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familyvideostevie · 6 months

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a kind of hunger | chapter 1

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

joel miller walks into your life just as it starts to fall apart. surely some hot nights with the bar's newest regular can't hurt, right?

length: 9.2k

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), doggy style, missionary, slightly painful sex, dirty talk, size kink if you squint, joel is a liiiiiiiitle mean if you squint, general feelings of loneliness and angst from r in her free time

a/n: huge thank you to @strangerfreaks without whom this would never have gotten off the ground. also to all the joel writers on this site, i love you, i am in awe of you. please allow me to give it a go myself <3

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

The first time you sleep with Joel Miller you know it won't be the last.

But that's not where this story starts.

It starts in a bar. Nothing special about it, really. Staffed half by college kids who come and go, half by drifters who, for some reason, stopped drifting once they found this dimly lit, sticky-floored hole in the wall. Not quite a local institution but not forgettable, never totally empty. It's got pool tables and a jukebox but also clean bathrooms aside from the graffiti and two new-ish TVs showing whatever the first guy who gets there wants to watch.

Point is, you work there. One of those drifters who stopped drifting. The guy who owns it, some crotchety old fuck called Bill, rents you the apartment above the bar for a decent price considering it's loud until 2am on the weekends and midnight all the other days. Loud enough that even on nights you don't work it feels like you're there anyway. But you get used to it. It's called Frank's, which you don't totally understand, but you're not about to ask questions of the guy who has finally allowed you to slow down and take a breath who is also your boss and landlord.

You've worked there long enough to have learned the names and orders of all the regulars who've been coming in since long before you walked through the door and to have seen some new regulars enter the rotation. In truth, you've worked there long enough to basically be running the place. It's still the bar in your head, not your bar because getting attached will do you no good. This is how it always goes: you care too much but it never seems like anyone cares back. You cut and run before you can be disappointed and you’ve already been here longer than you’d expected to be because it’s something close to comfortable.

Almost no one messes with you despite being younger than most of the clientele and on the off chance some frat boy from the city decides to take a cheap shot you've got a small army of imposing customers on your side. Between them and your coworkers, it's almost like you're not alone.

Almost.

The hours you spend away from the bar are spent alone. You don't have many numbers in your phone and the ones you do you don't call. You go on drives in the shitty truck you bought off some guy when you moved here. You browse used bookstores and suffer the heat of the day on long walks and wonder if this is all there is. You think of what it might be like to feel something other than rootless.

One thing that helps is…sex. Being close to someone for even a little while, letting yourself be seen in a way that doesn’t require you to totally show your hand. You try not to make a habit of actually fucking your clientele. It can get messy quickly, guys coming in and expecting more than a good pour. Being offended when you don't give them a free round, don't make eyes at them over the oiled wood. It's easier to be alone, that much you've learned. It's easier and it's simpler and it means you've only got yourself to blame for the hurt you sometimes feel laying in bed, staring at the ceiling as some rock song thrums up through the floor.

And if you do fuck someone from the bar, you keep it simple. You do, however, try really hard not to sleep with regulars. And no staying over. A classic, unspoken rule of sleeping with strangers that you rarely verbalize but make sure to enforce every time. It keeps things neat. The last thing you need is mess. Who knows how long you'll stay in this town, in this little apartment and this shitty bar. You've got a lot of years left, a lot of years you should probably spend in classrooms or an office or falling in love with some nice guy with a nice family who can give you a nice life.

But you're here.

And then, one day, so is Joel.

Being a good bartender is memorization, paying attention, and keeping a level head. You know how to make pretty much any drink even though your regulars are mostly the simple beer or Jack and Coke kind of people. You swear you can tell when a glass is going to fall a second before it shatters, spot a punch before it can be thrown. So you notice when a man you've never seen before walks through the door.

You notice how the energy of the room changes, how multiple pairs of eyes follow him as he settles at the end of the half-full bar. Dark hair shot through with grey, green shirt rolled up over chorded forearms that he rests on the wood. It feels like you should know him but you don't. You've never seen him before.

You finish pouring beers for some giggly girls before making your way over to him. His eyes track you.

