. "I'm so glad you found some work I can actually tell my girlfriends about without lying."

You stifled a giggle and glanced at Maria, who was also trying to hold back her laughter.

"Good, Mama," Joel said, ignoring her other comment. His chin came to rest over your shoulder as he spoke. "The remodel is done. Opened up the room so there's a place to dance. Easier for customers to move around. Everyone's been real excited to see the changes. Been busy."

"He's been working so hard, too," you added, twisting to your side so your fingers could lovingly rake through the hair on the back of his neck. "Some days I don't even see him."

Mrs. Miller gave you a sympathetic look but you could tell she was proud of her oldest son for venturing outside his comfort zone and applying himself.

"So you're all moved in, I take it?" Maria asked, and you nodded.

"Didn't really have much. Most of my things were still packed from when I moved out."

"She's been sprucin' up the place, too. You oughta see it," Joel said fondly. "Got pretty lookin' art on the walls, fluffy pillows and blankets for the couch. Actually got some food in the damn fridge, too."

Tommy laughed heartily. "That mean you'll stop swipin' fries and shit from the kitchen?"

"Hey, I'm payin' for those fries. I'll take 'em if I want 'em," he said with a scowl, then looked up at you, his eyes softening. "But it's nice to have dinner waitin' for me at home," he added, bringing a smile to your face.

"You were always terrible at cooking," you teased, tugging on his earlobe playfully between your fingers.

The night dragged on, the stars lit up the quiet night sky and Mrs. Miller eventually began to yawn, indicating it was time to head home.

Home.

It felt so right to think of it that way. It was where you belonged. But you knew it wasn't simply the house. You could have been living in a shack and you would still be just as happy because it was with him.

Joel gripped your thigh while he drove his truck with one hand on the steering wheel. The windows were down, the wind whipped at your face, tangling your hair when you turned your head to gaze over at him.

"See anythin' you like?" he teased when he spotted you admiring him from the corner of his eye.

You giggled and felt his fingers squeeze your bare leg.

"You know what I want?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and his eyes darkened with excitement. "What's that, sweetheart?"

You seductively ran your palm up his arm, sighing at the way his muscles twitched under your fingertips.

"I would really, really love... a vegetable garden."

You laughed at the way his face fell in mock disappointment.

"I'll build you a vegetable garden," he finally said as he turned onto your street.

"Really?" you asked with a huge smile. He nodded and shot you a wink.

"'Course. Whatever you want, baby."

Joel stayed true to his word. About a week later you woke up on Saturday morning to the distant sound of a hammer beating a piece of wood in the backyard. Stretching a lazy arm out to your side, you pouted when you found Joel was missing.

Then the pieces slowly clicked together.

It was a rare weekend off for him. You had been talking about it for the past few days. He was looking forward to Tommy returning to work so he wouldn't be so short staffed and he could relax with you for two whole days. You didn't come up with any plans except laying in bed, ordering takeout and watching movies, content to just spend time together. But Joel sweetly surprised you by waking up early, something he absolutely detested, so he could build you the vegetable garden you asked for.

You lightly padded down the steps still clad in your tank top and shorts to grab a mug from the cupboard. The coffee pot sizzled with heat when you plucked it from the burner, half the liquid already gone. Once you fixed it the way you liked, you walked out onto the back deck and leaned over the railing, your mug cupped in both hands, to fully appreciate the sight before you.

Joel had his back to you as he crouched over a simple rectangular wooden frame on the ground. You could see the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and it made your mouth water. As your eyes traveled lower, you noticed the dark patches in his shirt forming at his collar and between his shoulder blades, making your thighs clench together while he worked, completely oblivious to you watching him, listening to him grunt and sigh when he lifted a new piece of wood.

You swallowed thickly before taking a sip of your coffee, your eyes never leaving his form while he stood to stretch his back. He lifted his hat from his head and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. Something was so fucking hot about him getting all sweaty and worked up, but on that particular day? When he was making you something, sacrificing his rare down time just for you? It lit a fire inside you that couldn't be tamed.

Before he noticed, you scooted back inside to fill up a glass of ice water. With your hand hovering over the door handle, you got an idea that sent a jolt of arousal right through you. Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you pulled down your shorts and underwear, kicking your panties off to land on the couch, and shimmied your shorts back on.

Your pulse was fucking racing with excitement when you stepped outside once again, but this time you made sure to make a little noise so Joel would hear you. When the door clicked shut, he turned around and grinned before setting down his tools and stepping into the shade.

"Thank you, darlin'," he murmured when you handed him the water.

"You're welcome," you replied, your hands clasping behind your back as you practically vibrated in place with nervous energy. His eyes flicked down your body curiously right when he was finishing up his drink.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, sensing something was off while he set the glass down on the deck.

"Mhmm," you said, a nervous grin spreading across your face. "Missed you, though."

He chuckled and wiped some sweat away from his face with the bottom of his shirt. Your mouth went dry and your eyes instantly locked onto his tanned stomach and the dark smattering of curls that led below his waistband. The sleep shorts you were wearing were thin. If they were a lighter color, you could probably see right through them if you really looked. As it turned out, they were also terrible at absorbing moisture because they were sticking uncomfortably to your inner thighs while you waited for him to notice.

"Huh?" you said when you realized he was speaking.

He shook his head and dropped his shirt back down. "I said, I'm makin' you the damn garden you wanted."

You inched forward and took his hand in yours. "Well, do you think it can wait? Because I need to show you something inside that needs your help."

Somehow, he was still not picking up what you were implying.

"Baby, I'm on a roll. I just need another hour, maybe two-"

You tugged the hand you were holding between your legs and his eyes widened when he felt the wetness waiting for him there.

"Sorry. Got tired of being subtle," you told him with a playful smirk. He whipped his head around, checking to see if any of the neighbors were out tending to their lawns or enjoying their morning coffee on their patios while his fingers hooked around the soaked material.

You saw in his face the exact moment he realized you were bare underneath your shorts. It was like his brain was buffering, desperately trying to calculate how long he allowed you to stand there practically begging to be fucked while he rambled on about a goddamn garden. The surprise in his features slowly faded into the hazy, lust filled gaze you were so familiar with, and you smiled triumphantly.

"Get your ass inside right fuckin' now before I do somethin' that'll get us both thrown in jail," he growled, something primal shifting in his face while his body flooded with arousal, his need for you dripping heavier in his veins with each steady beat of his heart.

You squeaked and covered your ass when he swat at you from behind, then you hurried past him, back into the house.

Looking back on it, to think you would have made it upstairs to your bedroom was comical. His hands grabbed your hips halfway up the carpeted steps, pulling you down as you laughed giddily and pretended to try to fight off his attack, clawing fruitlessly at the stairs while he smiled into your lower back where his mouth was alternating kisses and bites across your skin.

"You wanted attention, you got it," he mumbled before yanking your shorts down and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your ass. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to make you yelp in surprise and leave a few linear indents in your skin.

Joel usually took his time with you. He preferred it that way. He liked to watch your face as he tormented you between your legs. He liked to see what new sounds he could pull from your throat when he changed an angle.

But not that day.

No, that day he yanked your shorts all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder and down the steps before grabbing your hips with his hands, all rough and sweaty from working outside.

You braced yourself for the inevitable stretch, the welcome yet slightly painful intrusion that you yearned for, but what happened next shocked you.

Your eyes widened and you gasped when you felt his mouth descend on your pussy from behind, his tongue immediately setting an intense pace, which was a change from the way he usually ate you. But speed and passion weren't the only variation. He never, ever went down on you from behind before.

"I- J-Joel, what are... oh," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as he lapped eagerly at your core. Instinctively, you spread your hips and sunk down further onto his mouth. Your cheek was rubbing harshly against the carpet and your lips were parted, allowing a small trail of drool to trickle down your chin. If you had any awareness left, you might have cared, but the pleasure he was building between your legs left your brain completely numb.

"Oh, fuck yes, Joel - keep going, just like that," you groaned, reaching behind you blindly to grab a fistful of his hair. "Fuck you and that fucking mouth," you gasped when his tongue flatted against your clit. He chuckled against your core but didn't stop. His hand slid up the back of your thigh and gave your cheek a firm jiggle before smacking his palm down across your ass. You jolted forward, your forehead bumping up against the next step, and cried out for more so he did it again, but on the other side.

"You like that?" he panted, pulling away from you for just a moment to catch his breath. You arched your back, giving him a generous view of the mess he left between your legs and he was afraid for the first time ever that he might come completely untouched. He inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw your cunt pulse, calling to him like a goddamn siren at sea. "Fuck, so beautiful," he growled before closing his eyes and picking up right where he left off.

His thumbs spread your lips so his tongue could tease your entrance, scooping up your arousal and rutting his hips against the stairs, eating you like he was about to go off to war.

"I'm... oh, shit, Joel!" you exclaimed, pulling at his hair roughly so he wouldn't dare try to stop when you were so close to your climax. And he could sense it. He was good at that. He knew what you needed sometimes before you even knew. So once again, he brought his palm down sharply across your ass, a little harder that time but not too much. Just enough to leave a few seconds of sting, electrifying your nerve endings and pulling you over the edge.

Two tears rolled down your cheeks when you came. The little bit of pain from his hand and the carpet digging into your cheek and knees mixed with your pleasure in such a way that it left you breathless.

Finally, once he felt your legs begin to tremble and whimpers fell from your lips, he pulled away with a deep gasp. His eyes were pinned to the way your pussy looked; all drenched with a combination of his spit and your release, and he cursed under his breath.

"She looks so fuckin' good, baby, wish you could see what I see," he murmured, mesmerized as he continued to stare without any shame. You hardly had any of your senses. Your breath was ragged and your throat was dry but still, you tilted your chin and whispered, "show me."

A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes lit up.

"Yeah? You'd let me take a picture of this pretty pussy?" he asked, but he was already digging in his back pocket for his phone. You nodded, eyes still closed.

When both his hands left your waist, you arched your back a bit more and spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. You heard a deep groan rumble from his chest and he whispered, "fuckin' natural, baby," before you heard the shutter on his phone. One, two, three times at least you heard the familiar little click, click, then he leaned over your slumped body and slid his phone in front of your face.

"See? Look at you. Look at what I get to see," he murmured into your ear. Your eyes opened and widened as you stared at your wrecked pussy on the screen.

"Oh, wow," you breathed, not expecting at all to find it sexy, but you did. You fucking did. "Look at what you did to me," you said, craning your neck over your shoulder. His eyes flickered with heat and his mouth crashed down onto yours.

"Just wait til I split you open on my cock," he said, his voice rumbling against your back. "Have you all stuffed full with my cum. Now that's a pretty sight."

You groaned and shakily pushed yourself up.

"I'm begging you, please, Joel... do not fuck me on these stairs. My knees are killing me."

He laughed and helped you stand, legs wobbling just a little.

"Nah. I got an idea and we can't do it here."

You laid underneath the covers in bed, your lower half still bare and your tank top still on while you nervously chewed on your lower lip, watching Joel at the foot of the bed tinker with a camcorder he had buried somewhere in his closet that he swore up and down he never used with anyone else.

Never wanted to before, he had said when you eyed it suspiciously after he explained he swiped it from a set when it was used as a prop in one of his films years ago.

"Battery's dead but I'll just leave it plugged in," he said, then he flipped out the little screen tucked into the side of the device and swiveled it around so it was facing out. He set it on his end table and adjusted it until he was satisfied with the angle, then looked over his shoulder with a grin.

"You sure?" he clarified again. Your eyes flickered from him to the camera, then back again.

"Yeah," you squeaked, your voice very clearly betraying you. His gaze softened and he leaned across the bed to press a chaste kiss against your forehead.

"We don't gotta do this," he assured you. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"No," you replied, shaking your head. "I want to, I'm just nervous."

He scoffed and readjusted himself so he was lying next to you, blocking the idle camera.

"Nothin' to be nervous 'bout. It's just for me 'n you," he murmured before cupping your face and pressing his lips tenderly against yours. When his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, you sighed and looped your arms around his neck, melting into his embrace and deepening the kiss. His hand slid down from your cheek to squeeze your breast, groaning a little when he pinched your nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

His lips dragged down to your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat until he found a spot he liked and latched on while pushing the sheets from your body. The anticipation bubbled up while his hand continued to travel lower, your legs instinctively falling open for him. You finally relaxed when he successfully distracted you with his fingers through your folds and gasped as he slid two inside you with ease.

"Oh, yeah, you're ready for me," he moaned into your neck, his erection bordering on painful. He exhaled shakily when one of your hands wrapped around his length and began to gently stroke him, your palm so soft and warm that he almost forgot about the camera.

"C'mon, baby, sit up f'me," he said, pulling his hand from between your legs and leaning back so he could kick his jeans off. You scrambled to sit, your breaths coming in shallow pants as you watched him tug his shirt over his head. When he reached for the hem of your tank top, he paused and turned to tap the record button on the camcorder. Instantly, your limbs went rigid and your hands fell to your lap, covering yourself, but when he turned back to you he pinched your chin in his fingers, pulling your nervous gaze from the camera lens.

"Eyes on me," he told you, his voice low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded and raised your arms so he could peel off your tank top. He tossed it onto the floor and sat back on his heels to admire the way your tits sat exposed to him, his eyes darkening when your nipples hardened with arousal. He lunged forward and took one in his mouth, his hot, wet tongue lavishing your pebbled skin before switching to the other one. You tipped your head back and moaned, mouth open as you stared up blankly at the ceiling, your fingers rising to get tangled in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, planting little kisses all over your chest and circling his arms around your ribs, tugging you closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trembling when his cock pressed between your bodies, his erection sliding through your wet heat and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

"I-I need you," you whimpered, weakly lifting your hips into his lap.

"I know, baby, I know," he hummed. One hand dropped to cup your ass so he could reposition his legs underneath you, then flexed his hips so the tip of his cock lined up with your opening. "Want me to fuck you just like this? Sittin' in my lap?"

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with desire as you tightened your grip around his neck. The second he pressed into you, you gasped. He watched with adoration as your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, breathing deep and slow as you relaxed and slowly took him.

"Joel," you whispered, jaw slack. "Joel, I love you."

He moaned and pulled your hips flush with his, forcing you to take the last few inches all at once. "I love you, too, baby. Christ, you're incredible. Fuckin' look at you."

Look at you. His words made you remember the camera. Your eyes flickered over to the little rectangular screen, the outline of your bodies perfectly centered, and you swallowed tightly.

"Pretend like it's the mirror," he whispered in your ear as he began to gently rock in and out, "just like the mirror at the hotel, okay?"

You nodded and sighed, your shoulders loosening and your muscles relaxing as you began to roll your hips in rhythm with his. He tightened his grip around your middle, his body engulfing you in warmth. You rested your head on his shoulder as he continued to fuck you nice and slow, stretching you out around him, reaching depths that had you reeling.

This was it. There was nothing else outside those four walls. You had everything you ever wanted right there. The way he kissed you, touched you, made love to you always left you feeling so safe. Deep down, you always knew he was the missing piece in your life, the mysterious thing you kept searching for in others and were always left disappointed. Because nobody else ever loved you and cared for you the way he did.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you told him, your tongue dragging up his neck, collecting the dried sweat with a moan. You began to bounce in his lap a little faster and he immediately matched your pace with thrusts of his own.

"I'm the one who's lucky," he said through clenched teeth. He exhaled heavily through his nose and tucked his chin to his chest so he could watch himself disappear inside your cunt. "So soft. Softest pussy. So fuckin' warm and wet, you feel so good. Goddamnit, every fuckin' time..."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to him ramble. "Maybe we're both lucky."

He chuckled and you gasped when his cock brushed up against that one spot that made you see stars. You feverishly grabbed his face with both hands and bit desperately at his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth and making him groan.

Your body was loose and pliant now, so with more confidence you quickened the roll of your hips, relishing in the way his cock felt dragging in and out of you, how your clit rubbed against the coarse hair at his base, in the noises you managed to pull from his throat each time your skin slapped together.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Show me what you like. Oh, good girl," he groaned, hands sliding up your back to hold you as you began to lose yourself. He could see it in the look in your eyes and the way your fingers dug into his shoulders.

It was the most beautiful fucking thing.

Your body moved perfectly in tandem with his, your sharp gasps and his deep groans filling the room, the camera long forgotten by now.

"Oh, god, I'm close," you whimpered as you felt the heat that had been building begin to quickly creep up and spread through your stomach. "Oh, fuck. Oh, god... Joel, don't stop, please..." you begged, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your vision began to blur.

"I ain't stoppin'. C'mon, give it to me, lemme feel you," he growled. He snapped steadily into you now, each thrust punctuated by a grunt while his eyes locked on yours, watching with pride as you crumbled and fell apart, your walls squeezing him so beautifully as you came that it nearly pulled him right over the edge with you.

It happened fast. One second you were in his lap, your body tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the next he had pulled out of you and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Only when you felt his thick cock slide back inside did you fully realize you had switched positions. And shit, taking him from that particular angle always was so much more intense, but combined with the fact that your new view included the camera in the corner of your eye made everything so much more powerful.

You could fucking see him now and you couldn't look away, completely entranced with the way his face looked as he slammed into you. His mouth hung open as he looked down at you with what could only be described as complete and utter desire. You could feel his hand running up the length of your spine but you could also see the look of worship in his eye, the way his face twisted in pleasure when he watched your ass ripple from the force of his hips, and you felt a heavy wave suddenly crash over you once again.

"Oh, fuck!" Joel groaned loudly as he watched another orgasm shoot through you. His hands grabbed at your waist to try to keep you still, but you were trembling everywhere and you couldn't hold yourself up any longer.

You fell onto your elbows, the side of your face pressing into the bed while he held up your hips, fucking into you harder now that he could tell you were spent. "I'm gonna come, baby, I'm -" he cut himself off with a desperate whine, the buildup from the past hour or so becoming too much and causing his release to intensify.

Your bodies finally stilled and he pumped you full of his spend, his groans getting caught in his throat as he pulsed inside you. He watched in a daze when his cum started to leak out even though he was still inside, and without thinking, he snatched the camera from the bedside table so he could get a close up.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he whispered hoarsely, chest heaving and hands shaking as he held the camera at his chest, pointing it down to where you were connected. "So glad you're back on the pill. Fuckin' beautiful, all full of me like this. Shit," he muttered, swiping a finger to collect some of his release to rub it over your clit. With a whine, your body jolted forward and he chuckled before dropping his hand, knowing you were too overstimulated.