You wonder what he'll order. A shot, maybe, based on the tense line of his shoulders. Or a dark beer. Maybe something strong. You hope he won't be one of those guys you have to peel off the bar in a few hours. "Can I get you something?"

"Whiskey, rocks," he says. You can hear the Texas drawl even from so few words. Deep, low, measured. "Cheapest you got."

For some reason, it feels like he's returning and you're the new one. "Wanna start a tab?"

"I'll do cash at the end," he says. Ah, one of those. Guy getting away from his wife, maybe. Tough day at work. Doesn't want to leave tracks. You can relate to that.

"Joel fuckin’ Miller," one of your regulars says as you turn to grab a glass. He claps the man -- Joel -- on the shoulder. "Heard you were back up this way," he says. "Good to see you, man."

Joel simply inclines his head once like he's not thrilled to be recognized. The dismissal is clear. And, weirdest of all, it works. You've seen insults hurled between friends for less.

You set his drink down, the amber liquid sloshing around the ice.

"Thanks," he mutters. The dismissal is...less clear, but you've got other customers to tend to. And Joel doesn't seem particularly chatty.

Your eyes return to him for the next hour or so but he never waves you over for another round. Heat trails up and down your spine and you have to tell yourself that he's not watching you. That would be too optimistic, right? At one point you take a bathroom break and when you're back he's gone, wrinkled bills stacked under the glass. Enough for his drink and a decent tip.

Joel comes in three more times over the next month before you sleep with him. Each time he orders the same drink, leaves the same tip. He sits alone at the bar, occasionally saying hello when someone approaches but no one ever sits next to him. He's gruff but only ever polite to you, doesn't get impatient when it takes you a minute to get to him.

And he's really something to look at. The tick in his jaw, the veins in his neck. His skin is tanned, dotted with small scars that must come from a lifetime of hard work. He wears a watch and jeans that hug his ass in an almost indecent way, a way that has you watching him when he's not on a stool. Sometimes you catch him smirking to himself when there's some shit going on at the bar, gossip or people being loud for no reason. You wonder what his laugh sounds like and scold yourself for it. No harm in looking but there's the possibility of harm in thinking too much. You know better.

The third time he comes in is a bad night. It's busy for some reason and everyone is a fucking asshole. You weren't even supposed to work tonight but one of the seasonal kids had banged on your door begging you to come help, promising you all the tips for tonight if you did. You knew it would make you look good to Bill and despite yourself, you didn’t want to leave them hanging, so here you are, sweaty and pissed and smelling like beer, doing your best to empty the dishwasher in between drink orders and praying the keg doesn't need changing.

You don't even notice when Joel comes in, only spotting him once he's managed to scare some college kid from a seat at the bar. For some reason, his presence makes you a little calmer in the chaos.

"Be with you in a sec, Joel," you say to him when you're near. You don't call him by his name since he never actually introduced himself to you but it slips out in the rush. His nostrils flare but you don't have time to linger on it even as you feel the hot weight of his gaze.

"No rush."

You manage to get him what you know by now to be his usual only to be called over by your least favorite customer of the night as soon as he's thanked you.

"Honey," the asshole says. This fucker's name is Seth and he's a pain in your ass. "Gimme another, will you? Make it a heavy pour." This would be his fifth and he's already slurring his words.

"Don't think so," you tell him firmly. "I'm cutting you off for tonight, Seth." He's liable to start some shit or at the very least throw up on the floor and you don't want to deal with either. You don't have time to deal with either.

His bloodshot eyes narrow and he slams a fist on the bar. You manage not to flinch, though pretty much everyone else does. "That's not good fucking service, sweetcheeks," he leers.

"Good thing I don't give a fuck," you snap. "Get the fuck out of here before you do something you regret, sweetcheeks.” The venom in your tone seems to surprise him before sheer rage takes over. You've thrown out plenty of assholes in your time here but it's not always a smooth experience.

Seth leans forward over the bar, reaches for you -- to do what, you have no idea -- and you prepare yourself to yell for backup and then kick him out for good and maybe get a punch in as he goes. His fingers manage to hook in your shirtsleeve before a hand closes around his wrist.