"Joel," you whispered tiredly. Your eyelids were heavy and your thighs were shaking from the effort of holding yourself up.

"I know, baby, just one more thing and then I'll clean you up," he promised. He took a deep breath and steadied the camera before slipping out of you.

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat when he watched through the lens the way your body leaked of him, your pussy all swollen and stretched out, completely fucked, messy and used.

"Jesus," he croaked, wishing he could keep filming but your body sagged forward and he stopped the recording before tossing the camera onto the other side of the bed so he could check on you.

"You alright?"

You nodded, eyes closed, lips bitten raw, hair a complete mess but you still wore a satisfied smile.

"Tired. I think I'm gonna just..." you yawned and stretched out your shaky limbs. "Just gonna close my eyes for a sec."

He grinned and stood up to go to the bathroom, plucking a couple clean washcloths from the linen closet and wetting them both under the faucet so he could clean himself up with one and take the other back to you.

"Did you eat?" he asked softly as he gently and carefully dragged the washcloth through your thighs. You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm gonna go make you somethin'. Gotta eat, honey," he whispered before kissing the top of your head and covering you with the sheet. But by the time he came back upstairs with a bagel and cream cheese, you were fast asleep.

So you're getting married, then?

Well, he hasn't really asked me, not in so many words.

Four, you mean?

Huh?

Well, that's how many it takes: will you marry me?

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard two familiar voices reciting an even more familiar dialogue from the television, the volume turned down so low, you could hear the neighbor's dog barking from four houses down.

Joel shifted in bed next to you as quietly as he could, unaware you had awoken. You peered up at him, hair all messy, chest still bare, and you smiled when you caught him stifling a laugh at Audrey Hepburn.

"Hey," you said, voice coming out rougher than you expected, so you cleared your throat. He immediately muted the television and turned toward you, grinning as his eyes raked up and down your sleep-addled face.

"Hey, yourself," he said softly. He pushed the hair off your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek while he continued to examine you closely. "Feelin' okay?"

You nodded and yawned, stretching your sore legs out underneath the blankets. "You fucked me into a coma."

He laughed heartily and rubbed his palm over his chest, embarrassment flushing his bronzed skin.

"But I guess that's what I get for shacking up with a pornstar," you added with a giggle. He tossed his head back and laughed even louder at that and you couldn't resist, his happiness too infectious. You inched forward and nuzzled into his side, his arm dropping to wrap around your shoulders.

When the laughter died down, he gazed lovingly at you and, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, reminded you, "ex-pornstar, but I suppose old habits die hard, huh?"

"Mm, maybe, but that's okay," you said, tracing light, invisible patterns on his stomach. "It's nothing I can't handle."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked. "Careful, or I might have'ta hold you to that."

"Bring it on, superstar," you whispered before leaning up and pressing a gentle, soft kiss against his mouth. You licked your lips and hummed before looking up at him through your lashes. "Cream cheese?"

"I made you a bagel, but you fell asleep," he admitted, "but figured we could relax the rest of the day. Order in, watch movies... just like we said we would."

"I don't remember saying we would do all that naked," you teased.

"Thought that was implied, baby," he said with a frown. "You shacked up with a pornstar, what'd you expect?"

What did you expect? Did you ever imagine your life would turn out the way it did? Sitting in bed with a sheet wrapped around you, eating Chinese food and watching a Turner Classic Movies marathon with the man of your dreams? You always wished for it; before you met, after you became friends, while you were carrying on an illicit affair, and even when you weren't on speaking terms, you always, always wished for it. But did you ever really think it would come true?

You couldn't really remember, and at that point, it didn't matter. Because you didn't care how you got there, just as long as you were together, you were happy.

You did exactly what he said you would do. You stayed in bed until the sun began to set, wasting the whole day away curled into his side watching old movies and pointing out your favorite parts, exactly the way you used to.

It was around nine when Joel suggested going out for ice cream. Let's get out, stretch our legs and walk along the river, he had said after vowing to finish your vegetable garden the next day.

And on your way out, your hands fused together even while he struggled to lock the door one handed, you looked at the chairs on his porch and smiled to yourself.

"What's that for?" he asked, tapping your cheek lovingly while you walked side by side to his truck.

"Nothing, it's stupid," you told him with a shrug.

"Ain't nothin' you got to say is stupid to me."

You sighed when he let your hand go so you could round the truck and hop into the passenger seat. After you clicked your seatbelt into place, he put the keys in the ignition but waited to turn it on. Instead, he looked at you expectantly with his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," you mumbled, "I'm gonna sound fucking crazy, but... fine."

"Oh, well now this I gotta hear," he said.

You gave him a look before turning in your seat to face him. "The chairs on your porch." He nodded.

"So far, not crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Remember when I came by to drop off the shirts for the Jack and Jill party?"

He nodded again and you could feel the self-consciousness begin to creep up.

"We weren't on great terms back then. I had just found out you bought a house. I felt like I hardly even knew you anymore. And I was so damn nervous, I didn't want to fuck things up even more than I already had, but when I saw you had two..." You paused when you saw the flicker of understanding cross his face. "I thought you maybe found someone else. I know. It's crazy, like I said."

Joel smiled and reached his hand across the seat to lace together with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Got the second one for you."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise.

"What?" you breathed.

He gave you a shrug and tilted his head bashfully. "I was just waitin' for you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckling yourself so you could stretch your body over to his seat and pull him into a deep kiss.

"I thought I lost you," you whispered against his mouth, and he chuckled.

"You didn't. I was all yours that very first night, sweetheart."

You didn't even try to deny it. He was right. It seemed so obvious now. Why didn't you see it back then? But before you began to mentally chastise yourself for being so bullheaded, you stopped. You couldn't change the past, something you've been learning to accept in therapy for months now, but what you could do was focus on your future. And while you sat next to Joel as he drove towards your favorite ice cream place in town, windows down and stars twinkling in the sky, you smiled because your future together looked pretty damn bright.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us au #roommates fic

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stars-for-circe · 2 months

Text

Save A Horse… (1000 Special) - Part 1

Tags / cw: headcanons, cowboy!ellie x high society/noble victorian!reader, 1800s dual Victorian and Wild West eras, historical romance, hidden/forbidden romance, sexual tension, fluff

Surrounded by other patrons in a busy seaside bar, Ellie sat in the corner booth, lazily swirling a whiskey glass in clockwise motions. Her Stetson hung low on her head, hiding her face from the many who chose to seek shelter from the sweltering heat. Occasionally, the doors would be opened, letting in the bright midday sun and outdoor buzz, but the ambiance of the bar remained otherwise undisturbed. Peace and fucking quiet - something Ellie had been needing.

Cowboy!Ellie who was drinking at that oceanside bar when your family first arrived in the Americas

She could remember it clear as day, how it went from a bustling street outside to yelling and gathering in excitement. It seemed that everyone was rather keen to see the new family - and new wealth - moving into the town.

She could also remember the bells ringing and the thudding of the wooden stairs as they lowered for your family to step off the ship, one by one. Curiosity won, Ellie thought, as she raised her hat to take a look out of the window next to her, and she counted four people - two parents and two young boys. Behind them a large group of maids carrying enough luggage to weigh down a small boat.

For a moment, Ellie thought that was that, but then - in the corner of her eye - came a flurry of bright fabric as you ran to the stairs, almost tripping in your dress on the way down. And for the first time in a long time, that heady buzz of the port went quiet, as almost every man (and some women too, Ellie noticed) watched you in awe.

But Ellie ignored everyone else, and their plans and advances on you. Because the moment you stepped off the ship, catching her eye - and quite possibly her heart - in the process, Ellie knew you would be hers.

Cowboy!Ellie who was hired to do work on your property, only to meet you the very first day

The estate your father bought was fucking huge - she could tell from the very end of the winding road leading up to the hill it stood on. But the paddocks were messy, and unkempt. In hindsight, Ellie really should have guessed she’d be hired to fix it up…

…And also get closer to you, of course.

It was a boiling hot day that she was ordered to ride shimmer up to the property, for a tour and and instructions and all that. And by the time Ellie got up there, she was drenched in sweat - all this money and they couldn’t offer her a carriage or something?

It was just before noon, too, so it would only get hotter. Ellie could only hope that the first few hours would be spent inside the property and away from the afternoon sun. She unbuttoned her shirt down by two, pulling it back. and forth to uselessly fan her partially exposed chest. This was a bullshit job for the pay she was promised.

But, she thought, as she noticed not one, but two figures walking out to meet her on the patio, the promise of you once again most definitely payed the rest. God, you were even more beautiful closer up - the sun casting a glow on your face, as the wind at the top of the hill blew your hair around your face like a halo, and the baby blue silks of your dress around you like rippling water.

You walked up to her with your father, as he introduced the both of you to Ellie, and welcomed her to the property along with all the other necessary formalities. She shook hands with him - quite firmly, too - as he told her of the projects and repairs needed to be done on the property. But she couldn't help but let her eyes trace back to you, as you took turns glancing at your father as he spoke, and at Ellie. Or more specifically her hands, that now rested at her side after she shook hands with him.

Partly, she listened to the long list of chores your father had set up, but Ellie was mostly just focused on your wandering eyes finding their way back to hers, and she smirked softly as you blinked in surprise when you realised she was already looking at you, taking you out of your trance. And, as your expression grew slightly more shocked, cheeks warming just a tad past normal, her expression could only be described as one of a mischievous grin, as the never-ending speech your father gave only meant one thing:

She was going to be here, with you, for a while.

Cowboy!Ellie who then spends every waking hour finding spare time to be around you

It would have been a few weeks by now, each day within that filled with stolen glances, shy smiles and sly smirks between you two. Each and every time you passed the old storehouse Ellie had been assigned to repaint, you would feel her gaze leave the building and become fixated on you, daring you to turn around and make eye contact. You almost did - to be fair - by letting your eyes wander the grassy path between the both of you, and travel up her soiled boots and paint-stained jeans, up her dirty wife-beater hidden under baggy flannel, and to her sheening neck, almost glistening under the hot summer sun.

But never her eyes. You weren't ever going to lose that game to temptation, not when she so obviously wanted you to play. Instead, you simply walked past, book tight in your hand as you crossed the field and into the middle of an empty paddock, letting her gaze follow you all the way to the large oak tree standing proudly in the centre - after staying here for a while, you had found the perfect place to read. And, well, the swings on hanging down from the tree gave you the perfect view of Ellie hard at work, safe from her attention.

Unfortunately, however, it seemed that you had been spotted after all these weeks. At first, you hadn't even noticed, much too engrossed in your book. But the clearing of her throat as she smirked down at you, hands on her hips, told you everything you needed to know.

"Nice book you're reading" She spoke, taking her eyes off you as she leaned against the trunk of the tree behind you, placing a cigarette between her lips. And the sun at this time of day did nothing to help, creating shadows and rays through the leaves that made her just that much hotter.

"You mind?" She asked, raising a brow while making a gesture to the lighter in her hand.

"Not at all" you replied, taking your attention back to your reading, before registering what she said. You furrowed your brows and snapped your book shut.

"I didn't know you read books."

She glanced up at you as you said that, huffing out a laugh as she took the lit cigarette from between her lips, the smoke billowing out of her open mouth.

"Nah, but those books definitely ring a bell, doll." You paused, confused for a moment, before realising what exactly you had brought out with you.

"I- you mean you- you're..?"

Ellie let out a full on chuckle this time, kicking her leg out from off the tree trunk and putting the cigarette back between her lips. She took another puff, before giving you once last glance as she walked off. But not before calling out to you one last time, as she headed back downhill.

"You're a smart girl, doll. You'd be right to trust your gut."

...Damn those sapphic poets.

Author's note: *peeks head behind door slowly* hiiiii.......No but actually, I went MIA for a bit sorry ab that </3, there's actually a lot more to life than tumblr when you discover the outside world and fresh air, surprisingly. But anyways! I hit 1000 about a month ago and felt like I really should have posted something for it so here's this! There's actually another half thats incomplete but I felt like you guys at least deserved something after so long without any posts, so here u go <3

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @flowersforvi

#tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you

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sunniepoo · 3 months

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jj had spent a fair amount of time doing odd jobs all over different states but when his stay in an isolated,closed off community extends longer than expected, he can’t help but notice you; preachers daughter

when the storm outside brewed further, jj knew that he wouldn’t be able to travel for a while until everything was cleared up. the rough clash of the branches against the paley tinted window filled the air reminded him of the ongoing war of weathers outside, his eyes drifted into the endless fields of grass occasionally having a few buildings and houses adorned along the way tinted with a rough grey through the stained windows

he was lucky to have found refuge, the local preacher offering up his home to stay in while the storm calms down and he continues to do his work around town - fixing pipes and leaky sinks to cars and rundown trucks

different, everything here was different - it was as if the place was drowning in an endless silence gradually sucking the life out of the people but they didn’t seem to mind, mumbling on something about this is the way god had wanted them to live. it terrified him to start, being stuck somewhere like this; despite all his struggles back home in kildare at least it had life, friends,colour but the pay was quite generous and a couple weeks more couldn’t hurt him

“storms creating a right mess” the older man speaks, he was dressed in a dark cloak covering his body with a large cross necklaces adorning his neck. “s’gonna take a while for all the roads to clear up” jj replies, he would be lying if didn’t say the man in front of him didn’t intimidate him - he possessed the same loneliness that swarmed the rest of this town but he had offered up his home, gave him a hot meal; so he couldn’t be all that bad

at first he didn’t even see you, it wasn’t until the soft creak of the floorboard, he saw your small frame hidings behind the wall, watching him. the older man watched jj’s eyes shift, following at what was catching his attention “oh! i forgot to introduce you to our new guest honey” he says ushering you over to where they were standing “this young man will be staying with us for some time while he works. go on say hi” while he explains there is a slight look in his eye telling her it was okay. jj wasn’t going to bite

he didn’t miss the slight glint in your eyes as you locked eyes, your palm reaching out to meet his, it was a short handshake but he couldn’t forget the way your gentle hands gripped his, the tips of your fingers stroking against his “hi” it was barely a sound, moreso a squeak

cute. he thought, you looked nice - the kind of nice he thought was only in the movies, the kind of nice that would rather let the spider free than kill it

“well i’ll be off” your father interrupts the silence, pulling you into a quick hug before patting jj lightly on the shoulder “some work over at millers’ house” he begins to pack his stuff and leave before letting out a ‘don’t cause any trouble’ mostly aimed at you. mostly

it was silent for the most part, you’d run off to your room while he gathered his equipment and started working at the faulty sink in the kitchen. the long hours of the day seemed to fly by, he carried on as usual occasionally stopping for an odd break here and there and that’s when he saw you

you’d left your room door slightly open, sitting in between the gap watching him quietly “y’know you could come sit over here” he announces, hoping to have caught your attention “don’t bite, m’promise” the southern ting in his accent escaping between words. the light patter of your steps filled the air, replacing the once ominous silence, you’d decided to sit right opposite him, knees brought under your chin with big eyes staring into him

“are you hungry” the question comes very direct and forward, eyes never leaving his silently watching his every move. you knew your answer as the blonde lets out a cheeky grin, standing up to head towards the kitchen

what you were supposed to do was fix him a nice dinner and be in your way back to your room; what you were supposed to do was ask simple questions about his life and let him get on with his work - what you weren’t supposed to do was be sat on your kitchen counter with him working his way between your legs!

you didn’t even know how it happened, he was just so funny and he kept making you laugh and every time he spoke you found your eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips and the to his hands and the to the slight bulge of his cock in his pants. you hadn’t meant to fall into the temptation, if anyone found out oh god! you’d be in so much trouble, you’d be the talk of town

but something in you couldn’t find it in you to stop as his lips travelled down your body, loosely lifting your dress up to kiss between your thighs, kissing on top of your clothed pussy

“jay-jayj” the breathy moan that leaves your mouth is muffled by the patter of the rain against the window “n-not here, somewhere else” roughly grabbing the tops of his messy hair bringing him up from underneath your dress. you didn’t even have the self control to resist him - you’d been waiting for far too long for someone with life to come to this shitty little town and here he was in a 6ft blonde package.

he’d grabbed your hand locking your fingers together before dragging you over to the guest room he’d been sleeping in, gently nudging you to lay down on the bed. it was heaven, the way your lips collided against each other while his knees pealed your legs open. you could feel his hand sneaking down, slipping under the waistband of your panties, fingers rubbing slowly against your clit eliciting a loud moan from you

you felt shame as you looked at the walls decorated with framed pictures of mother mary, the rosary laying on the desk. how have come to do the one thing you’ve been told not to do? but it was so hard, trapped in this town where everyone had something to say about everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder - if there was something more outside the fields of grass, something like him

the same him whose tongue was down your throat “you sure about this sweatpea” he breathes out, mouth disconnecting from yours - panting slowly “cause you know once this happens…. there’s no going back” you couldn’t help but whimper at his words, giving him a small nod

“words baby.. words” he says before diving into the crook of your neck planting soft kisses along the bottom of your ear “mm yes jay yes yes yes” you were so so desperate to feel the spark, the colour, the life you’ve always wanted and if you passed on it now - it would never happen

the whine in your voice was all it took for him to pull at the straps of the top of your dress dragging it off you, letting your tits spill out leaving you in nothing but your panties

“jesuuus christ” as soon as he says that he doesn’t miss the subtle pout on your face at the name. right he would not approve “m’sorry babe” the apology is followed by the plaster of kisses down your stomach, getting closer and closer to your aching core “just got me acting crazy with all this. fuck . in front of me

you were soaked through and through thighs all sticky from your juices, “she really wants this…huh” it was cruel really how long he was taking, you were so tempted to just shove his face down there already “don’t worry papa s’gonna fix all of this” he’d already began to pull of your panties, mouth latching immediately on to your clit

“so fuckin’ good” he mumbles, words only making you more desperate “ah ah s’good jay” you moan out, hands roughly grabbing at the messy mop on top his head “so good” your pleasure only seemed to increase as his ringed fingers make their way into your needy little hole

the loud squelch that filled the air as his fingers piston roughly in and out of your soaking cunt, you were sure your juices were spread all over his mouth but that didn’t seem to stop him one bit, he was like a man starved the way his tongue flattened against your sensitive core, it had you morning like a kitten in heat

“oh god oh god oh god” as much as you hated using the lords name in vain, you couldn’t help as he fastened his face adding another finger inside your poor little hole. the blonde smirks mumbling “not god baby…..just me” your legs started to clamp lightly around his head, grinding your core against his face. you’d never be able to forget the way he made you writhe and tremble in his hold just from his mouth

you’d heard about it before, in old books that were thrown away for being ‘sent by the devil’ the feeling in your stomach - it was like a rough knot was tied in your stomach slowly building up “jay jay jay” you squeal as he moves his fingers impossibly faster “please jay ngh- need it uh- so bad jay” it was almost pathetic how needy you were for him but it only seemed to egg him on further

he was in his own form of bliss, jeans roughly grinding against the mattress beneath him, you were so perfect - he felt his cock throb harder than it ever has the moment he looked at you writhing against him “yeah that’s it” he breathily lets out “g’nna cum f’me baby” pillowy lips latching onto your fit sucking as harsh as possible while his fingers hit spots you’d never even dreamed of

“yes uh- yes ngh-yes” you were blessed to have your home at such a distance form town, it wouldn’t take much guessing to make out what was happening through the walls. the soft squeak was followed with a wave of sensations, a confusing pleasure taking out your body, causing almost pornographic moans to fill the room

overridden by pleasure your legs couldn’t stop shaking and much to jj’s surprise hot spurts of his own cum coated the front of his jeans as he came undone. the harsh pants were the only noise for some time before the troublesome blond came up lying next you

“did s’good babe” placing a firm kiss on your forehead pulling you into his arm, drawing soothing circles on your back as your realise the reality of what you’ve done. you were overridden with guilt but not because of what you’ve done but the lack of regret you have

you feel a weight go off the bed as jj gets up, arms reaching out to pick you up and bring you over to the bathroom. gentle, it was all so soft - it made you think about when he’d be gone, how you’d miss this, you’d be still stuck in this town with the same people, get married to someone you barely know and definitely don’t love. it made you press yourself as close as possible to him, soaking in his presence

and later that evening when you lay in his lap,his back pressed against the old couch as his hand strokes through the roots of your hair “m’gonna miss you so much” your hands travelled to wrap tightly around his arm like he’d be gone this second if you let go “don’ know what you saying sweetcheeks” he laughs, bringing a sweet kiss to the tops of your head “like you know” you breathe out, clearly melancholic about the situation “when you gotta go” eyes turning up to look at him

you didn’t expect him to say much, it was the truth and the both of you knew it - no one could change that. the palm of his hand grazes gently against your cheeks as he begins to speak, eyes locking with your intently “ion know a clue how m’gonna do it but your coming with me” his mouth leans down to place a deep kiss against your lips pulling you up against him

“really” the excitement in your voice was obvious, you typically would have thought he was bluffing but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes proved otherwise. he was serious. “really. gonna get you out of here” it was as if he was also telling himself “ find you somewhere nice. somewhere where you belong…kay’ sweets” the words eased your restless mind. maybe he was right

and in that moment jj knew that no matter what, he was taking you with him. he had no clue how he was gonna do this but he knew it was happening and he’d rather stay here and die than leave you

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #obx drabble #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank drabble #jj x deer!reader #jj x lamb!reader #lamb!reader #deer!reader #preachers daughter #jj x reader #jj maybank smut

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no-road-home · 5 months

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Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running.

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you to mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't.

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

#ttrpg #my games #indie ttrpg #ttrpg design #ttrpgs #stewpot #stewpot: tales from a fantasy tavern #backerkit #crowdfunding #fantasy #story games

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yelenasdiary · 7 months

Note

I saw your request were open and I’ve been dying to send you this request. I was wondering if you could do a top F reader x bottom Wanda. Reader is an eternal and their also deaf. They first met Wanda after the wandavision events. They have a one night stand and Wanda finds one she’s pregnant (reader has a penis} so now they’re trying to navigate the pregnancy and their relationship. They agree to do parent but as time goes on they start to fall in love! Please add a bunch of smut and fluff! Maybe some angst please

Take Me Home

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Eternal, Fem! & Deaf! Reader

Summary: A one night stand changes everything for the better.

Angst, Fluff & Brief Mention of Smut. 18+ ONLY, Minors & Men DNI!

Warnings: Mentions of Drinking, Reader has a penis, Unprotected Sex, Oral (Wanda Receiving), Pregnancy, Pregnancy Talk, Mentions of Abortion | 2.5K

AC: Please know that I am not Deaf. So I write this purely on research, if I have said anything wrong or offensive, please kindly message me so I can fix it. I mean absolutely no harm. Reader communicates via sign language, so all conversations are in italics, this means they are signing and not verbally speaking. Thank you for sending this, although I didn’t include a full smut scene I still hope you enjoy this! x

Cupid's Dream Masterlist

Two pink lines stared back at her while her heart skipped a beat. She knew it was true before she even took the test, tears filled her eyes as she remembered the events that took place in Westview. Now in hiding, the ex-Avenger only had herself to fall back on. It was the one time she decided to grab a hot meal at the local bar near her remote mountainside cabin in the woods of Sokovia when she met you.

You were having a few drinks by yourself when the woman sat only inches beside you at the bar. She was troubled, her sad presence screamed to you as you turned to her slightly and gave her a soft welcoming smile. She smiled back, even though she could barely bring herself to form the returning smile.

“Rough Day?” you asked in sign language. She nodded, “rough couple of months” she signed back.

“Here, let me.” You smiled once more before placing a $10 bill on the bar to pay for her drink, “it seems you need something good right now” you signed.

“Thank you” the woman smiled softly before taking a sip of her wine.

She intrigued you to say the least, you’d never seen her around here before and assumed she was new to the small town, if you’d even call it that. The small street of buildings was only built for loggers that worked high in the mountains; it had the essentials. A small general store for basic needs, a mechanic and hardware store, a bakery, a doctor’s office and of course the bar which also acted as a restaurant. A small population of 100 people lived around here, well, 101 now that you’d made a cabin home for the past three months.

You tried to go back to doing your own thing, having a drink, and completing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper but the woman’s running mind distracted your focus. You turned to face her only to notice she was already looking at you. Her eyes spoke a million words and suddenly you knew she wasn’t like anybody else in the bar.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you asked. She was hesitant at first, taking another sip of her drink so she didn’t waste your money, but she nodded.

“Are you here for me?” Wanda asked while the two of you walked slowly down the single road street covered in snow. “No. I am just a stranger you met in a bar” you replied with a soft smile in hopes it would ease her worries. It didn’t take Wanda very long to work out that you weren’t like everybody else in this town, there was a different kind of communication between the two of you. She could hear your thoughts just as much as you could hear hers. Although you knew very little of the woman, you knew enough to know she was in pain.

----

Wanda’s mind replayed that night after you’d walked her home. How her nails dug deeply into your back as your lips were interlocked with hers and the way you reach for the bedsheets as your tongue overstimulated her clit but more importantly, she remembered the way you made her feel and how she’d never felt the things you made her feel, how you were able to make her forget even just for that night how much she was truly hurting.

Those thoughts brought her back to the two pink lines staring back at her. “Fuck” she mumbled quietly to herself as she placed the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t having a moment while washing her hands that her twin boys that she missed deeply and how badly she wished to hold them just once more.

Wanda rang your doorbell, a blue light flickered throughout your small cabin to alert you somebody was at the door. Wanda was the last person you expected to be standing on the other side, even if you sensed it was her before you even turned the knob.

“Wanda how are you?” you asked, greeting her with a soft smile. She didn’t return the smile; her eyes were slightly puffy and red. “Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Can I come in? we need to talk” she replied. You nodded, moving to the side to allow her to walk into your home. “I’m really sorry to come here out of the blue” she turned to you as you closed the door behind her.

“Don’t stress, it’s okay. Not sure how you found my address but it’s okay” you chuckled in hopes it would lighten the mood, but it didn’t.

“I’m pregnant” she said, getting to the point. The news shocked you a little but explained why you felt she didn’t arrive alone. “I don’t expect you to do anything or even want to be a part of this. I just thought you had a right to know” Wanda added.

“It takes two to tangle, are you okay?” you replied trying to process the news. Wanda’s eyes filled with tears as she shrugged, “I d-don’t know, I made some mistakes that lead me to the reason why I even moved here” she explained, wiping the falling tears from her cheeks. You knew what she was talking about, you were an Eternal, of course you knew but you weren’t allowed to do anything about the events of Westview, and you didn’t ask too many questions about the situation.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything, I am here for you and the baby. Whatever you decide to do, I am here. If you want to keep it, we will work it out. If you want to have an abortion, I will be there to hold your hand” you smiled ever so softly before you reached to get her a tissue. Wanda looked you in the eyes, allowing you to hear all her worries and concerns.

You reached for her hand, “you’re not alone. We are in this together” you assured her. “We barely know each other. I do not expect you to step up like this” Wanda replied.

“Let’s start with meeting up for coffee, well, decaf coffee. How does that sound? We can get to know each other more and talk about what is on your mind and if you want to go through with this or not” you offered.

Wanda nodded as a light smile tugged at her lips, “I would like that, thank you”.

----

As the weeks went on, you and Wanda met for coffee three times a week. Most of the conversations were about getting to know one another and sometimes Wanda would bring up a worry or concern she had. You never asked her if she had made a decision on whether she would be keeping the baby or not, you felt that was something she would tell you when she was ready.

Of course, one of Wanda’s most worrying concern was the baby’s health and what it meant for the baby to be born with the shared genes of a Witch and an Eternal. Both with so much power and abilities, it was something that Wanda couldn’t shake. This led to you telling her everything you knew about your abilities and powers.

“This baby is going to be more than a handful of surprises” Wanda smiled softly making your eyes widen with excitement.

“Does this mean you’ve made a decision?” you asked. Wanda nodded, “I want to have this baby. I want to do this with you and its okay if you don’t want to do this” she replied. You stood up from your seat and embraced Wanda in a hug, “I want to do this with you as well” you smiled as you both pulled away.

“I guess this means we have a lot more to talk about” Wanda smiled.

----

You didn’t want to miss a single moment during Wanda’s pregnancy, it was a conversation that you brought to the table before Wanda asked if you’d like to come spend a couple nights a week at her place. You loved cooking for her every night and making her breakfast in bed when her morning sickness went away. After so many years of seeming almost everything, you never thought you’d find something so special again.

Life was growing in front of your eyes, you finally had something to be excited about once again. A new chapter was opening up for you, a new life, a life you never thought you’d be able to have so the thought never crossed your mind and Wanda could see just how happy you were. She saw the smile on your face whenever she caught you admiring the ultra-sound photo, she saw the sparkle in your eyes whenever the two of you had a conversation about the baby.

But for Wanda, it wasn’t the same. Although she was happy about having a baby, she couldn’t keep herself from thinking of her boys and how she wondered what they would think of a baby sibling. She wondered how they would react, she wondered if they would wish for a baby brother or sister, she wondered if they had their own name ideas to add to the list you and Wanda had slowly began to dot down.

“What were they like? Your boys” you asked Wanda one night while she was lost in thought. She looked at you and smiled softly at the thought of talking about her twins. “They were perfect. Tommy is my little prankster” she starts with a chuckle, “he was always getting himself in all sorts of mischief. Billy, he was the opposite. He loved video games and training our dog Sparky. Both boys loved their ice cream and movie night” the smile on her lips only grew wider as she talked more about the beloved twins.

“They sound like a lot of fun; you must miss them” you placed a hand on top of Wanda’s for comfort.

“I do, a lot” A tear rolled down her cheek. You could tell she needed a shift of conversation and offered to make her a banana split milkshake to fill her cravings.

----

At six months, you and Wanda had grown closer. You were both wanting this co-parenting plan to work and began to look around for a home to move into together. The two of you would decorate the nursey together, Wanda using her powers to move the furniture around to save the hassle of you both burning yourselves out doing it. You went to every doctor’s appointment with Wanda and kept every ultra-sound photo they offered. Wanda loved seeing how excited and happy you were and as time went on, she found herself becoming more comfortable with the fact the twins weren’t here to share this new chapter with her.

“How did you book this place?” Wanda asked after the waiter seated you both. It was Wanda’s birthday and you wanted to do something special for her, so you booked reservations at a restaurant she’d been talking about a lot recently.

“I know the owner, they kind of owe me a favour” you replied before picking up the menu. Things had slightly been a little different between you both, usually you could hear each other’s thoughts and feelings but recently you had trouble connecting with Wanda that way. You thought maybe it was something to do with the pregnancy and maybe she just wanted that extra bit of privacy, so you tried not to think about it as much, but it was hard when you found yourself falling for her.

“This is certainly a surprise, thank you” Wanda smiled. You returned the smile but quickly used the menu to hide the blushing of your cheeks. This was a new feeling that you had no control over.

“Has something happened? Between us?” Wanda asked shortly after finishing her main meal, you shook your head before taking a mouthful of your drink. “Not at all, have I done something to make you think that?” you asked.

“You just seem a little distant lately, that’s all” Wanda replied.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that with only a few months left until the baby arrives that you might want some more alone time” you explained, not entirely a lie but a good enough excuse to stop her from thinking it was something more.

“You know, we have spoken a lot about myself over the last few months but you don’t like to share much. I am here for you like you are for me and if you want to talk about anything, you can talk to me. We’re in this together, remember?” Wanda said looking deeply into your eyes. You took another mouthful of your drink and deep breath before replying.

“I used to have a family and friends, but some went back to planet Olympia, some stayed on Earth and are trying to live a normal life, but I never felt like I fitted in anywhere. Not here and not in Olympia. I have been on my own for many years and I was getting tired of living this repetitive life. But when you said you wanted to keep the baby, everything changed for me. You have given me something new and exciting, a new life and I don’t want to ruin it because of something I can’t control” you explained.

“Why would you think you would ruin this? I would never stop you from being in our baby’s life if things didn’t work out with our plan” Wanda assured you.

“Feelings weren’t apart of the plan” you replied.

Wanda froze for a moment before she stood from her seat, you did the same thinking she was leaving but instead she walked up to you and gently cupped your face and kissing you deeply. You kissed her back, your hands resting gently on her lips, ever so slightly pulling her closer to you as you deepened the kiss.

“Take me home” Wanda smiled softly as you both pulled away for air.

----

You woke up to find Wanda’s side of the bed empty, there was only one place she would be. You walked down the hall and there she was, cradling your baby girl back to sleep. The sight in front of you made you smile softly before you walked up behind Wanda, wrapping your arms around her and placing a kiss on her cheek. Wanda smiled softly, never taking her eyes off the little girl in her arms.

Your body moved with Wanda’s until the little girl’s eyes came to a close and Wanda carefully placed her back in her crib. She turned in your arms to face you, kissing you softly.

“I know it was your turn to tend to her, but I couldn’t help myself. She’s perfect” Wanda smiled. “Next time, wake me. I don’t want to miss a single thing” you replied before kissing her once more.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #happy valentines #marvel

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marsoid · 18 days

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answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

#ask mars #sugar

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

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Poldine's Hike, Vol. II

(^ people who said this on my last post, I sure hope you meant it !)

I went on a few more walks with her (though not all the way to the stream) since the one I talked about yesterday, so here's some bonus Pampoldine-on-a-walk content :)

She's a little bit devious sometimes (trying to make her mum proud) (without actually breaking any laws. It's tough) and in the first 10min of each walk she pretends to be stumped by every branch or shrub that even slightly blocks the path, in the hopes I'll go "oh no, an insurmountable obstacle, guess we'd better go home then :( " No one buys that you can't deal with a branch in your way, Poldine. There are trees in your pasture. You know what a branch is.

(I love that she rewards herself with some leaves after the strenuous feat of ducking under a branch. I'm not sure if the cheek kiss I got was apologetic or just an unthinking reflex as she walks past someone with a face. I should change this post's title to Poldine's Kisses: Vol. I)

2. Pirlouit has a new job! A fixed-term contract. The farmer who owns the barn near my pasture always cuts the grass around it in the spring and this year I offered Pirlouit's services to spare him the trouble, and he said it was a good idea. So I moved Pirou to a small enclosure around the barn, and he's taking his mission to clear all the grass seriously.

(well, here I caught him on a union break)

He can see the llamas (and my house) from where he is so he's not in exile, but he's still by himself at the moment so we went to pay him a visit. Poldine immediately did what she does best.

3. I also spent some time walking on the road with her so she'd get used to cars (that was the initial plan but since cars are rare it turned into me sitting on the side of the road reading a book to Poldine as we waited for a car to show up). One car stopped and the driver & passenger rolled down their windows to ask if they could take pictures of Poldine, which they did, and then I asked them if they would like a bise greeting from a llama and they looked pretty delighted and leant out of the window so Poldine could kiss their cheek. (I'm trying to teach her to give more than 1 bise because we're not in Brittany but she prefers quality over quantity.)

She was still a tad bit nervous about being so close to a car with the engine running, but she came closer of her own volition when she realised she had the opportunity to distribute kisses.

I might just introduce a tollbooth on this road. Little kiosk with Pampoldine inside (wearing some kind of official hat), you take a ticket and a long llama neck slithers out and a fuzzy kiss is deposited on your cheek, then the automated gate goes up.

#crawling along

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melodygatesauthor · 10 months

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Four - The Student

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

This time I found you at a university. Of course things couldn’t just be simple. You couldn’t just be a faculty member or even a damn janitor, no…you had to be my fucking student. Why couldn’t things be easy just for once? It’s fine…I’ll just have to figure out how to work around it…

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 5k

It was a morning like every other.

You were on your way to your physics class, coffee in hand and your two friends on either side of you, Mira and Stacy. Mira had a skip in her step, excited about a guy she met at the coffee shop just a few minutes ago. You rolled your eyes, too concerned with the results of last week’s test in Dr. O’Hara’s class to be bothered with your friend’s endeavors.

“Hey!” Stacy screamed your name, grabbing your collar and pulling you back from the street and onto the curb.

A car flew by you, stopping your heart in your chest as you moved back from the street two more steps. You were so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t paid any attention to the road. Stacy spat your name in a scolding manner.

“Jesus, you almost got yourself killed, what the hell are you thinking?” She shook her head.

“Thank you,” you said, taking a deep breath, “I guess I’m just…I’m so nervous about my test I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly,” she agreed, putting both hands on her hips like a parent scolding a child. “I’m sure you did fine on your test. You said you studied right?”

The three of you started walking again toward the building where your classes were held.