Before Seth can scream he's got his outstretched arm behind his back, face twisted in pain. Behind him is --

Joel?

The bar is almost silent. You can hear a few whispers over the blood pumping in your ears.

"I'd get out of here if I were you," Joel hisses. He glances at you, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Are you okay? he seems to be asking. You nod.

Seth whimpers. "Let me go," he says weakly.

"Just gonna show you the door." Joel all but drags him through the parting crowd.

"Jesus," someone says behind you. One of the seasonal kids. "You okay?"

"I'm taking my break." You leave the kid behind the bar to fend for himself and barrel into the back and through the side door into the alley where you always take your 15. It's one of those weird cold fall nights, just the wrong side of chilly to be here without a jacket but you left it in the bar office.

The milk carton you sit on has been turned over so you kick it back with a thud and slump down onto it. The light above the door flickers. "This shit is getting old," you say to no one. You kick aside cigarette butts that aren't yours and wonder how long you can do this. What would be next, anyway? You've got a laundry list of failed dreams and no one wondering if you're going to make something of yourself. Long nights at a bar you care about more than you should and rowdy customers and handsome men who barely say a word to you can't last forever, can it? Would anyone here even notice if you left?

The door flies open, startling you out of your thoughts.

Joel steps into the alley. Somehow he manages to yet again look like he was meant to be here and you're the one who is out of place. You blink at him and he stares back like he wasn't sure he'd find you here.

"Got lost?" you ask. "Pretty sure you know where the front door is."

He lets the metal door swing shut and crosses his arms. "Was lookin' for you."

That catches you by surprise. "Why?"

Joel shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders. His expression doesn't budge. "Sorry for makin' trouble."

Oh, right. Seth. You wave him off. "Just another night," you say. "I'd have handled it." You stand from the crate and lean against the brick wall. It's true. Seth isn't the first asshole you've handled.

"I bet you would've," Joel mutters. He takes one step closer. You're reminded all at once how good-looking he is, how you've wondered what his hands would feel like on your skin. There's no way he's ever thought of you, right? You're just some girl who pours him drinks, too young and too forgettable. He was just having a man moment, wanting to save the day or some shit like that.

"I don't have a cigarette or anything if you want to smoke," you say. This close he doesn't smell like tobacco but you don't know what else to say. "Sorry."

"So you just sit in alleys on your break for fun?"

"I like this alley," you say, suddenly a bit defensive. "It's a nice alley." You take a step towards him. He uncrosses his arms and his hands flex at his sides. You shiver. "No one bothers me out here."

Joel tilts his head to the side. "That so?" His eyes are dark under the dim light. When did he get so close? When did your face get so hot?

"Except guys who drink whiskey on the rocks, I guess," you say. It comes out much softer than you'd like, your voice cracking. The air doesn't have the same bite as it did seconds ago. Joel's expression hovers between something you recognize and something you don't, something you desperately want to figure out. "Good thing I don't mind." The adrenaline from the small altercation hasn't left and the swirl of emotions about your whole shitty life has you on edge, has you wanting to play with fire.

You're so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat of him in the still night. Joel's eyes rake over your face, looking for something, something you try very hard to show him so that he might fucking do it, meet the want that is suddenly uncontrollable halfway, or at least tell you if he's not interested so you can --

Your name is a groan in his throat and then he's kissing you. His palm cups the back of your head as he presses you into the wall, his other hand firm on your hip, fingertips pressing into your skin through your shirt hard enough to bruise. He tastes like the whiskey you served him. You fist one hand in his collar and wind the other into his hair.

Joel controls the kiss but you give as good as you get. He licks into your mouth and you suck on his lower lip. His beard rubs against your face in a delicious burn and when you tug on his hair he makes a noise you must hear again. The brick behind you scrapes a bit but you hardly notice when he presses against you, slides a thigh between your legs and you feel him hard through his jeans.

"S'not right, you lookin' so good yellin' at that asshole," he grumbles into your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. You cant your hips and he hisses.