“Yeah, I did, but I mean…the last test I took I failed, I can’t fail again.” You felt dread weighing heavy on your chest as the large brick building blocked out the sun on your approach.

Mira patted your back. “You’re smart, I’m sure you did fine.” She chuckled as she jogged ahead toward the building. “Besides! I’m sure that Dr. O’Hara would let you suck his dick for a better grade!”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at Mira’s comment. She never ceased to say things that were embarrassing beyond belief. Everyone knew that Dr. O’Hara was hot. The man wore dress shirts, sure, but either he couldn’t find ones that fit properly, or he intentionally wore a size too small so people would know he worked out. It was hard to think about much else when his pectorals were so prominently displayed under a thin veil of fabric. It didn’t help either that his nipples seemed to be perpetually stiff, clearly visibly underneath his shirt, just like they were today.

“Good morning cl–”

Dr. O’Hara’s failure to finish his sentence caught you off guard, forcing your eyes on him as you walked the rest of the way into the room. You felt nervous, averting your eyes immediately and staring at the floor as you walked to your desk. After your friend’s inappropriate comment, and his lingering gaze, you couldn’t help thinking about things a student shouldn’t imagine about their professor.

Things like…what if you could suck his dick for a better grade?

He cleared his throat. “Alright class, I’m going to pass back your tests now.”

You’d done a fine job on your exam. Miguel’s predecessor, the Miguel of this universe, had already graded your paper and even put a little smiley face next to the number 87 in red ink. It was obvious that this one hadn’t made any moves on you, but he had taken a liking to you. That wouldn’t work in Miguel’s favor though. He needed you to be so desperate that you might be willing to go to great lengths to get your grade fixed.

The jealousy that stabbed Miguel in the gut when he realized that his alternate was enraptured by you made it easy to rid himself of the man. In fact, he felt nothing as he watched the life leave Miguel’s eyes. He felt nothing as he buried the man so far into the ground that no one would ever find his body.

It wasn’t that Miguel wanted to be predatory toward you, in fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was clear that you were younger in this universe than in previous ones. Your birth date was the same, he saw it in your records on the school database before he took over for your prior professor, but the year was different. He’d already gone through great lengths just to find you, so what was a little manipulation just to have you? You’d be grateful in the end, he just knew it.

He passed the tests around, watching you carefully to gauge your response to his little note he made at the top of your test.

Come to my office after your classes so we can discuss your grade and your future in my class.

You looked down at the glaring 62 on your exam with the note to meet Dr. O’Hara in his office later. A pit formed in your gut. The words, ‘your future in my class’, stuck out more than the rest. You gulped, hands shaking as you put the failed test in your book bag and turned your attention back to class. You hated that professors seemed to do that, handing out your tests prior to the start of class. How in the hell were you expected to focus for the rest of the class with the looming threat that you might be told to retake the class next semester?

He felt a little bad after seeing your face drop at the sight of the failed exam. In some ways Miguel missed the therapist. She was bold, more mature, and he felt like she was, personality-wise, the closest to you he had found thus far. In this universe you were naive, young, bright-eyed and inexperienced. In some ways that was exciting, thinking about how easy it would be to mold you into the woman he’d lost, or at least as close to the original as possible. In other ways he didn’t love the idea of corrupting you like that.

It didn’t matter though, in the end as long as he had you, whether by moral means or immoral, that’s all that mattered.

Later that evening, shortly after finishing your final class for the day, you found yourself standing outside of Dr. O’Hara’s office, knuckles rapping on the door in an uneven rhythm. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears was deafening while you waited for him to open the door. Earlier you and your friends had joked about what you were going to do in there, but this wasn’t a movie, this was reality, and your professor wasn’t going to let you sleep your way out of a bad grade.

Not that you really wanted to do that anyway.

Your unusually tall professor opened the door, stepping back to let you inside. He was quiet when he locked the door, so quiet that you wouldn’t even notice he’d done it. You seemed a little smaller in this universe. Miguel wondered if it was because you were actually shorter, or if the fact that you were younger made it seem to be the case.

“I don’t understand why I got such a bad grade, Dr. O’Hara,” you turned to face him, failed test in hand, eyes already glistening wet with the threat of tears. “I worked really hard after you helped me understand it better.”

Fuck, he thought. His cock was already springing to life, slowly making his pants feel tighter while he looked at you. This was new territory that he didn’t know how to navigate. This wasn’t the type of person Miguel wanted to be, but he also wanted to start establishing his control over you now. If he could control you, he could keep you safe; he could have you.

“Yeah well, as you can see…” he snatched the test from your hand, “you didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

Something was different about Dr. O’Hara, you felt it as he ripped the paper from your hands. He was normally a very calm and collected type of professor, everyone loved him for that. You couldn’t understand why he was acting so harshly now. You clutched your book bag closer to yourself as though it would teleport you out of the room. He took a step closer, and you stepped back until your rear was against his desk. You felt trapped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he said, seeing the terror in your expression. Miguel’s intention wasn’t to make you fear him, but at the same time, he was willing to do what it took to make you listen for once, since your alternates didn’t seem to pay his warnings any mind. “Look, I’d be willing to…fix your grade.”

He’d hoped that when he said it like that you would get the hint so he didn’t have to spell it out for you. Surely you’d seen enough pornos to know where this was going, right? It would make it less guilt inducing for him, and a lot less scary for you, at least that’s what he was thinking.

“Fix it how? Is there extra credit?” You decided to continue on like you didn’t know what he was playing at.

“You could say that,” he said, taking another step toward you.

There was no way he meant what you thought he meant. He couldn’t possibly be insinuating that you were supposed to fuck your way into a better grade could he? That was just a stupid joke you and your friends had laughed about, albeit frequently, but it was just a joke. He couldn’t be serious.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his tight-fit slacks and the way they were especially tight around his groin. You gulped, looking back up at his eyes quickly, trying to appear not to have seen anything. Maybe if you kept your eyes anywhere but on his bulge it would go away, and he would let this go.

But you wouldn’t be so lucky.

Miguel took another step forward, bringing a hand to your cheek and rubbing his thumb along your skin gently. He smirked, feeling satisfied to touch you again. Spending all the time in the last universe, he’d almost forgotten what you felt like.

“I’m not going to hurt you, and if you just listen to me you might even enjoy yourself.”

No matter how much you told yourself to run, to kick, to scream, you just stood there while Dr. O’Hara leaned forward, claiming your mouth in his and melting into you. He lifted you onto the desk like you were weightless, pushing himself against you until he was almost laying on top of you. You kissed him back, but the rest of you was frozen, unsure how to respond. Should you even be allowing this to happen, or should you be trying to stop him?

What would you do anyway? Fight him off? The man was built like a damn tank. You could work out for a hundred years and still never come close to moving him. On the bright side, you would probably pass your class, though this wasn’t how you wanted to do it. This wasn’t what you wanted at all.

“P-please, Dr. O’Hara, s-stop–”

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing you deeper, “you want me to fix your grade right? You want to pass this class? Hm?”

He looked down at you, waiting for your answer, the guilt still nagging at him as he noticed a stray tear fall down the side of your face.

You nodded. “Y-yes, yes I do.”

“Then be quiet, and do what I say,” he demanded, sliding a massive hand up your skirt, his fingers teasing at the hem of your panties.

Your mind was racing with feelings you could hardly comprehend. On one hand, your body was tingling an overwhelming desire, a need to feel his touch in the most intimate way. His thick index finger tucked into the leg of your panties, knuckles sliding softly over your pussy lips. When he kissed you it didn’t feel like a dirty professor trying to take advantage, but rather a lover who wanted to take his time with you.

On the other hand, he was much older than you, and he was your professor. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t really interested in sleeping with him, despite the teasing from you and your friends.

That didn’t seem to matter now, he was pulling your underwear down your thighs and tossing them to the floor. He rubbed the pads of his index and middle fingers over your clit, forcing a choked whimper to escape your lungs. You thought about protesting his actions again, but decided against it. You didn’t want to piss him off, and you didn’t want to fail the class.

“There you go, honey,” he whispered against your lips, “don’t squirm too much okay? You’ll like it, I know you will.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to say otherwise. Dr. O’Hara pushed you down so your back was flat against the desk, his large hand pressed against your abdomen while his other started to undo his pants. You didn’t even want to look at it, so you stared out the window and kept your eyes trained on the gate at the entrance to the college campus. He exhaled a low and deep breath as he dragged the tip of his cock along your folds.

“Look at me, hermosa,” his voice was low, but still demanding.

You complied, turning your head slowly to look at him. Miguel tried to convince himself that you would come around, that you were just nervous for your first time together. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t delusional either, but he needed to believe that you would come around, because working with the you that was right in front of him was better than the unknown of whatever versions he may encounter in other universes. ‘The devil you know’, and all that.

“Hold on tight, honey,” he warned, sliding his dick through your slick entrance. He couldn’t even make it halfway in before it was too tight. “F-fuck baby…shit.”

You cried out, all of your resolve falling to the wayside. It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad.

“Dr. O’Hara pleas–”

Before you could even finish your plea his hand was covering your mouth. He shook his head, eyes narrowing dangerously in warning. You tried to beg with your eyes, your small sobs blocked by the brick wall of his palm only serving to make his cock throb inside your cunt. You grabbed onto his forearm, gripping it so tight your nails dug into his skin, but it may as well have been a pillar, unmoving and sturdy while he kept your mouth covered.

“Honey, please,” he hissed, his breaths of arousal interrupting his irritated tone. “I know it’s painful now but if you just relax, I’ll stretch you out so it won’t hurt anymore alright?”

You didn’t respond, and Miguel felt the guilt in his chest. The guilt didn’t outweigh the delicious feeling of your hole squeezing around the mere three inches he’d managed to get inside. He slid forward a little more, your eyes rolled back in response, your breaths turned into labored panting while you took him further.

“You’re doing great, hermosa,” he encouraged, “taking me so well.”

Your legs tightened around his waist as your cunt stretched even wider around him. He was bigger than anything you’d ever felt, and you couldn’t get free from him. Finally he bottomed out inside you, when you looked down at where you were connected you could see a bulge in your abdomen. Your eyes widened in fear, as though seeing it made it feel that much bigger.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he cooed, rolling his hips back and then snapping forward again, forcing a guttural groan to erupt from deep within you. “That’s it, fuck, so tight-that’s-it.”

Miguel established a steady rhythm that was made easier by how wet your little hole got. At least you’re physically enjoying yourself, he thought to himself, still trying to ease the guilt brewing inside him. His free hand grabbed onto your thigh, leveraging himself even deeper. The sight of his fat cock bulging up through your stomach made him harder, if that were even possible. He thought, for only a second, about the fact that you might not be on birth control, but then decided he didn’t really give a shit.

Your makeup was ruined, black rivers running down your cheeks while you cried even harder. When Miguel looked down at where your pussy was split around his dick he could see why, you’d made a bloody mess between both your bodies. He questioned why he thought that was hot. Causing you pain shouldn’t feel that good, but it did, the sight of your blood making his pace even faster.

“Didn’t know you had such a little pussy,” he breathed between thrusts, “so tight, so-wet-fuck.”

When Miguel thought about it, the two of you - himself and you from the original universe -, never got that rough. It wasn’t something he knew he would like, having power over you like that, causing you pain and listening to your cries. Hearing you whimper now though, laying on his desk with your legs wrapped around him while he split you open, was making him feral. If making you cry was bad, then why the hell did it feel so fucking good?

“Are you going to come for me, honey?” He asked in a low whisper.

You didn’t answer, you just kept your eyes on his, a silent prayer that he would stop. He couldn’t stop now though, he was so damn close.

“Next time m-maybe, holy-shit-fuck-fuck-FUCK!”

His hips snapped forward, stuttering and halting against yours. You felt the searing hot ropes of his spend while it spilled inside your walls, cock throbbing and stretching you further with every spurt. His breathing was deep, low, and you guessed that if he weren’t afraid of being caught he would be much more vocal. He tossed his head back, using the hand that was on your hip to push his hair from where it fell into his eyes.

Once he was finished, Miguel released your mouth, the post-orgasm clarity making his guilt take over tenfold.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling out of you, the sudden feeling forcing a quiet cry from your swollen, trembling lips.

You didn’t speak. Now that he was finished you didn’t have words to say. What could you say? ‘You’re a monster’? ‘How could you do this to me’? ‘Why would you do this to me’? None of his answers would matter, and part of you still wondered if you’d asked for it some way. What else did you think your professor wanted you to come into his office for after all the classes had ended for the day? The red flags had been waving in your face and you ignored them. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you wanted this all along.

—

“Good morning handsome,” you said, laughing and wiping a bit of spit from Miguel’s stubbled cheek, “you were out. Having a good dream?”

—

Miguel shot up in bed, quickly realizing that he was dreaming, the reminder of that day still so fucking clear in his mind.

He looked at the calendar sitting above the coffee maker in his apartment. Well, his apartment. It had already been four long weeks that he’d spent in that universe trying desperately to get you to like him. He could tell by the look on your face though that you were still terrified of him.

He wondered if he should just leave, call it quits for this universe and move on to the next one. Miguel couldn’t shake the probability that something might be worse in the next universe though. What if he traveled there only to find that you were already dead? What if the next ten universes took him years to get through and eventually he was too old to keep looking for you? No matter how he looked at it, logically speaking, it was still better to try and work with the you in front of him, than to risk the unknown.

You couldn’t put into words the way you felt when you saw Dr. O’Hara every week in your physics class. You started sitting toward the back, hoping some other girl might grab his attention instead, but it never worked. He continued to summon you to his office in the late evenings, and he continued to fuck you until you could barely walk your way out of his office.

He terrified you.

And that terrified him.

“Dr. O’Hara,” the head of student affairs walked into Miguel’s office, pushing the already ajar door open and stepping inside.

“Oh, hi, Janice,” Miguel said, feeling his body become tense.

You better not have opened your fucking mouth, he thought.

“One of your students…” your name coming out of her mouth made him start to sweat, “...came to me and said she would like to drop out and take this class another semester. She said it doesn’t fit into her schedule right now so we need you to sign–”

“Halfway through the semester?” He asked, tone sharper than he intended. “No. She’s doing so well it would be a mistake.”

“It’s not really up to–”

“What’s the cutoff date for this kind of thing? Isn’t there always a cutoff date?”

“This Thursday is the–”

“No.”

“You don’t really have a choice.”

“Let me talk to her.”

The woman sighed, handing him the paper, “I think it’s a mistake too, for the record. It would be a shame to have to do all that work all over again.”

The woman left, the sound of her clicking heels fading as she walked down the hall. Miguel looked at the sheet of paper, hands shaking as he looked down at your signature. There it was. The same signature on your fucking marriage certificate, right there, telling him that you’d had enough and wanted to leave him.

He slammed his office door and walked over to his bag, the one where he kept your wedding photo. He hadn’t looked at it much since he’d left the original universe. The image of the two of you together brought him nothing but pain. He wanted you back so badly he was willing to rape a poor college girl that looked just like you in order to live in a fantasy that, deep down, he knew would never really hold a candle to the reality he once had.

Looking back he remembered the day of your wedding, the way you looked took his breath away. He was still mad that the therapist hadn’t worked out, if only she’d listened. Even the barista wasn’t too bad. She was a bit mouthy, but…no, he couldn’t stand the damn barista. She was a lost cause the moment she broke up with him.

Something told him that this version of you, the student, wasn’t going to work out from the beginning. He wanted it so badly though. When he tried to imagine a world where he could be happy with that version of you, he couldn’t. Even in the event he was able to convince you to marry him, or hell, even go on a date with him, he knew it would be all done in fear. You’d never look at him the way you did.

You would never love him.

You startled him when you opened the door to his office unannounced. You could tell because he scrambled to put something into his bag as you entered. His gaze was still so harsh, and you thought maybe you shouldn’t have come at all, but you were afraid your consequences would be harsher if you ignored his long standing request to meet him in the office during the evenings. You closed the door behind yourself, knowing that he would probably do it anyway if you didn’t do it yourself.

This is the last time, you thought. You do this one more time and then you’re done.

You hoped that by giving him what he so clearly wanted from you one last time, and perhaps being mature about it, you could convince him to let you go.

“D-Dr. O’Hara I–”

“You’re trying to drop out of my fucking class?” He snapped, eyes shooting spears through you.

You gulped, stepping toward the door, immediately regretting closing it behind yourself.

“W-well yes but I came to, um…well I thought we could–”

“Thought we could what?” He asked, standing quickly.

Regardless if you’d never love him, he was going to have to work with what he had, and right now he had a crying twenty something in front of him who was willing to do anything he said.

“We can do it just one more time and then I want to leave your class,” you whispered.

Dr. O’Hara strode over to you slowly, each step a booming quake that tore through what little determination you’d had when walking in there. He grabbed your jaw in his hand, leaning forward so his lips were against your ear. You hated that your body had become conditioned to react pleasantly to his touch, a tingling sensation spreading down to your core.

“What did you say?” He hissed against your ear.

You couldn’t speak. You wanted to repeat yourself. You wanted to convince him that this was what was best for both of you since getting caught would surely end his career. No matter how much you willed yourself to speak though, not a fucking word came out. The only sound you made was a pathetic whimper, a dumb little sound that you knew he liked; he always moaned whenever you made it.

“That’s what I thought, hermosa,” he whispered, “you can come back to my office tonight, and I’ll take good care of you like I always do, hm?”

He let go of you and stepped back, eyes scanning over your body and taking it all in as he had so many times before.

“Well, I-I can’t come tonight,” you admitted hastily, as though you might choke on the words if you didn’t spit them out.

“Why?” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes snapped to yours.

“Well my friends and I were going out tonight and–”

“No,” he said firmly, “you’re coming back here.”

Perhaps he’d said it too harshly, but knowing that there was a good possibility that this was the night of your death, your ‘canon event’ as he’d taken to calling it, he couldn’t risk you leaving his sight.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the dark glare in his eye told you that arguing was futile. It was clear that whatever this had started as, an exploitative endeavor, had turned into some sort of obsession that you weren’t going to be able to get out of easily.

“Please,” you mouthed, keeping your eyes on the floor.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so much guilt. Could he really keep this up? Would he really be able to spend the rest of both your lives looking into your fearful eyes and convince himself that it was alright? As long as he had you it didn’t matter if you were a little afraid…right?