"Speak for yourself," you manage. "Always got your eyes on me, don't you?" It feels like a risk to call him on it. Control of the situation is slipping from your grasp, this man who you never thought would actually touch you now holding you in his arms, his lips on your skin. He pulls back from your neck and smirks, eyes dark.

"'Spose I do."

You can work with that. You surge forward to kiss him again and this time he lets you call the shots while still meeting your bruising caresses with his own.

"Joel." You tug on his hair.

He makes that noise again.

It might be five minutes, it might be an hour. You have no idea. All you know is you can still feel his cock through the denim and you're so turned on you might combust in this alley. Or at the very least let him fuck you in it.

"I don't close tonight," you pant. One of Joel's hands has worked its way into your back pocket and the other has rucked up your shirt to rest on your bare back.

"What?" he growls.

"My shift. I'm off at 11." You tap his watch. He glances at it and sees it read 10:30. "Half hour. I live upstairs."

For a second you think he'll say no. Walk away with a nod of his head and out of your life forever. Wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last. You're already breaking one of your rules by even considering sleeping with him but there's just something about him. The way he looks at you, the way his hands feel on your skin. You want to know what he'll feel like inside you. Maybe you’re still in this town because you were waiting for him to walk through the door.

"Alright," he says. He clears his throat and releases you. You fuss with your hair and straighten your shirt and he adjusts himself in his jeans. "Half hour." His dark eyes narrow as he glances down the alley back towards the street.

"Take a walk around the block or something," you tell him, swallowing the urge to laugh at him so handsome and disheveled from your hands. Never in a million years would you have predicted that tonight would go this way. "My door is on the other side of the building. I'll let you up."

The urge to flatten the damage your hands did to his hair is so overwhelming for a second that you step away from him towards the door. His eyes follow you, expression unreadable. How many nights would it take for you to know what he's thinking? Careful, you think, or you'll be tempted to find out.

Joel watches you until you give him a little wave and slip back into the bar. The metal door clangs shut behind you and you lean against it, knees still wobbly. Is this actually happening? Are you really this overwhelmed by making out with some guy in an alley? You check the clock on the wall and curse. Your break ended ten minutes ago though since no one came looking for you it's probably no big deal. Being mostly in charge has its perks.

The bar is a little less crowded than when you left so you grab a rag and start wiping down the bar. Joel's seat is empty, his glass gone.

"Oh, hey," the seasonal kid says. "That guy, uh, Joel? He said to make sure you get this." He pulls out Joel's usual tip from his apron and holds it out to you.

Considering you're planning to go upstairs and fuck him until you can't walk, you don't feel like taking his tip tonight. "It's yours," you say. "Thanks for handling everything while I was out back." The kid blinks at you but knows better than to refuse, pocketing the cash and going back to loading the dishwasher.

You finish your shift. Your blood feels electric, your skin hot. Can anyone in this bar tell what happened in the alley? You haven't felt this way about a hookup in ages. Like you were wanted, not just convenient. It's just one night, right? Maybe he'll never come to the bar again, which makes your chest tighten for a second. Maybe you're about to ruin something you don't totally understand. But you haven't gotten this far in life by worrying about shit like that, so you clock out and wave goodbye and make your way to the other side of the building.

Joel isn't there. You unlock the door to the stairwell so you can at least wait for him inside when you hear footsteps, the crunch of gravel under boots. You fist your key between your knuckles just in case but before you can turn around you hear your name in that Texas drawl.

"Just me," he says. You don't know if Joel Miller is capable of looking nervous but this is probably close. He shifts from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. A thrill runs up your spine. Are you really doing this? Are you really about to bring this man up to your apartment and hope to god he does whatever you want to you?

"Come on up." Yes. Yes, you are. You give him a smile and he follows you up to the landing.

"S'loud," he mutters once you shut the door. The bar's music wasn't that loud when you were in it and up here it's a dull hum, people's voices and laughter slipping through the cracks like a TV left on a little too high in the other room. These days it's background noise to you but you figure Joel lives in a house somewhere with lots of land and open windows and silence. He seems like the type to like silence.

Jacket on the hook, shoes clumsily thrown on the mat, keys in the dish. Your normal routine except there’s a man in your living room, too. He looks around the space, hands still in his pockets. You try not to be self-conscious about your place. It's small, sure, the bedroom visible through the currently open French doors in the small living room. Your kitchen is tiny, bathroom tinier, but it's all yours. "You get used to it," you say. "I hardly mind it anymore."

"Didn't say I did," he says. You both stand there for a few moments before Joel takes two big steps and crowds you against the door, one hand on your hip and the other next to your head. "Means they won't hear us." You swallow a gasp as he drags his nose along the curve of your jaw, breath hot on your skin. You were going to ask him if you could shower first since you undoubtedly smell like sweat and beer but clearly, he doesn't mind. His tongue darts out and he sucks on your pulse point, your own hands clutching desperately at his shirt. If he moves you're sure you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. "Means you can be as loud as you want," he growls. "That sound good?"

Any breath remaining in your body rushes out and you jerk your hips to make contact with the hardness in his jeans. "Yeah," you gasp. You can feel something like a smile against your neck. "That sounds good."

It's a dynamic you don't mind stepping into -- whatever this is. Every second of your life you feel like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everyone around you to get tired. Your eyes are always on the exit, always wondering where you'll go next, what you'll leave behind this time. Even when you're fucking strangers you're always wondering how you'll get them to leave. You’re better off alone. But right here, right now, with Joel's heavy scent of sawdust and whiskey and something earthy, something grounding, in your nostrils, his hands and his mouth on you, nothing else matters. Your brain shuts off and you're just here.

You grab Joel's jaw and guide his lips back to yours. He allows it and you moan deep in your throat as he tongues back into your mouth, your own trying to give as good as you're getting. He pops the button on your jeans and you help him with frantic hands, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear so he can ghost his fingers through your coarse curls. He pulls back from the kiss to watch as he drags two fingers through your folds. Your eyes lock and he smirks as your lids flutter.

"Soaked," is all he says. You tip your head forward and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"Don't be smug."

He huffs. "I ain't trying to sound like an asshole, but --"

"Already failed." He nips at your earlobe.

"Gotta work you open a bit, sweetheart," he says. His fingers circle your clit once, ever so slowly. Your grip on his bicep tightens and you wonder if you'll leave bruises. You hope so. "Gonna be a tight fit."

"Heard -- fuck -- that before," you gasp. Joel really fucking knows what he's doing. "I -- bed?"

"Smart girl," he says. You're pretty sure you get wetter. He pulls his fingers free but keeps a hold on your hip like he knows your knees are jelly. "Sit on the edge."

You leave your jeans and underwear behind and make your way to the bed through the French doors, sitting heavily on the quilt, knees bent and leaning on your hands behind you. Before you can say another word, Joel lowers to his knees between yours. He pries them apart even further and runs his hands up and down your thighs.

For a few seconds, you can't find the words. This man, older than you and impossibly handsome, face lined with years he's lived and hands callused with work he's done, this man that you hardly know anything about but can't get out of your mind, is on his knees before you.

"You gonna be okay down there?" is what you come up with.

"You always talk this much?" he mutters, though his mouth tugs up at the corner. Joel's forearms wrap around your legs and he tugs. You fall flat on your back in surprise and your ass almost hangs off the bed. He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and kneads the flesh of your thigh, eyes dark and jaw twitching as he spreads you open and just looks. "Might have to help me up but I think I'll be just fine."

"Joel --"

The end of his name becomes a high-pitched moan when he leans in and buries his face in your cunt. He drags his tongue up and down through your folds, nose catching your clit in a way that makes you squirm. His beard scrapes against your skin deliciously, leaving a sting that you know you'll be able to see evidence of when he's done. He laps at you before finally taking your clit in his mouth and sucking like his life depends on it. It's only his hand on your outstretched thigh keeping you from suffocating him between your legs, though you're not sure he'd mind.

"Should be a crime," he says. You look down the length of your body at him. His chin is wet with you, eyes meeting yours when he feels your stare. "Cunt this pretty tastin' so good."

How do you reply to that?

He's back at it before you can even try. Joel gets messy with it, the sounds of his attention loud and filthy. He tells you how wet you are, how good you taste, and your eyes flutter shut again.