“I know this is hard for you to understand, so I’ll make it simple for you,” he moved to grab you, but you slipped under his arm and started backing away.

“Stop doing this, please,” you were trying to get away from him now, another sign that this was probably a dead-end universe for him.

Miguel couldn’t imagine much worse than you being dead, but you feeling so afraid of him that you died trying to get away from him was right up there. He wondered if closing his oversized office window would’ve still resulted in your demise that night.

“Honey, I’m sorry, if you can just come here and have a seat we can talk–”

“No!” You yelled, continuing to back up, the open window at your back.

Miguel took a step forward.

“I’m not going to hurt you, let’s just–”

“You already did!” Your lips were trembling, your whole body was tense, “Stay away from me!”

“Mi vida, please!”

He watched you hit the low-sitting window sill. The school would get sued, no doubt, for not putting a screen, or at least some form of safety precaution, in place to prevent your fall from three stories up. He looked over the window sill, watching the blood spread from your body outward, covering the pavement below.

Miguel genuinely felt bad. He didn’t know if it was because he felt like he was losing you again. No, this wasn’t really like losing you. This felt more like guilt around causing the death of some college student who happened to look almost exactly like you, but she wasn’t really you.

In all honesty, appearance was the only thing this girl had in common with you. So Miguel wouldn’t shed a tear for her, though he would hold on to the turmoil he’d caused you in that universe for a while. He’d wear it with him to the next one, like a pin he’d collected as a souvenir. That thought actually made him laugh. It was the laugh of a man gone mad, but a laugh nonetheless.

Maybe by the end of his journey he’d have a whole stash of pins. Perhaps he’d be so weighed down by them that he wouldn’t be able to move anymore. It was entirely possible that a suitable replacement didn’t exist, and that maybe he’d never find the perfect one.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction #miguel o’hara x reader

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 4 months

Text

Dibs

Summary- Eddie meets someone quite interesting on restock day at their favorite music shop

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23 @wheels-of-despair @goatsmcgee @flawiette

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

Word Count- 1.7k

“Restock day.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open as his hand gripped the phone, nearly pulling the cord straight out of the receiver as he shot out of bed.

All he needed to hear was those two words and he was given the adrenaline needed to get himself out of bed and get ready all within the span of five short minutes.

He had finally finished pulling his shirt over his head before reaching back for the forgotten phone laying on his mattress,

“Ready in five!” He shouted to Grant on the other end, not knowing wether he had hung up or not.

His hair was still a mess, and he was certain the jeans he grabbed from the pile of clothes on his floor definitely still had dirt stains all over them, but he didn’t care. It was restock day at the local record store. That’s all he cared about.

Once a month he and the rest of the guys would wake up early and head over to be the first ones in line before the store opened. They’d be up and ready to go with their lists in hand of what to look out for, knowing that if they didn’t leave with at least one then there’d be hell to pay.

Eddie sat on his stoop, ready to go for whenever he spotted Grants car pull through the park entrance. He wasn’t out there for more than a few moments before hearing the gravel crunching under the wheels of a car that was definitely going too fast for those types of roads. They’d get a few dirty looks from a couple of older residents as they left the park, but it was a price they were willing to pay for being able to still get there on time.

Eddie ran up as soon as he could see the rusted bumper on the front, hopping into the back seat next to Jeff.

“Still on time?” Eddie asked as he fixed himself in his seat.

“Still on time.” Grant said back as he looked to Eddie in the rear view mirror.

“I think if we gun it on the back roads we’ll get there earlier than planned.” Gareth said as he turned from the passenger seat.

“We already go at least 70 on these,” Jeff argued, “let’s not try and kill ourselves like last time.”

“Last time wasn’t my fault!” Eddie laughed, “I was being a good samaritan and letting those ducks pass the road.”

“You slammed on the breaks so hard i almost flew through the window.” Jeff said, earning a laugh from the boys up front.

“I think i still have a rug burn scar from the seatbelt.” Grant laughed.

After a quick drive and debrief of the records they were looking for, Grant quickly pulled into the parking lot. Each let out a sigh of relief as they saw that there were only three other cars in the lot, a few people gathered outside the door. They got into their spot and jogged to join in the small group waiting to get inside, thankful that they got there before the swarm of cars and a few kids on bicycles entered the lot. Within five minutes the parking lot was filled and there was a line that reached almost out to the street.

They paid no attention to the crowd behind them, doing their best to patiently wait for those final agonizing minutes before 10 am. When the doors were finally unlocked it was like some of the people behind them had never been in public before.

They were shoving past to get to the newest pop releases, and the boys paid them no mind as they headed over to the much less crowded rock section to scan through the full bins of the owners newest finds.

The boys scattered, each of them looking through the various bins and crates, moving onto the next as soon as they finished flipping through them. Eddie was in the zone as he flipped through a few older records he’d seen time and time again, not even noticing someone flipping through the same bin on the opposite side. His fingers moved quickly and stopped as soon as he saw it.

Alice Coopers new album was finally out, and he knew it had to be his the moment he heard ‘Prince of Darkness’ playing in that John Carpenter movie. He grasped the top of it and turned to show the guys, but he was pulled back as he felt it being tugged in the opposite direction. Eddie turned back to see who was trying to get this record from out of his hands, and he stopped for a moment when his eyes met yours.

He didn’t know what came over him.

A girl, a really pretty girl, was stood at the other side of the crate of records, holding the top of the record on the opposite side. And you weren’t letting go.

The boys glanced over, Eddie already having grabbed their attention before only made them stare. He was just standing there. Standing and staring.

Your eyes were locked onto his. This same scenario has happened to you countless amounts of times. You’d spot a record or a tape in a shop the same time as someone else and waited to see who would give in first. And it was never you.

But this one seemed different to you.

He wasn’t like the other guys that had gotten into this situation with you. He wasn’t moving his eyes over your body or trying to get a peek at the logo on your shirt to see if you were even a fan of this kind of music. He was just looking at you, with those deep brown eyes that you couldn’t help but look into.

All you could do was look at one another, waiting for the other to take their hand off the record to finally get it into their hands. And there’s no way in hell you were going to give in.

The rest of the guys watched the interaction from their spots at the crates, their eyes widening as they watched Eddie slowly take his hand away from the record.

He smiled to you as he let his hand drop.

“All yours.” He nodded.

You looked down at the record in your hands and looked back up to him,

“What’s your name?” You asked him.

His eyes widened for a moment, taking a quick glance around to see if he was the one you were asking, earning a giggle from you.

“Eddie.” He said, pursing his lips, knowing that the guys were no doubt going to rag on him for not only letting go of this record, but letting go of it just because the girl on the other end was pretty.

He knew they’d do the same, he was just the first to do it.

“Thanks Eddie.” You smiled and looked him over before walking over around the crate up to the line forming at the counter.

Eddie watched as you walked away, smiling to himself as he went back to sorting through the records before him. The guys finished looking through their crates and slowly made their way over to Eddie, their records in hand, ready to head up to the register while Eddie still had nothing.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asked as he stood next to Eddie.

“What? I’m sorry, should i have just ripped that out of that hot girls’ hand and said ‘dibs’?”

“No, i’m just saying you gave that up so easily,” Gareth glanced back over at you in line, “all for a girl?”

“A HOT girl. And who am i to deny a hot girl the right to listen to good music?” Eddie laughed to himself.

“Well good luck trying to find that record again,” Jeff said as he handed Eddie the Anthrax album he asked them to keep an eye out for, “a bunch of these have multiples but i don’t think i saw any more of that Alice Cooper record.”

“I’ll find it again. And if i don’t, it wasn’t meant to be.” Eddie shrugged as he got to the last record, pulling it out as soon as he recognized the Tesla logo on the front. He held it in his hands and took the Anthrax record from Jeff as they went to meet Grant in line.

Eddie glanced around and saw you at the front of the line, scribbling down something on a little piece of paper in front of you.

“How’d the search go?” Grant asked the guys as they huddled around him in line.

“Fine, except for the fact that Eddie gave up one of the only albums he was looking for to some girl.” Gareth groaned.

“What’s so wrong about that?” Eddie pleaded.

“She still here?” Grant asked Eddie, with Eddie quickly pointing you out as you finished up at the register, “Damn… Good call on that.”

“Thank you! Finally someone gets why i did it.” Eddie exclaimed, not noticing you approaching him until he felt one of the guys nudge his arm.

You smiled as you stood before Eddie, holding out a little piece of paper to him,

“Here.” You smiled as he opened it, watching his eyes widen a bit, “Just in case you ever wanted to borrow it.”

Eddie and the guys stayed quiet as they all looked at the slip of paper in his hands.

It was the written out receipt for the record you just bought, your name and phone number scribbled onto the front. Eddie quickly looked up to say his goodbyes, but by the time he was pulled from his trance you were nowhere to be seen.

They hadn’t even noticed the line moving in front of them until they heard a shout from someone behind them. They shuffled forward, Eddie neatly folding up the receipt in his hand and placing it onto his pocket with a smug grin on his face as he looked back to Gareth and Jeff,

“Which one of you was complaining about me giving up that record?”

The two of them were silent, Eddie laughing to himself as he turned to move with the line.

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, quickly putting it into his pocket to keep it safe as they stepped forward with the line.

There was nothing he loved more than restock day.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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folkloresthings · 1 year

Note

seb + reader are in the car and they get in a fight. reader gets out of the car, it starts raining, and seb can’t find her and starts freaking out. when she finally gets home he’s super relieved and apologizes and they make up

vaguely inspired by the all too well tv (10 min vers.) music video but less toxicity 👍

BOILING POINT. ❨ sebastian vettel x reader ❩

the space between you had never been so tense. sebastian’s hands were gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, your nails nicking at the hem of your dress. it was almost dark out, and you were headed back from a fancy dinner with some of sebastian’s colleagues.

it was your first time meeting most of sebastian’s work friends. people higher up in red bull, bosses and executives and what not. you’d been nervous, but sebastian didn’t seem to think he needed to help ease your nerves. for the most part, you spent the night in the corner of the room, cradling a wine glass and making awkward small talk. sebastian was laughing and making jokes and brushed you off any time you tried to speak to him.

“so, you’re not speaking to me now either?” you mumble, hating the silence.

“you’re being dramatic,” sebastian sighs, head falling back against the headrest as he turns another corner.

“you barely said a word to me all night!” you exclaim, sitting up. you look over at him, his eyes fixed hard and cold on the road. “it was embarrassing!”

“i was working,” he hisses, glancing over at you briefly. “i didn’t have time to talk to you, because i had to impress those people if i want to keep my job. you know, the job that pays for your dresses and holidays and—”

“stop the car.”

sebastian looks over at you, cheeks red with frustration. “what?”

“i said, stop the car.” you can feel the tears stinging your eyes, sebastian’s words pulling at the wrong heartstring. he got like this sometimes, all hot and harsh, but he was never mean. not like that.

he laughs a little, under his breath, but pulls the car over anyway. he doesn’t expect you to actually get out, only to make your point and shout at him a little more and then go home. but you click the door open as soon as the car rolls to a halt and slam the door behind you.

“y/n!” he calls, rolling down the window. “get back in the car!”

you don’t listen, arms crossed and legs moving quickly. sebastian’s used to your stubbornness, and he’s still to caught up in his anger to apologise. “fine! i’ll meet you at home.”

about halfway there, the heavens open and it begins raining heavier than sebastian had anticipated. the rain seems to clear his thinking a little bit, turning the car around with a sharp sigh. he follows the exact same road he took, but you’re nowhere to be found. he tries some other back streets, and still nothing.

panic rises in him. you’re out there, somewhere, cold and wet and sad — and it’s all his fault.

thirty minutes of looking and no avail, sebastian heads back to the house in hopes of finding you. he could have cried when he sees you there, stood at the door, drenched. you spot the car pulling in, watching as sebastian switches off the ignition and climbs out.

“you’ve got the keys,” you tell him, justifying why you were simply stood on the doorstep. your cheeks are red and blotchy, eyes swollen from where you cried the whole way home. sebastian sighs, hurrying over to unlock the door and usher you both in.

“come on, take these off,” he’s quick to help you remove your coat, your shoes, every piece of clothing that’s soaked through. fetching you some pyjamas, he helps you put those on too. when you’re sat at the end of the bed, still not speaking, hair towelled dry and mascara staining under your eyes, sebastian caves.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters, kneeling between your legs. begging for forgiveness. “i should have been better tonight. i should have kept you by my side, showed you off. i shouldn’t have said all of that stuff — i’m an idiot.”

you sniffle, letting his hands wander over you, lips pressing apologetic kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your hands.

“i’ve got the perfect woman, and i act like a fool,” he admits, reaching up to brush your hair out of your face, kissing your cheeks. “i’m so sorry, liebe. you can hit me, if you want.”

it pulls a small smile from you, one he celebrates with a kiss to your lips. swiftly and easily does he lift you from under the arms, switching positions so he’s sat on the mattress, you on his lap.

“what can i do to make it up to you?” he gives you a suggestive smirk, fingers dipping under your waistband. “give me the word and i’m yours, baby.”

you can’t help but smile, shifting a little in his lap, pulling a small groan from your boyfriend. “hm. don’t think you deserve that tonight — but some hot chocolate would be lovely.”

he groans again, this time in despair, falling back into the mattress and taking you with him. you giggle, tucking your head in his neck as he attacks you with kisses. eventually giving up, leaving you to curl up under the duvet as he drags himself to the kitchen. when your hot chocolate comes, it’s a work of art, topped with cream and marshmallows and chocolate shavings.

“only the best for my love.”

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#💌 ﹐ writings.#formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sebastian vettel blurb #sebastian vettel drabble #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader

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sp4ceboo · 1 month

Text

CHAPTER 1 ~ THE SURVIVORS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: i cannot holler enough about how excited i've been to post this

chapter warnings: mentions of suicide, somewhat vividly described sick people, one mildly creepy dude, not a very juicy chapter because ya girl has to set everything up

chapter word count: 4.2k

The day they came, the sky ran red.

Red like cherry candy. Red like blood.

There were no warnings to indicate the end of life as it was. The ceiling of your world - of everyone’s - was its same innocent blue until, irrevocably, it wasn’t. One by one, the things blipped into humanity’s airspace, swarming in like they owned it, and the blue was vanquished, taking the status quo with it.

You were watching through the window of the lab instead of monitoring the cells you’d been culturing. The sound of shattering glass as one of your colleagues dropped something informed you that you were not the only one who wasn’t paying attention to their work; you rushed into the common room, where another colleague was switching to the news channel.

The source of the feeling of impending doom that had clouded your thoughts since that morning was confirmed as your eyes fixed on the screen. Before, you’d chalked it down to procrastination and yearning for the weekend, but as you watched one of the objects in the sky whizz down and make a landing space for itself by demolishing a block of flats with nothing a blast of light and smoke, you realised just where it came from.

Your boss cursed next to you, colourful and far too crude for the workspace.

As you saw what she was seeing on the TV, you decided you’d forgive her.

A previously invisible ramp in the side of what must be a spaceship had opened, and down it came a horse, a white horse, shining and resplendent, and yet the rider was the opposite - sallow faced and gaunt, arms too long and spindly with too thin skin stretching over fragile ribs. Worse was the face: it was all wrong. The nose seemed too high up, the mouth grotesquely wide and smiling.

You wished you could tear your eyes away, but you were transfixed, with the same horrified fascination a child watches a snail wither and shrivel into itself upon encountering salt.

The rider reached back with finger bones like spider’s legs and retrieved an arrow from the quiver on its back. The camera jolted as the cameraman took a step back, and began to shake as its head snapped to the side, its gaze catching on the lens. You recoiled, unadulterated fear rearing in your head, slicing through your thoughts - those eyes, like black holes, like endless hunger, pinned on you as if they could devour you through the screen.

You knew it then. You knew it, as if the thought had been planted in your head, a seed of fear and wrongness. This is your end, you heard, in a voice as black and velvet as night, and with so much depth it was as if there were thousands speaking at once. It cleaved through your head: The first horseman has come.

In a move too powerful and smooth for arms that spindly, the rider shot its arrow, and you saw it fly, so close to the camera you could almost taste the reek of illness as it tore by, burrowing itself into the cameraman's shoulder. The view pitched and fell, lurching towards the red sky before a new angle took its place.

You’d wished it hadn’t. From the new camera, you could see the cameraman who was hit retching and coughing, clutching the arrow buried in his shoulder. It thrummed from the impact, grotesquely sticking out like an extra limb, strange and stiff and now part of him. His torso undulated, convulsing, and he vomited up something big and bloody enough to be an organ onto the road. Behind him, the crowd was backing away, but you already saw the signs of infection - a woman covering her hand with her mouth as a cough wracked her body, a man pressing a palm to his side as his stomach cramped.

The first horseman had come.

Pestilence.

Soon after that, your colleagues began to rush home with wild, frantic eyes. You sat there, frozen, staring at the TV screen that had long since gone blank. Your parents called, their tinny voices breaking up every few seconds - no doubt millions of people were calling their own families all across the world - and told you to stay where you were to avoid infection until the authorities got everything under control.

They were sure it would all turn out alright. You weren’t - you made sure you told them you loved them before hanging up.

Next your sister called, coughing. She’d been working her shift at the hospital when the first horseman struck. There were no cures they could find, no concoctions that worked, no injections or antibodies or anything: they couldn’t even see what was causing the sickness, because the scans showed nothing unusual. Some patients held on longer than others, alive and just showing normal flu symptoms while others died before they could even reach the hospital.

You stayed on the line with her until she lied and told you she’d be alright, making a half assed excuse about feeding the dog so she could hang up.

You knew she just didn’t want you to hear her die.

It felt like cheating - it still feels like that - to be locked up in the lab, enveloped in silence aside from the hollow sound of you breathing and the growl of your stomach, safe while the rest of the world is either dead or collapsed and dying.

You’re beginning to wonder if you’re the last one. Not just because you didn’t glimpse anyone on your brief trips to the petrol station nearby to pilfer food, three masks secured over your face, but because your phone’s dead and the sockets in the lab don’t charge it. Power is down. Water is down, too.

Humanity is on its knees.

Yet still you hope, sitting with your legs tucked to your chest, wedged between the centrifuge and a table that’s set up with a long dead computer. You stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll hear footsteps, wondering when the rustling outside turns out to be a human, not a starving, half diseased fox; there has to be someone - you refuse any other alternative.

You’ve waited for someone to come and rescue you, for the TV to switch back on and a smiling reporter to tell you that it was all some gruesome puppet show put on by some crazy cult, that they’re all in custody and that everyone is fine. That everything is fine. You’ve waited, but no news has come. Still you won’t admit you’re on your own.

You can’t be the last one, and yet it feels that way - like you’re just a solitary, lone heartbeat in a city that used to be full of life, a reluctant survivor drowning in a sea of bodies.

Your head lists to one side, pressing your cheek against the cool metal of the side of the centrifuge so you don’t have to stare down the long space between the lab benches: it’s like being an air stewardess in the aisle of a plane, but the only passengers you have left to inform about safety precautions are the judgemental plastic chairs.

The lab is twice as long as it is wide, with two lab benches against each wall and one free standing one all the way through the middle. Normally, the huge space is a relief, because the previous labs you’ve worked in were at best cramped and at worst sweaty and bereft of air con, but now, it just makes you feel smaller, more alone.

Dim light filters through the gaping side of one of the blinds. For a few days, you kept the blinds open, hoping you’d be able to see if anyone was coming to save you, but you’ve closed them now. Looking out of the glass only ends in seeing bodies on the lifeless pavement outside.

In your dreams, your friends and family slam their hands against the windows, their mouths open in bloody screams, begging you to let them in. Each time, you try, and each time, the door won’t budge. Still, they accuse you, cursing and yelling, saying that you’re a greedy, useless coward.

Sometimes, you agree with them.

Their ships still hover overhead in the crimson sky, as if they’re watching the suffering they’ve caused, rubbing their hands together gleefully while supping on human fear, witnessing with greedy eyes as their first horseman of the apocalypse wipes out everyone - except, apparently, for you.

There’s a strange silence that hangs over the city, as if even the earth is holding its breath. No planes roar overhead, no cars horn in the streets, no trains hiss to a stop in the station - your world has lost its heartbeat. The quiet smothers you, suffocating, reminding you exactly who you are: a survivor, who even when granted luck and life, wishes it was someone else who made it out, someone else who has to shoulder the burden of trying to live in this mess.

To your left, on the table with the computer, there’s a small pile of knives, neatly stacked and ordered in size and sharpness. You took them from the kitchen on day six, the day after the water stopped. You’ve survived them and their temptation for a whole week now, pretending that they’re for your protection, but you’re still all too aware that your life has a timer on it, and there’s an all too easy way to end it early.

You can’t, though. You can’t do it. You tried, but you can’t - you couldn’t even pierce your own weak flesh with the dull steel, nor could you draw blood to stain that same steel the same red as the sky. Some voice within told you that you would be squandering humanity’s last hope at survival and filled you with enough guilt to not touch the knife pile again.

It’s just that you don’t want to be the last hope. You don’t want to be the one who fights valiantly to survive. Undoubtedly, that makes you a coward, for wanting to give in, for allowing things to just happen to you. Your mind won’t let you forget that. Even that is a weakness in itself.

The moment you decided to remain in the lab, not an inkling of a plan in your head, you doomed yourself to an isolated end.

At least if you had left, you wouldn’t have had to die alone.

It’s with that miserable thought that you begin to notice the strange noises. There’s this odd rhythmic thumping, mixed together with these strange scuffling noises and higher register sounds; they shatter the silence that you hate but got used to all the same, interrupting it rudely and irritating you, almost as if the hush had been speaking, you listening avidly to it.

Your heart rate picks up, and you immediately reach for a knife, cocking your head and straining your ears as the noises come closer. Slowly, you realise you know those sounds - the footsteps and voices of people running, people chasing.

A cry leaves you. It comes out strangled and weak, your voice cracking and buckling from lack of use. Your fingers tighten around the handle of the kitchen knife. Suddenly, you feel utterly stupid - there are people out there, surviving, and maybe other people, chasing the survivors but no doubt also trying to stay alive, and here you are, holed up in the place that you used to go for work every day, alternating between sleeping and contemplating death.

Your new found clarity is like lightning in your blood. You leap to your feet as if struck by it, electrified, your breathing quickening as you cock your head, listening harder. Yes, those are voices - human voices, and yes, those are footsteps - human footsteps.

The choice is made the moment it enters your mind.

Still holding the knife, you use your shoulder to barge open the door to the lab, and then the next - the one that contains the little chamber for sterilising before and after entering. You don’t bother to sanitise your hands as you leave. All the organic matter left out by you and your colleagues is long dead.

You’re unsure what you’re going to do once you glimpse the makers of the noise, just that you need to see that there are still humans out there, that all that time you spent thinking you were the last, you weren’t. The insignificance you feel as you hear them approaching is nothing but a relief, a weight off your chest - confirmation that you are not the last hope.

Despite the selfish slant of that thought, your heart jumps. You’re unexpectedly aware that all of your past conclusions are idiotic: a strange, philosophical grave you dug yourself into. The sound of human voices seems to have jolted you out of the madness of it all, of the horsemen and the weight of responsibility that was like rocks in your pockets while you were trying to swim. An almost smile cracks your tired face as you push open the door.

You freeze. This is something you can’t quite get rid of, even in your new-found excitement - the fleeting moment of paralysis when you step foot outside and the sky is neither azure blue or grey and scudding with clouds but red.

It took you at least five trips to take what you needed from the nearby petrol station’s convenience store, yet each time you went from a simple white ceiling to a boundless, crimson sky, you couldn’t help the hesitation that stilled your bones. The sight of it, so bloody and swarming with alien ships, awakens the instincts of a hunted prey within you. Your heart pounds, ready to fight or flee, your legs bending a little as if you could curl into yourself like a frightened mouse hiding from a barn owl.

You know you can’t hide. Worse, you know that they’re watching from their safe little vantage point, embedded in the sky, as you venture out of your stronghold and prison and workplace, holding nothing but a kitchen knife.

You feel stupid all over again.

You’re determined to not let it stop you - instead you push yourself to a jog, mentally berating yourself for not exercising even a little during your stint of self pity in the lab, because your lungs tighten after about fifteen steps, invisible iron bands appearing around your chest and constricting it.

Keeping your eyes ahead of you, you pick your way around a body slumped twenty metres from the lab, face down on the pavement. If you were brave enough, you would close their eyes and arrange them into a respectable position, but you’re terrified that you’ll turn them over and it will be the face of someone you know.

The footsteps are approaching. You can hear individual voices now: muffled cursing, panicked words, and you duck backwards into the shadows cast by the block of flats, the one with the Korean BBQ shop on the ground floor, watching as four men sprint across the open space of the petrol station. More footsteps sound, and your brow furrows, wondering who could be chasing them for them to be running so hard.

They’re all carrying knives. You don’t really notice that, though - you’re busy taking in their dirt smeared, masked faces and the horror in their eyes as they realise they’re backed up against the convenience store, wondering if whatever they’re so worried about means you should just leave them to their fate and run.

A crash sounds. You jump, as do the four men, the two older looking ones pushing the younger ones behind them. The biggest one, dressed in all black and broad in the shoulders, reaches up, one hand brushing over the mask covering the lower half of his face like some sort of nervous tic, his fingers tightening on his knife. Behind him, the tallest pushes so he’s standing in line with the other two, despite the dirty look sent to him by his other companion. The last hurtles into the convenience store, most likely looking for a back exit you know he won’t find.

Hesitantly, you take a step forward, craning your neck to glimpse their attackers, and surprise momentarily nails your feet to the ground.

You expected a horde of monsters eating up the distance towards them, or zombies, or anything inhuman pertaining to the end of the world that would insight the type of panic that reigns in their eyes. It’s nothing of the sort - nothing creeping or crawling or oozing, not even a pack of feral dogs that you heard pass by one night.

They’re humans. Several, maybe a dozen, their faces twisted with anger. But when you look closer, you see the signs of disease: red eyes, sallow faces and emaciated limbs like those of the first horseman.

Worst of all, they don’t look crazy. They look gravely sick, and even more furious, but there is no drool slipping from the corners of their cracked lips, no feverish glint to their eyes, and yet the very marrow of you tells you that this is not normal, human rage. This is something else. This is Pestilence.

Pestilence that will no doubt find you once it wipes out these four men.

You’re closer to them than the sick ones are. The moment you lurch into a sprint from your hiding spot, you know there’s no going back - whether you like it or not, you become one of the survivors, and whether you survive for much longer or not, you’re going to try and help them.

As you cross towards them, your foot splashes through a puddle - a glance confirms that one of the pumps has begun to leak, trailing petrol that has oozed down towards the road and collected by the curb. An idea forms in your mind, and as you run, you yank at the hairband in your hair, tugging it out roughly despite the complaints of your scalp.

“Lighter,” you gasp, skidding to a halt in front of the men. “Give me a lighter. Now.”

The one wearing all black lets out an involuntary shocked noise, his knife arm unconsciously lifting before he lowers it, while the one on his right looks at you distrustfully, scowling. There’s no sign of the last one or a possible lighter he might have - no doubt he’s still looking for an exit through the store, becoming more and more panic stricken as he can’t find one - but the tall one reacts immediately, digging through his pocket and handing you the item he finds.

Your fingers tremble as you fix your hairband around the lighter, making sure it’s tight enough that the button stays down and the flame remains on. It twangs off when you pull it too tight, and you scrabble for it, scooping it off the concrete and trying again, cursing under your breath and praying that you’ll make it out alive long enough to see if the look the scowling one is giving you will actually kill you.

“They’re close,” the one in all black says with an Australian accent. “Really close.”

“I know, I know,” you mutter, fumbling with the hairband.

At last, it snaps into place. Spinning around, you turn and hurl it, launching it through the air. It hits the ground once, and for an awful moment you think you haven’t thrown it far enough, but then it catches the petrol and a roaring wall of flame surges up, so fast that the woman at the front of the mob runs straight into it.

She’s probably still going to die, if her sickness is anything like that which struck down the camera man those weeks ago, but nausea still tugs at your throat, and you look away, paling.

“Holy shit,” someone mumbles.

You turn. The man who they sent into the store to look for an exit has returned, lingering in the doorway as he stares up at the fire. From what it sounds, he’s Australian too, and he’s got lovely freckles, his hair a partially grown out blonde. You glance over at the others to find the scowler and the one in black, who carries himself like a leader, talking to each other quietly as they look at the roaring flames and the pacing figures behind them. It’s clear that the barrier separating you and the sick ones won’t last long.

You make another split second decision. It seems that you’ve become more decisive, since you never used to be this direct, but you guess that’s what the end of the world does: change people, shaping them to improve at survival, for the better or worse of others.

“You can come with me,” you offer. “I know somewhere we can lay low.”

The leader and the scowler exchange a glance. Freckles gives them both a hopeful look, while the tall one looks doggedly at the silhouettes behind the wall of flames as if he can will them away with his gaze, clearly already having made his judgement of you and leaving it up to the other three to decide. Eventually, the scowler gives the leader a curt nod.

The leader holds out his hand. “I’m Chan.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, giving him a brief smile.

“I’m Felix,” the freckled one says warmly, then points at the tall one. “That’s Seungmin.”

Seungmin jerks his chin at you. “Hey.”

Felix nudges the scowler. “And this is Minho.”

Minho eyes you like he might rip you apart with his bare hands, his gaze appraising as he looks you up and down, sizing you up as if he might need to take you down at any moment. You don’t miss the way his arms fill out his shirt, nor do you miss the daggers he stares at you.

You look away first, feeling a little intimidated as you gesture half heartedly down the road. “It’s this way.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, flashing you a dimple as you begin to walk. “You saved our lives.”

You frown. “Who were they, anyway?”

“It’s got something to do with the Pestilence from the first horseman,” he replies. “They go crazy when they’re near death.”

You laugh, although it sounds hollow. “I can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe I’m alive right now. I can’t believe you guys are alive right now, either.”

“We’re lucky, for sure,” Felix agrees. “We weren’t near the buildings they collapsed when the army sent the fighter jets, either. Were you close when it happened?”

“I didn’t know,” you confess, shame filling you. “I… I was hiding.”

The words are out before you can stop them. You expect accusatory looks, or even to be called a coward, but they just nod, Chan sighing, sympathy clear on Felix’s face. It lightens something in your heart, makes you realise that despite everything that must have happened to them, they’re still people - people who you’re bringing into your hiding spot.

“I work here,” you explain as you let them in. “Or used to, I guess.”

Chan glances around. “It’s a good place. There aren’t many buildings which are safe or haven’t been broken into.”

“You could stay,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

It’s stupid, really. They’d never agree. You’d be the one who would benefit the most, gaining people to watch your back, while to them you’d just be another mouth to feed and another body to protect. You do have a life debt on them, but when everyone’s lives are threatened, you suspect life debts don’t mean as much.

Minho’s gaze snaps to you from where it was wandering over the lab. “There are four more of us, you know.”

“And they’re noisy,” Seungmin adds.

Neither of those statements, you realise with a jolt, is a no. You fight to keep your facial expression under control. Your heart pounds - no doubt the cave woman bent on survival that woke up inside you the moment your instincts had to kick in is jumping for joy at the prospect of safety in numbers.

“I’d manage,” you reply, disbelieving. Surely they’re joking. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Chan is regarding you with a strange look on his face. You get the impression that he likes taking in strays - because that’s what you are, a stray, hoping to be let inside but far more likely to be shut out, relying on their kindness more than anything. You’re unable to think of any advantages to adding an eighth mouth to feed on top of his own, but you can see he’s weighing something up in his head.

Of course, they could just kill you and shove your body out the front door. For some reason, they haven’t, and now you’re stretching their kindness, possibly thinner than it can go. All the same, Chan is still looking at you, his strong features softened by his curls and the dimple that shows when a little smile tugs at his lips, almost as if he’s already fond of you.

“Why not?”

taglist: @estella-novella @0bticeo @lixies-favorite-cookie @smashleywow @realrintaro (let me know if you want to be added)

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vroomvroomcircuit · 5 months

Text

From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you

(A/N): This has been written with the inspiration @foreveralbon brought me. I love you and your incredibly mind, honey

Summary: Lando's girlfriend is a seamstress working at a tailor shop. She is repairing his clothes, he is cutting holes into his sleeves. Together, they release the cutest merch

Pairing: Lando x fem!reader

Warnings: None, this is so fluffy, I'm crying myself to sleep. I need a Lando like this

Wordcount: 2.9k

🏎Masterlist🏎 __________________________

(Y/N) thinks she is about to go crazy. Manic even.

Over and over again she patches up holes in her boyfriend’s long sleeves.

And over and over again new holes appear. It’s like this is her Sysiphus task. Just repairing Lando’s clothes day in and day out.

Don’t get her wrong. (Y/N) does this for three different reasons.

The first being that she is a seamstress, working in a tailor shop. This craft is how she pays her rent and food.

The second reason is that she really can’t have her boyfriend go out looking like he just got picked up at the side of the road begging for a warm meal and shelter.

The third reason may be less obvious than the previous ones. Acts of services is (Y/N)’s love language. She is not particularly good at letting people around her know of the appreciation she holds for them. Verbally at least. It’s not the way she grew up. She learned that actions speak louder than words can. So patching up her boyfriend’s clothes gives the young woman the opportunity to prove how much she loves him. She just hopes that Lando understands the meaning as it is intended.

Little does (Y/N) know, Lando really appreciates her patching up holes. What he isn’t a big fan of is when she repairs those that are intentional. The ones in his long sleeves are put there on purpose.

While (Y/N) is meticulously sewing, Lando goes snip snip in the other room with a pair of scissors. He just loves having sleeve paws, but it’s annoying when his thumbs are jailed in.

“Lando, have you seen my scis- What are you doing there?!” He turns around, looking at his girlfriend like a child being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Freeing my thumbs?” He tries to explain in a small voice, scared that she is about to go off on him for ruining his clothes.

(Y/N) sits down next to him on the ground. “If you have told me you want thumb holes, I could have done it for you. I would hem them for you, so they won’t fry. If you want me to, can I take some of your shirts to the shop tomorrow and work on them during slow times?” The way Lando’s eyes light up makes her wish for a camera to keep the memory of it.

(Y/N) not only fixes the holes in his sleeves.

“Love, would you put another patch on my jeans?” Lando saunters into her little crafting room. When she moved into his apartment in Monaco, he insisted on transforming a guest room into her own sewing cave. It was only fair. He got his gaming room as his hobby room, so his girlfriend needs her own territory too.

The room is filled with different sewing machines, one wall is decorated with threads of all kinds, colors and thicknesses. Several shelves are overflowing with different fabrics of any kind imaginable. Every shade, pattern or reflection that any crafter would kill for. Lando really spoils her and happily let’s (Y/N) run loose in a craft store, draining his credit card to her heart's fullest content.

(Y/N) would feel bad, if it wasn’t for the big difference in salaries they sport. Also, it is Lando’s way of treating his girl. Instead of flowers or a bag he buys her a new Bernina B 325, which is not something she is exactly complaining about. They share most of their expenses, but still, working at a tailor shop will never make you a millionaire.

Currently working on her own project of making a quilt out of scrap fabric for Max’s upcoming birthday, (Y/N) barely looks up to her boyfriend. “Yes, of course, sunshine. Just put it over there and I’ll have a look at it in a bit. Do you have any preference for the new patch? I ordered city themed ones a few days back and they arrived today.”

Without having to be pointed into the direction, the Brit already goes through the drawer that is solely dedicated to the patches (Y/N) accumulated during the last few years.

If he is being honest, that kind of work of hers is his favorite. Lando is just amazed by the different shapes, colors and themes her collection entails and how her delicate efforts bring a new individual mark to his favorite pair of jeans.

“I think I want to go with this one,” he mumbles after sifting through the drawer. Lando places a small rose next to the currently used sewing machine for her to not have to search for it in the midst of the chaos that is going on on the several desks in this hobby room.

He actually loves spending some down time here, especially when his girlfriend is working on her own projects. Lando hides under one of the desks, sometimes scrabbling away on pieces of paper for the next helmet sketch, sometimes answering some important emails on his laptop and other times he lies down between different piles of fabric and takes a nap. Having (Y/N) hack away with the machine, occasionally cursing under her breath when she pinches herself sewing something by hand or the music playing on a low volume brings Lando great comfort.

Spending quality time this way is secretly Lando’s happy place that he visits mentally during stressful patches when he is away.

A couple days later the door to the tailor shop (Y/N) works at rings the bell, alerting her of a new customer. “I’ll be with you in a second!” She calls from an adjoining room, cleaning up her work space from the trims that have been left by the jeans she just shortened.