"How're we doing?"

"Don't stop," you manage. "Just, don't stop--"

He prods your entrance with one finger. "Reckon you can take it, hmm? You're so wet it'll be easy." There's a bite to his tone, a sense of amusement mixed with awe like he can hardly believe it either.

"Two," you gasp. "I can take two." You need two, in fact. His hands are one of the few parts of him you've been able to study and you know his fingers are long, much thicker than yours and you need them to fill you up, need them to stretch you out. You need something to clench around because right now you feel like you're on the edge of the pleasure building in your core and if you don't get a release soon you'll just…just…combust.

Joel hums but you feel a second finger nudge into you. He slides them in and curls them as he goes. Your back arches off the bed.

"Dunno," he coos. "Pretty tight, sweetheart." The slight meanness to his words is in complete contrast with the gentle, attentive way he handles you. Who knew he'd be such a fucking tease.

"Well get to work, then." He scissors the digits inside of you in reply and returns to sucking on your clit. You reach down and bury your hand in his silver-streaked hair, tugging a bit harder than you intend to. Joel just moans into your cunt, the vibration making it feel like your very pelvis is rattling as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

Sweat beads on your brow as you try to hold on. He picks up the pace and presses into your walls with his fingertips like he's looking for something. His tongue wreaks havoc on the rest of you, sucking bruises into your inner thighs when he's not abusing your clit. If this is just the foreplay you don't know how you'll survive actually fucking him. And he hasn't even asked you to touch him, hasn't shown even a hint of expectation. He's doing this to get you ready but based on the blown state of his pupils he's enjoying it almost as much as you are.

"Getting close?" he asks, breath ragged. Your skin is starting to feel deliciously raw from his beard and the hook in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter.

"Yes -- fuck -- I'm close, Joel, keep --"

His hand moves faster than before and he latches back onto your clit. Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm coming, it's just right there, you just need him to --

His fingers find the spot he must have been looking for and your only warning is a sharp tug on his hair and then your back arches and you come all over his face. He fingers fucks you through it and you feel it as your walls clench around him, your mouth open in a high whine as your muscles finally relax and you flop back onto the bed. Joel keeps his face in your cunt, gently lapping at your release while avoiding your sensitive clit. You push his hair back from his face and try to get your breathing under control.

He manages to get up on his own with a grunt as you pant on the bed. "Okay?" he asks. "Lookin' a little tired." You show him your middle finger and he...laughs, lips shiny with your slick. So he can laugh.

"Are you going to keep your clothes on?" you ask him. His eyes travel slowly over your bare bottom half, the redness of your thighs from his beard and the way your shirt has rucked up to the wire of your bra.

"Nah." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and socks. You want to ask him if you can undress him, slowly peel off his layers button by button and explore every inch of him but you won't be able to take it if he says no so you just watch. Already you know you'll be thinking about this night for a long fucking time. The way it seems like he cares about how you're feeling, how he wants to take his time with you, how he enjoys your pleasure. It's nice. It's...making you feel wanted.

His denim button-up is tossed on the floor and he stands, shirtless, to undo his belt. The forearms and small triangle at his throat that you've been treated with thus far when he sits at the bar in no way prepared you for the rest of him. Broad shoulders, thick, muscled arms from years of hard work. Graying chest hair that travels all the way down the slight softness of his belly and in a darker trail his jeans. Your mouth waters.

"You're starin'," he says softly before unzipping his fly and pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

"Taste of your own medicine." The words come out with much less bite than you intended as his cock springs free.

Well, he wasn't lying. He is big. You knew he would be based on what you felt through his pants, but seeing it is something else.

You sit up and scoot to the end of the bed to be closer. Is he really going to fit? He's bigger than anyone you've fucked before, that's for sure. A ruddy color, a little darker than his tanned chest, the tip a little lighter and already leaking. A few veins run the length of him and the hair at the base of his shaft is clearly taken care of though a little wild and a shade of deep brown that hasn't grayed much yet. His balls hang heavy, one slightly bigger than the other. He twitches under your gaze. You look up at him and wait for him to call out your staring again but instead, he's just watching you, pupils blown.

"You are...so beautiful," you breathe. He makes a dismissive noise but a flush travels up his chest and to his face. It's true. There's something about him that makes you think you could look every second for the rest of your life and not get enough.

"Should be sayin' that to you." He strokes himself once and you lick your lips. "You got a condom? Should be one in my pocket if you don't." Does he always carry one? Or did he hope to get lucky with you, just like you've been thinking about him?

"Bedside table drawer." He goes for it and you remember too late that the drawer has...other things in it, too. His eyebrows raise and he eyes your small collection of toys but says nothing, though his cock twitches again. If you asked, would he use them on you? He seems like the type to be into that. But right now you need him inside you so badly you might combust.

"Can I?" He pauses before handing the foil square to you. You take him in hand and stroke him from root to tip. He makes a noise low in his throat and you lean in to trace the vein along the bottom of his shaft with your tongue. His hips twitch forward just a bit like he's trying to keep control and failing. You know the feeling. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the slightest bit salty. You kind of lose the plot for a second, thoughts of him fucking you fading with the desire to make him feel good like this, to blow him until he's moaning your name like you were moaning his.

Joel slides his fingers into your hair and you manage to take him about halfway before he tugs gently. "I'm not complainin'," he says, voice tight. "'Specially when you look so damn pretty like this. But I've been hard as a fuckin' rock for an hour and I ain't as young as I used to be, so..." He trails off.

You place a dainty kiss on his tip and pat his hip. "Another time," you say, realizing too late what you've implied, but Joel just smirks. You tear open the foil and slide the condom on as gingerly as you can but he still hisses your name like he's scolding you, that hand in your hair pulling once again just a little. You feel the arousal pooling in your gut, sticky between your thighs.

He tugs on the collar of your shirt. "Off," he says. You're quick to obey, whipping it to a corner of your apartment along with your bra. Joel just looks for a second before reaching a calloused hand to palm one breast, thumb sliding over your nipple. "Look at you," he says, breathy, with a squeeze. "Christ."

"You gonna fuck me, Joel Miller?" You blink up at him. He swallows visibly, throat bobbing before that smirk is back.

"Only ‘cause you asked so nicely."

You scramble back up the bed on your hands and knees, leaning down on your elbows and presenting him with your bare cunt. "Cause I'm such a lady."

"That so?" he murmurs. He drags his fingers through your folds slowly, brows furrowed. You fist your hands in the sheets. "You want it like this?" he asks. He palms your hip, traces the curve of your ass and presses his fingertips into your skin. You wiggle at him a little. Most guys you hook up with want it like this. You don't mind being fucked from behind, don't mind being able to close your eyes with your face shoved in the sheets and just feel. God knows with a dick his size you'll be feeling it regardless of the position you're in. But part of you does want to look at Joel, to watch him, his expression, his handsome, rugged face. Feel his arms around you, feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he fucks you. See what his eyes look like when he comes. But this is enough.

"Do I need to say please?"

The head of his cock presses against your entrance in reply. You crane your neck to see as much of him as you can. He's focused on your ass with a light frown, hands resting on your hips.

"Gonna go slow," he grumbles. His gaze meets yours. "For my benefit as much as yours."

Words don't come. You're breathless and dripping, desperate for him to just get on with it.

"Joel, are you gonna just stand there --"

He slowly, torturously slowly, starts to slide into you. The stretch is immediate, has you face down in the sheets, eyes fluttering. Each inch of painful stretch fades quickly to throbbing pleasure, a fullness that has you keening.

You press your hips back into him but his fingers grip tighter, holding you in place. "What did I say?" he grits out.

"Feels so good, so big," you babble. There's nothing left in your brain, your body, but this. But Joel. You have to have all of him. "I can take it, I can take your cock, I --"

"Got quite the mouth on you, huh?" he says. He keeps pressing into you, filling you up inch by inch. "Okay?" he pants. "Look at me, tell me it feels good --"

You crane your neck again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and look at him. His own are lidded, mouth open in an "o" like he can hardly believe it himself. A flush runs down his chest and if you didn't know better you'd say he's trembling.