“How can I hel- LANDO!” The young woman exclaims, rounding the register to jump into his arms. “I thought you’ll return from Australia tomorrow”, she murmurs into his shirt. The thumbs are, of course, able to escape through the holes she recently cut and hemmed like promised.

He laughs into her hair. “I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work like the good boyfriend I am. I also got you something from ‘Straya.” Out of thin air (his back pocket actually) Lando procures a small stack of Australia themed patches.

“Oh, honey, they are perfect. Thank you so so much!” She kisses him all over the face until finally putting her lips onto his. “Just let me close the shop and we can go home and enjoy our evening.” Lando presses another kiss onto her lips, “Hurry up, I can’t wait holding you in my arms again.”

While (Y/N) packs her things up, Lando goes through a stack of different fabrics. One in particular catches his eye.

“Hey love, where did you get this heart patterned fabric? What do you have planned with that?” (Y/N) pops her head in to see what her boyfriend is pointing to. “Oh, that one. The owner was negotiating a deal with a new supplier and wanted to check out the quality. We wanted to see if this one is durable enough to make shirts out of it.”

An idea is forming in Lando’s app, that he quickly puts down in the notes app on his phone.

She emerges from the side room with her back and something else. “Would you try this on for me?” (Y/N) asks innocently, handing Lando a jean jacket. It is a bit oversized on him, just the way he likes.

“It’s pretty nice. What do you need me to model this fo- This is one of the patches I just gave you!” Lando admires the kangaroo that looks like it’s taking a jump on the sleeve. “I thought this would be a fun little project for the season. After every race I’ll put a patch from that country on the jacket. I can also stitch some additions onto it as well for when you get a podium or win or are voted as driver of the day and so on. Just, I thought this could be something cute.” (Y/N)’s face heats up the more she talks about her idea.

Lando pulls her into his arms, squishing his girlfriend as close as possible to his body. “Thank you, you don’t know how much I appreciate the work and thought you put and are putting into this.”

Like the proud trophy boyfriend he is, Lando loves modeling whatever his girlfriend sewed, patched up or created and pimped up in some other way while entering the paddock. Just as he predicted mentally, the fans are going crazy about his jacket online as he wears it on Wednesday for media day.

“I see, (Y/N) loved the patches you bought her. At least dragging me through every craft store in Melbourne that I know of has paid off for you”, Oscar remarks dryly as he watches Lando hanging up the jacket in the hospitality.

“Yeah mate, she sewed it on immediately. It’s her newest project, putting on a patch for every country we race in during this season after the race. She also wants to add a bunch of things for special occasions during the races.” Lando explains fondly the thought process behind the jacket.

As he is leaving the paddock later that day and signing several cards, caps and other merch, some fans ask him where he got the jacket from. “Oh, that old thing? I’ll gatekeep this one. Good luck on finding the store.” He answers a young woman while putting a bracelet she handed him on his wrist.

He hasn’t gone public with his girlfriend yet. The people know that he is in a relationship with Lando having started an already several months long soft launch, that includes their socked feet during movie nights and her backside in beautiful sunset scenes. So nobody knows what she does for work and the two of them want to keep the little bubble of secrecy they have so far going for a bit longer. Out of the public eyes without the pressure of fans and media.

It felt like a scavenger hunt going online and seeing fans and other media outlets trying to find Lando’s particular jean jacket. For the two of them it becomes their evening entertainment, reading up how everyone and their mother are losing their minds from not being able to detect where it is from.

“The chat is asking about that dumb cloth again. Just tell them where you got it.” Max groans, even his own chat during the stream isn’t safe from the assault. Lando, who chills on his bed while waiting for a message from his girlfriend about her being done with work, just smiles. “Come one, please lift the secret. I can’t even roll my eyes often enough times, that is how annoyed I am by this whole thing.”

The Brit loves the suspension around the subject, but gets up and saunters over to the monitors. “Ok Chat, I will only say it once and never again. Get your pens and papers out and write it down. So, this jean jacket with the patches is a designer piece. You can’t get it anywhere else, it was custom made and no, the designer doesn’t want to go into mass production with that one. But I am cooking something up. Just be patient, I feel like I will be able to make a deal for you. I just need to work my magic, but that takes time. My name is not Tinkerbell.”

His little sass tirade is broken up by the ping of his phone, making Lando scramble for it to see his love’s text. “Chat, do you see how down bad that man is for his girlfriend?” Max ridicules Lando, giving him payback for all the teasing against himself.

While the chat is going insane, with the certainty that this moment has been clipped and will be used for edits by the fans, Lando just smiles at his phone, shooting a quick reply of picking her up. After that he packs his stuff and throws a quick goodbye to Max and the stream, onto the way to the tailor shop.

There she stands, his love in all her glory in front of the closed store. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the building for me? It’s dangerous to be out alone, especially for such a beautiful person like you!” Lando scolds her lightly when he reaches her, taking her bag from her shoulder, throwing it onto his own back.

But (Y/N) presses a kiss to his lips, trying to soothe him. “It’s all ok. When I saw the headlights of your car, I stepped out and closed the shop behind me. I knew that my Tinkerbell was close by in case I needed saving.”

Lando wants to reciprocate the kiss, but stops mid air when he processes her words. “You watched the stream?” That shocks him a bit, because (Y/N) usually keeps out of this part of his life. It’s not really her world, streaming and gaming. So that’s one of the hobbies they don’t share, being the healthy couple, without a horrible codependency, they are.

“No, a friend sent me that clip a few minutes earlier”, she snickers, “Were you talking about me? About wanting to work a deal out?” Lando throws his arm around her shoulders, leading the young woman into the direction of where he parked his car. “I did. Originally I planned on woohing you by a nice candle light dinner and after that I wanted to ask you if you were open with making a few designs for LN4. The fans are going crazy over the pants and jacket. You also have the eye for the details that I love on clothes. It would make me so happy to hold something in my hands that we both worked on, to know that people in the whole world will wear it.”

(Y/N) looks up at her boyfriend, watching his side profile while he is rambling about the meaning of a collab between the two of them. How he can’t stop smiling over the excitement of the prospect of their merch line together, the way his eyes light up, his free hand gesturing while explaining a few ideas he has saved on his phone. She can’t help but press another kiss onto his cheek, effectively quieting him down.

“I will make that collab with you happen. I already have a few things drawn out in a notebook, I was just too scared to show you the sketches, not wanting to intrude or impose myself onto your business.”

Instead of saying anything, he just picks her up and throws them in a circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He repeats over and over, both laughing about his childish antics.

A couple of months, several trial and errors as well as creative differences later, they stand in a studio, overseeing the photoshooting with the new collection.

“Wouldn’t this be the perfect way to launch our relationship to the public? With your face visible in the pictures?” Lando muses out loud while looking over a rack with hoodies. (Y/N) throws him a shocked look. “I mean, we can take a couple of pictures together with a few articles and also take a few of you individually too. The world needs to know the mastermind of these designs. You need to take credit for all the hard work you have done.” He explains, taking her hand and gesturing to the set up with the other.

She lets the idea rummage a bit in her head. It would be the perfect way to go public, especially since this is the first time her designs are commercially sold. (Y/N) breaks out into a smile, nodding rapidly. Lando can’t help but also smile, getting infected by his girlfriend’s happiness.

Weeks after that the new merch drop gets released to social media. The press and fans are eating up the couple's pictures, finally having a face to the woman, who is able to fluster Lando through text messages alone.

The clothes itself also get the best feedback.

A variety of the jean jacket and patched pants are now available for fans to buy, being able to kind of replicate Lando’s paddock look, coupled with a heart patterned hoodie from the collection.

But nothing gets close to the original with the many hand sewn details on Lando’s jacket, even when fans try to imitate them. A nice side effect is seeing other people picking up the craft of hand sewing and stitching.

Many people swoon over the long sleeves with cut out thumb holes. They especially love the heart shape of the holes.

It’s a perfect detail to the name of the new line.

‘From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you’ is printed in one way or another on every piece.

Because no matter the distance between Lando and (Y/N), they can feel the love for each other over any distance.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando norris x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff

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mw4n · 3 months

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Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 1

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.8k

<< teaser || ch. 2 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

“You know, you really shouldn’t smoke.”

High-heeled shoes clicked against the floor of the rundown bar, a sagging tote filled to the brim with court documents unceremoniously plopping onto the barstool next to Toji Fushiguro’s lone frame. The bartender didn’t even greet you, knowing you weren’t here to drink but just to fetch Toji.

A hand intercepted the fresh cigarette in Toji’s hand. So fresh, he hadn’t even had the chance to set down the lighter.

He turned to you, raising a brow. The incredulous look on his face increased by two more points at the sight of the cigarette now in between your lips. You inhaled the nicotine, tugging the cigarette from your parted lips to blow the haze out with a tilted head. The tenseness in your face relaxed as the sensation of the drug entered your system.

You rarely, if ever, smoked, but the recent events really did call for it.

“You’re smoking my cigarette.” You had been working with Fushiguro long enough to know when he was actually annoyed, and this was nowhere close.

You rolled your eyes, snuffing the cigarette out on the ashtray next to Toji. “With all the stress you give me, I need it more than you.” A pause. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. “And you shouldn’t smoke anyway, you’re the one with the kid.”

“I could put a kid in you, easy enough.” Toji smirked.

Externally, you looked as unperturbed as ever, ignoring his quip to rifle for his document in your tote. That was what you were here for, afterall. Externally, you were the image of a perfectly professional lawyer.

Internally, you had just creamed your underwear.

The first time you met Toji Fushiguro, it was through the second encounter with his son: Megumi. You say second, well, because you’d met Megumi before when his bike had crashed into the side of your parked and stationary car on Sugisawa Lane.

Given that the meetings were only a week apart, it wasn’t too difficult for you to recall how the events had unfolded.

“Motherfucker-!” Someone cursed, almost in tandem with a jostling abrupt impact at the side of your car. It was moments like these where you were reminded that in times when most people deliberated between flight and fright, you were an outlier and chose to freeze.

You tear your eyes away from where they had been fixed onto the mirror, carefully focused on navigating yourself into this tight parking spot, and slowly turn your attention out the window. Just nestled underneath was a teen sprawled disgracefully over the road, legs all sprayed.

He was dressed in the uniform of the local middle school nearby: a white buttoned shirt, a jacket, black pants. With hair that spikes out in every direction, he has an uncanny resemblance to the sea urchins your grandmother used to bring from the wet market. The urchins that you would watch split orange-tinged liquid all over the sink. Hmm…

As the student rubs said spiky hair, wincing all the while, your vision slowly pans towards the banged up bike next to him. No doubt the culprit behind a fresh dent in your car.

Wait- middle school uniform? Your mind catches up to the observation you made.

The stream of expletives from his mouth finally clarify into real words in your mind, now morphing into a variety of legible curses ranging from ‘motherfucker’ to ‘dogshit piece of shit’. Privately, you thought, the last one lacked creativity. Really? Dogshit piece of shit? But you had more pressing issues.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” you frown, unclipping your seatbelt. If he’s in middle school, that puts him at thirteen, at the very oldest.

Almost instinctively, he retorts a petulant, “make me.” Then, realisation that he’s the one in the wrong here dawns on him and he flushes. “I mean- sorry, miss.”

You sigh. From the sound (and the feeling) of the crash, you would have to inspect the damage on the side of your car yourself.

Your new car!

There’s an all-too familiar little wail in your heart. You’d heard it when you paid your law school tuition, you heard it when you found out that your tuition hadn’t covered your graduation gown or other expenses, and you heard it when you had put the down payment on this brand! New! Car!

Admittedly, ‘brand new’ might have been a stretch. The car was comfortably second hand. But you had just acquired it! It had barely been two weeks and a kid scrapes it up with his bike? It was brand new to you!

“You alright?” You have the dedency to ask. The car door clicks as it opens, prompting the pre-teen to shuffle out the way. He’s grimacing. “Crash sounded bad.”

At this point, you’ve tuned out his minor hisses. You assess him as you step out of the car and, aside from a couple scrapes and a smudge mark of… something on his cheek, the kid looks fine. Your focus of attention pivoted onto the state of your car.

He mutters darkly to himself, something about a shitty bicycle ripoff seller, before answering you. “I’m sorry about this, miss.”

You finally gauge the damage, pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off the incoming pressure in your sinuses at the sight of the accident. A comical sound effect of coins clinking plays in your head as you imagine the damage your bank account could take.

There’s a rippling crater in the side of your new, albeit, second-hand car, and a long gouge. A part of the bike had caught onto the metal as it used your car as a veritable crash cushion. The damage either said something about the strength and tenacity of this kid’s bike or the fragility of your car.

You close your eyes.

This was as clear cut as a case as it gets. You were peacefully and calmly exiting your parking spot, checking both mirrors and making sure there were no obstructions. You had done your duty. It was this kid who came out of nowhere and slammed into your car with his bike.

Good thing you had car insurance. Though you had nearly bit through your lip when you paid it, words couldn’t describe how relieved you were now.

“Where are your parents, kid?” You turned to him fully, crossing your arms.

He takes in your whole one hundred seventy centimetre self. Your tight pencil skirt, flats, and buttoned blouse. You look every bit like the office slave you are.

He’s also trying to estimate how amenable you would be towards eating his bullshit, and judging by your unimpressed pursing of the lips, you don’t look like you’d take it with a spoonful of sugar.

You stare down at him, waiting.

But still, he gives it a try.

The teen pulls out a phone, punching in some numbers. It’s the newest model. The phone rings for a bit and a cheerful voice picks up.

You hear a cheery “Megumi~!” through the tinny speaker before the kid starts speaking, still sprawled on the road floor.

“I need some help. My bike accidentally bumped into someone’s car and now she’s asking to speak to my parents. Probably about the damage. It looks pretty bad. Can you sort this out with her?” For someone who had caused such hefty damage, he seems relatively nonplussed by the whole situation.

A beat goes by, clearly the person on the other side asking a question. The kid - Megumi - makes a ‘mhm’ in response. Then he hands the phone over.

You don’t even reach out to receive it.

“That’s not your parent.”

He blinks up at you. “It’s my dad. He’ll handle this.”

You look away. “Call your actual dad.”

The likelihood of someone manually hand-dialing their dad’s number when asked to instead of selecting from contacts on your phone was way too unlikely for you to believe that Megumi had just called his dad.

Your eyes had caught that little action. Coupled with the fact that he hadn’t called the person on the other side ‘dad’ once, only added to your suspicion.

Megumi scowls. Without even saying bye to the person on the other side, he hangs up.

This time, he taps the phone app and selects someone from speed-dial. Satisfied, you lean back on your car and wait.

In no time, someone - a deeper voice - picks up.

“Megumi?”

A sharp contrast from the first person. Megumi stays silent for a bit, and then speaks.

“Hey dad,” he says in a resigned manner. “I hit someone’s car with my bike by accident-”

His dad says something. Megumi pauses. He shakes his head and then seems to remember that his dad can’t see him. “No, I’m fine.”

Another question.

“Yeah. Yeah. She’s asked to talk to my parents-, I called him but…” Megumi rolls his eyes now, “he’s a bit unreliable. So in the end I still called you.”

His dad says something and then Megumi hands the phone over to you. His eyes dart to you, almost nervously, and he bites his lip.

Finally, you receive the phone, flicking your hair out the way.

“Hello?” His voice is deep, the kind of deep that must reverberate in his chest, and stern against your ear. At such close quarters… meeeeoww!

You perish the thought.

“Hello, it’s as your kid said. I was parked when his bike slammed into my car.” There’s a thin veneer of professionality that you’re gripping with the edges of your fingers, but you’ve played the game long enough to know others can’t tell that.

Megumi’s father is rather cooperative, providing his insurance details and his number for any further inconveniences. You expected there to be some resistance, maybe some blame from him onto you, but there was nothing.

During your conversation, Megumi busies himself with straightening out his bike. The front wheel is busted. The spokes? Busted. You have no idea how the crash had actually happened, having only caught the aftermath of it, and not enough knowledge on bikes to know how the wheel spokes can protrude and bend like htat.

He’s still inspecting it when you conclude the conversation, thanking Megumi’s father - Fushiguro, going by his minimal introduction - and hanging up.

“It’ll be sorted now,” you hand the phone back over to Megumi.

The teen tucked it into his pocket. His spiky hair looks less energetic, noticeably drooping and reflecting his dejected demeanour.

“I just got this bike too. I got ripped off.”

Judging by the state of his bike, it’s unusable.

Maybe there’s some sympathy in you for that. You too had also just gotten your car when this had happened.

Looking away awkwardly, you run a hand through your hair. I better not regret this.

“Kid… you want a ride?” You ask hesitantly.

You’d actually just meant a drive to the nearest train station, but somehow Megumi seamlessly manipulates you into driving him pretty much all the way home. Which is annoying, because after a long day of work, there’s nothing more you want than to be at home, showered and in bed.

But instead, you have to deal with your itchy pantyhose for thirty more minutes.

Whoever made your piece of shit workplace dress code was a demon. Who makes heels mandatory? A small curse goes out to your ageing, withering male-dominated management who care little for female comfort and more for female eye candy.

If you keep thinking about it actually, you’ll get too worked up.

You distract yourself by driving through the unfamiliar suburbs.

“A lawyer, huh?” He says, impressed. “What kind?”

You hmm for a bit. “I’m early enough in my career where I’m kind of still figuring out what I want to settle in. Ideally, something that uses a mix of everything, but I’m not sure.”

“What about criminal law? Locking up murderers or whatever,” Megumi stares out the window. “Left.”

You shrug, turning left. “Could.”

The area around you slowly transitions towards some expensive looking apartment complex. It’s gated for goodness sake. There’s little decorative glass lanterns for goodness sake.

The black gates stay closed as you approach, but when Megumi rolls open the window and sticks his head out, the gates open.

He doesn’t even speak.

A deep seated envy in your heart!

Wasn’t being a lawyer supposed to rake in the big bucks?

And here you were, ferrying a kid in a busted second-hand car.

Another reason to hate your current boss. He’s definitely underpaying you.

Despite the gate being open, you don’t drive in. Honestly, you’re too embarrassed to have the people who live in this apartment complex possibly seeing the state of your car. But you don’t tell Megumi that.

“This is as far as I’ll take you,” you insist stubbornly. “And it’s more than what you deserve, running into me like that.”

He nods at that. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the ride though.”

You watch the kid struggle with getting his banged-up bike out of the trunk of your car through your rearview mirror, and then you drive off to your mechanic. At least you can invoice it to Megumi’s father.

But taking the metro to work tomorrow! Another wail in your heart goes off at the thought of that. You can already imagine how packed it’ll be during peak morning time.

The second time you encounter Megumi Fushiguro, it’s on the train, and you’re on the way home. Having had to stay behind for an hour or so to catch up on last minute added work, the usual intense numbers brought on by rush hour has ebbed a significant portion.

Originally engrossed in responding to an email on your phone (can your piece-of-dog-shit boss really not see that you’ve attached the relevant document sixteen hundred times for him in the previous emails?), your thumbs tapping a mile a minute, a shout by the end of the car draws everyone’s attention - including yours.

As a rather low-presence member of society, you’re quite surprised that you recognise one of the participants in the altercation. Still, you feel no desire to intervene, content with maintaining your bystander status.

A middle-aged man, puffy and red-faced, appears to be the main instigator. Shouting abrasively, he’s manhandling the collar of a familiar looking spiky-headed student.

Though there’s an easy two meter gap between you adnd them, you can make out the white knuckled hold he’s got on the student’s uniform, speaking volumes about how much strength he’s putting in.

He’s so angry, you can hardly understand what he’s saying, an undercurrent of a gai-jin accent protruding too much from his words.

Interestingly enough, despite the numerous gaze concentrated on them and spittle flying in his face, the student looked almost bored by the whole situation.

You’ve already identified him via the unique hair he sports, but the expression locks it in.

Megumi?

He’s so carefree from the situation that his wandering eyes make contact with you, flickering with recognition.

You mean to raise a hand up in greeting, but a sudden jolt of the train over a rough patch of track forces you to grab a nearby pole for stability.

You flail, stumbling, causing the person next to you to look at you with alarm. By the time you’re balanced and looking up, the situation’s reversed.

Instead of Megumi being gripped by the man, you manage to catch the tail end of a new student - his friend, you presume - socking the man squarely in the jaw. Gasps fly up in the crowd, and even you can’t help but blink in shock. Dumbfounded.

“Get your hands off him, you creep!”

Compared to Megumi, his friend appears foreign, sporting lighter tawny coloured hair and strange birthmarks on his face that make him stand out from the homogenous crowd.

He’s not even breathing heavily, frowning as he stands defensively in front of Megumi. The latter of which has placed his hands in his pockets and settles into a near-mocking slouch. He’s clearly not even taking this seriously.

“Why you-!” The middle-aged man bulges like a frog. You have no idea what caused the conflict, but when the man starts rolling up your sleeves, that’s when you start looking around. No one’s intervening.

You feel your conscience twinge.

It’s true that in between three guys, you really shouldn’t get in the middle of things, but you know Megumi’s only in middle school. He’s just a kid! And as a law abiding member of society, you feel it’s kind of your moral duty to at least try and dissuade the conflict from escalating any further.

Suppressing the urge to cast a powerful stink eye at the cowards remaining silent, you step forward and approach the man cautiously.

Differentiating from the crowd makes you nervous, but who cursed you with a bleeding heart?

“Sir, if this goes any further, I’m going to have to call the police.” You say calmly, brandishing your phone. The numbers 110 are stark against your screen’s light-mode.

The man turns to you, and you suddenly feel like a matador standing in front of a bull in an enclosed area. Sweat starts to prickle down the nape of your neck, though your expression remains as stony as ever.

“He punched me and started it! Go ahead, call the police, see what they say!”

Megumi’s friend looks faintly surprised to see someone intervening on their behalf. Megumi doesn’t.

“Please step aside, sir. You need to calm down.” In the corner of your perception, you can see the announcement that the train is approaching the next station roll by on the panel. Perfect, there’ll be staff there. You can just hand it o-

???

Stars flash by your vision from the abrupt pain shocking your system. The man lunged at you, shocking everyone and sending you crumpling towards the floor.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

He probably meant to get your face, but he tripped over someone’s briefcase on the floor and the fist swung lower.

You have mixed feelings. On one hand, he’s punched you. On the other hand… at least it wasn’t your face?

Apparently watching an older man beating up two middle-schoolers isn’t anything to fuss about, and people are generally content to let it all play out. But when an older man tries to pummel a defenceless, beautiful woman who’s just trying to be a good citizen? That’s what gets people to fly up in a frenzy.

“Hey, that’s too much!”

“Back off her!”

A whole bunch of white knights.

You’re still dizzy with the force when you’re pulled out of the flurry. With the posture of pulling a drowning man ashore, arms under your shoulders, you look up to see Megumi’s friend holding you.

A (this is estimated) thirteen year old easily lifting you?

You feel a little flattered by the internal thought that you’re so light (though, of course, Megumi’s friend could just be really strong, but you dismiss that consideration). Just a dust mote, you are. People should be careful not to brush you off their clothing next time you go out.

He’s looking all concerned, staring down at you. The birthmarks along his cheekbones catch your attention, but you have the sense not to gawk.

“Are you ‘kay, miss? Sorry you had to get all mixed up in this.”

Using his solid, stalwart stance as a support, you stand on shaky legs. The dull pain across your collar compounds with the ache in your heeled-feet, and you just wish you were home again.

Really, who gave you such a bleeding heart?

That was less of a rhetorical question, and now an annoyed query to the divine up ahead.

“I couldn’t just watch things get worse for you and Fushiguro without doing anything. You’re just middle schoolers,” you sigh. Your imposing manner against the man is nowhere to be seen now. “And who would’ve expected he would be so crazy that he would just lunge at me?”

Megumi finally speaks, arms crossed over his chest. “I could’ve handled it without your help.”

You shoot him a glare. “This the thanks I get?

He looks away but the tips of his ears pink. “Thanks.”

You’re reminded a little bit of your first meeting, when Megumi had been similarly embarrassed but repentful all the same.

Heh.

“Eh? You know Fushiguro, miss? That makes more sense.” His friend scratches the back of his head, looking friendlier. You’re reminded of the dumb looking golden retriever your childhood neighbours used to raise. The round one that would press between the bars of the gate, fat fur spilling out through the gaps, and whimper for pets as anyone walked by. “I was wondering why someone like you intervened.”

The words ‘like you’ shoot into your heart like two arrows.

What does that mean?!

“Like… me?” You say slowly, despair leaking into your voice.

“!!!!” He waves two hands, shaking his head concurrently. “No! I meant, why an office worker like you stuck your head out!”

“Like… me?” Your eyes look empty.

Am I getting old?

“!!!!!!!!! Because you’re dressed so neatly, I didn’t take you for someone who was so righteous! It would be one thing if it had been a big, tall guy, but you know, you’re just a frail miss!”

Frail!

A third arrow pierces into your heart. At least he didn’t call you aged or withered or decrepit or-

“Alright, enough, Itadori,” Megumi claps a hand onto his panicking friend’s shoulder. “You’re making things worse.”

The friend deflates.

You don’t look much different.

The train doors slide open, finally arriving at the station, and you’re taken off guard by the two policemen standing in front of the incoming passengers.

Clearly someone during the whole ordeal called the police, and during the conversation with Megumi and Itadori, the crowd has long subdued the rampaging man.

Disgruntled, he’s thrust over to the authorities to be taken away. Megumi and Itadori get singled out, and follow after the arrested man to have their statements taken.

You watch them leave with mixed feelings, but shake your head in the end and head towards your exit.

At least, you would’ve been heading towards your exit if it hadn’t been for the policeman stepping into your path.

With a serious face, he blocks the path - undoubtedly preventing you from leaving. Passengers waiting for the next train watch unabashedly.

Your eye twitches.

“Yes?

“Miss, the other passengers said you were involved in the altercation. Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us.”

Then the thought occurs to you.

If Megumi hadn’t crashed into your car, forcing you to bring it to the mechanic, you wouldn’t be on the metro in this situation in the first place! Did you owe the Fushiguro family in your past life?

Oh, how the chips fall.

Regretting that you had intervened after all, you ended up following the policeman with undisguised annoyance.

You hate cops.

It’s at the Kanekaburo police station where you finally meet Megumi’s father - the man financing your car repairs and cosmetic tune-ups - Toji Fushiguro.

He arrives when you’re in a stare-down against the middle-aged man’s lawyer, crossing your arms, Itadori and Megumi behind you. The policemen sweat nervously.

“He might be a minor, but he still punched my client. Everyone saw it!” The other lawyer sneers, his client - of which you had learnt was called Mr. Nakamura - stands with a puffed chest.

“It’s self defence,” your lip curling. “With your client as the aggressor. Honestly, they’re just middle schoolers. It’s unnecessary for him to have been laying hands on them in the first place!”

Mr. Nakamura puffs even more. “That’s only because they had been so rude with me!”

You don’t know what happened before so you ignore that. “And what do you think you’re doing, punching me? That’s battery, and if you really want to escalate this, section 47 assault.”

The lawyer glances at Mr. Nakamura but then looks like he’s made up his mind. “Do you really want to bring this to court?”

You hesitate. To be honest, you’re not really sure if this is really worth the trouble, and you’re not too clear on the situation of why Megumi had been in the altercation with the man in the first place. Settling might be better.

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off from answering by a third party entering the scene.

“Megumi,” a familiar voice drawls. “Get over here.”

The tone, though dulcet and lazy, sends your back straightening and hair prickling. You furrow your brow, turning to see the new entry that even the police couldn’t stop from waltzing into this area.

Dressed in a tight black shirt that does nothing to conceal hard muscle lines and loose grey sweatpants that hang off his hips, you can’t help but let your eyes wander appreciatively down his broad frame. The contrast between his tight upper clothing and baggy lower clothing only draws more attention to his taut waist.

He thumbs at a pale scar at the edge of his lips, like a subconscious, absent-minded habit, and his other hand runs through his ink-black hair with a troubled sigh.

“You’re such a troublemaker, Megumi. I only just get home, when I get called in for this?”

It’s only then his voice registers.

You had heard his voice before, albeit filtered, so it doesn’t take long for you to put the two and two together and realise this is Megumi’s father.

Your eyes dart to his huge hands, where two observations promptly wrap around your thoughts. One, he hasn’t got a ring. (You don’t know what that says about you, noticing that.) And two, his fingers are huge and, almost as importantly, long.

Something indescribable paws at the edge of your thoughts but you don’t even think twice before punting it decisively to the recesses of your mind.

Your travelling gaze makes eye contact, and a spark travels up your spine.

!!!

His arms cross over his chest.

Holy mother of biceps, you think, almost in pious prayer.

“Who’s this?” He smirks.

As his stare connects, you squash the quivering in your knees at his full undivided attention crashing onto you. The image of a lost tree trunk in the ocean, buffeted by tempestuous stormy waves, fizzes into your mind.

There’s just something about the air he exudes.

Like a black panther lounging on a branch, one wouldn’t dare relax from the feline’s lazy flicking tail or careless posture. You just know instinctively that every single muscle is coiled tight and ready to pounce at the scent of weakness.

Megumi saves you, stepping forward and taking the heat. There’s a furrow that manifests in his brow that you haven’t seen at all today.

“Stop that. This is Y/N, she got roped in because of us.”

Peeping from behind Megumi, Itadori beams and flaps a hand. Out of all three of you, he seems to be the most unbothered by the appearance of Megumi’s father.

“Heyyy~ Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Yo, Itadori,” Megumi’s father raises a palm. Tilting his head, he thinks to himself for a bit. “Y/N? You wouldn’t happen to be the reason why that invoice from Chezai Mechanics of-“ he spits a series of numbers that, for your mental health, you immediately filter out, “-is sitting on my desk, would you?”

You raise a brow.

“I think we both know that the reason for that invoice, Mr. Fushiguro, is really because of your son.”

An indescribable sense of pressure leverages onto you, but you just scoff and turn to the side. Your thin nonchalance barely conceals the tenseness in your posture.

Then he snickers, and the feeling is gone.

“You’re right. It is because of Megumi.”

Megumi grumbles.

Everyone relaxes.

It’s at this moment that the huffy middle-aged man seems to have had enough of the spotlight taken off him, making another fuss.

“Now that the father of the one responsible is here, you should know to educate your son! I’ll- I could take this to court, you know!” He swells, tinting pink in the face. His lawyer looks mildly panicked. Clearly they hadn’t discussed this.

Megumi’s father narrows his eyes and the power in the room shifts invisibly. The airflow almost stagnates. As if subconsciously aware, everyone seems to hold their breath. No one seems to take heed of the fact that the police have literal guns strapped to them, least of all the policemen, who stay silent with wide eyes.

Then, just as quick as it happened, the moment passes, and Megumi’s father is chuckling.

The colour leeches from Mr. Nakamura’s face, the red fading to reveal a fear-conjured white that only serves to highlight his greasy skin texture.

“Oh, really? For what?”

In hindsight, this should’ve been your first sign that Megumi’s father wasn’t just anyone. How could a regular person hone that kind of presence without spilling some blood?

“F-for- for-“

You cut in. “For the two counts of assault and battery you’ve committed against Fushiguro’s son and me, you mean.”

The bluster flies out of Mr. Nakamura just as fast as it had accumulated.

In the end, all that heat that Mr. Nakamura had mustered faded once Mr. Fushiguro smiled a bit more at him. Even the hotshot lawyer who you had been butting heads with felt like he had tamped down.

You had received Mr. Nakamura’s number and details for any injury-related bills incurred, and were rather satisfied.

As you leave the police station, dreaming again of your shower but knowing you’ll have to get on the metro and jostle again, both the Fushiguro’s and Itadori are right behind you.

“I’m so~rry, Megumi,” Itadori sheepishly says behind you. Megumi harrumphs in response. From this snippet, you can tell that whatever the reason is for Mr. Nakamura’s anger, Itadori was most likely the primary member behind it.

Though you can’t see it, you can almost hear Megumi rolling his eyes.

Heading towards the bus stop - because you really can’t stomach incurring more transport costs - you’re a little taken back by the extra set of footsteps behind you. In the reflection of the shiny bus stop advertisement, you can see Fushiguro looking at you.

“Y/N, right?”

You pause. “Yes.”

He doesn’t say more than that, just looking at you thoughtfully.

A premonition…

“It was nice meeting you and your son, Mr. Fushiguro. Itadori.” You nod at the trio.

Mr. Fushiguro opens his mouth but you’re already skating off. Who said your heels hurt!

You think it’s all behind you, casting the series of events from your mind. The injury on your collarbone has deepened into a gross yellowish-green bruise that pangs every time your blouse even brushes against the skin, but you’re actually regretful it wasn’t worse.

With little else but a bruise ointment from your nearby convenience store to bill Mr. Nakamura with, you can’t help but feel you’ve lost out.

It’s not like you advocate hurting yourself to hurt your opponent, and a pyrric victory isn’t a true victory… but… some part of you is miffed that you hadn’t been able to take a bigger chunk out of the man who punched you.

You should’ve fought harder.

Still, you’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Your boss has just ripped into you for about thirty minutes- well, you and the rest of your team - for work that he definitely had just lost by himself and not because none of you guys had emailed it to him, so you’re slumped over your office chair in a defeated manner.

Uncaring of your image, you cover the back of your eyes with your forearm. Your skirt crumples against the chair and you kick off your heels under your desk.

At least in your private cubicle, no one can see you like this.

That’s when you get two identical notifications to both your private email and your message inbox. The alerting vibration against the plastic table buzzes.

You don’t recognise the string of numbers and most of the message is cut off by a line break, but you don’t open it - pressing onto the notification to enlarge the whole thing.

Y/N,

What do you think about working for me?

You’re a bit curious as to why this number had reached out to you in this manner rather then just through your L**kedIn, but that curiosity is outweighed by the fact that someone has your personal email (it’s not really hard to guess that one), your phone number, and your name.

Your thumb moves over to the block button when a second message rolls in, again pinging into your email inbox and your phone messages.

Of course, annual salary negotiations start at ¥XX,000,000.

HOLY SHIT- Before your mind can catch up to your actions, you’ve opened the message, read it, typed, and sent a response.

Sorry, who is this?

The mysterious person doesn’t respond for a couple minutes. You’re just about to turn off your phone, dismissing this as a cruel prank on an office slave when another message pings - just in your messages, this time.

…Fushiguro. Megumi’s father.

I did give you the correct contact, no?

Ahhh…. a searing sound akin to steak on a grill rings in your head.

You’re embarrassed that he’s caught you in the act.

In truth, he had indeed given you his comprehensive details but it wasn’t like you actually saved it into your contacts. You had just written it down onto your notes app and handed it to your mechanic to be processed.

You weren’t good with numbers.

You don’t respond, but he doesn’t push the topic, continuing.

What do you think about being my own private solicitor?

There’ll be an exclusivity fee, of course. To ensure you’re not busied by other potential clients.

More?!

The calendar app opens on your phone in a heartbeat, and you strike out the upcoming ‘private’ meeting with your boss mercilessly. You might get an annoyed shout for that, but you’ll probably just gaslight him into thinking he scratched it out himself. He wasn’t the best with tech, afterall.

I’m free at 16:30 today to discuss.

You refrain from adding an exclamation mark at the end. It would be bad to come off as too eager, would it?

Fushiguro stops responding and your momentary passion ebbs, leaving you overthinking. Was it too much? Maybe he wasn’t even free today. Maybe he was just probing your interest.

You turn off your phone, feigning disinterest - only to pounce when the screen lights with another notification.

This time, there’s no words, just a location pin for a nearby cafe.

You check the time.

If you rush the scrapped document, you can make it!

Your fingers fly over the keyboard immediately. With this motivation, even the tedious work that you had agonised over is nothing.

Unknown to you, you’re biting at your lip, filled with anticipation.

¥XX,000,000.

In a couple months time though, you would be lamenting your decision.

---

next chapter link here

(Years later…) Megumi: actually this was all masterminded by me when I was twelve years old- Reader: !!!! You were twelve?! Itadori: ...you're ignoring the mastermind portion?

༄ A/N - whewwww! chapter one of this series out! i hope everyone likes my tumblr jjk writing debut (シ_ _)シ and my writing style !

(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) please feel free to interact w me in any way shape or form, I'm always excited for new friends new mutuals~~~ shoot me an ask or a like or anything hehe

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #fic series #fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #¥XX000000 #mwr4ting

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