"Yes, I -- god, Joel, keep going, please --"

"Doin' good, sweetheart," he coos. His hand strokes up and down your spine. "Almost there. Almost takin' all of me."

He bottoms out and you see stars. You feel lips on your back, the warm puffs of his breath on your skin as he waits for you. It's a fine line between pain and pleasure and you're walking the tightrope but the stretch is delicious. You can feel every inch of him. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you shift your hips a little, loving it when Joel moans.

"Alright," you manage. "Move, please." His fingertips are back on your hips and give you a squeeze before he starts to drag his cock out of you. The tip of him catches the spot inside of you that makes your back arch as he pulls out and then again when he thrusts in.

"All that work, my fingers and my tongue and you're still so fuckin' tight. Christ."

The only thing you manage to say is a litany of his name.

"Lemme hear it, baby," he grinds out. Baby. "Be so loud those fuckers downstairs hear you--"

You meet his thrusts as best you can and even though it feels so good, even though you're so full, it's not bringing you to the edge like you need. Your neck is starting to hurt from the way you're twisting to see him, your fingers gripping the sheets as hard as you can because you want to be touching him instead. But this is good, this works, maybe if you touch your clit, you'll --

You reach between your legs and Joel pulls out. You get off your elbows and turn around, almost gasping at the loss of him. "Is something wrong?"

He's frowning at you. "Should be askin' you that."

You don't know what to say. Your cunt throbs a little from being empty, the ache settling in now that he's not there to literally fuck it away. "What?"

"You stopped makin' those noises," he says softly. “The ones you were makin’ before.” You turn around and sit facing him, suddenly a little self-conscious. "Ain't gonna fuck you in a position you don't like."

"I --" You try to fight through the haze of your brain for words. "I liked it fine."

Joel waits. He just stands there at the edge of the bed and waits.

"Maybe..." you try again. "Would on my back be okay for you?"

His eyebrows raise like he can't believe you'd think otherwise. "That'll work for me," he says slowly. "Grab a pillow." You shift back on the bed as he kneels on it, positioning himself between your legs. You hand him one of your pillows and he taps your hip. "Up." You obey and he slides it under you so your lower half is lifted a bit before he presses one leg to the side, spreading you open. He slowly bends the other so that your thigh is pressed against your torso in a deep stretch without being painful. You feel bare, exposed in a way he somehow hasn't yet achieved.

Joel fixes his gaze on your face. "Let's try that." He strokes himself once and then leans over you, bracing himself on one hand near your head. He lines up to press his cock into you again. Faster than last time, you wince a little but you dig your fingertips into his back to tell him to keep going. He bottoms out and you immediately feel the difference, eyes fluttering shut. Before it was like he was plowing into you, like you were so full you could hardly handle it. But like this it's like he's melting into you, like there is no space between you anymore. You're full but it's not so harsh. You don’t know where you end and he begins.

"That better?" he croaks. You force yourself to look at him and find his face closer, closer than you thought he'd get, breath warm on your face. His forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes search your face. This close you can see they’re grey, the lines at the corners deep with strain. Even like this, stuffed full of his cock, you could look at him all day.

"Move, Joel," you tell him. He takes that for a yes and starts at a punishing pace. You have no idea how he's kept it together this long, considering you've felt on the edge of another orgasm this entire time. You anchor your arms on his shoulders as his thrusts make you see stars.

"Ask for what you want, you hear me?" His balls smack loudly against you and he presses his lips to your ear. "You ask and I'll do my damn best."

You don't know what it is -- the overwhelming sensation of his cock dragging in and out at this angle, how close he is, his words -- but you feel tears at the corners of your eyes again. You nod frantically, hands grasping for purchase on his back.

"C'mon," Joel says. "Gotta use that mouth, sweetheart."

"Yes," you pant. "Yes, yes, Joel, yes --"

"Fuckin' perfect for me," he moans. His lips trail up your cheek, tongue catching your tears before he presses them to yours in a messy kiss that's more teeth and breath than anything else.

"Joel, Joel, Joel --"

"Gonna come for me? Gonna soak my cock like you did my face?"

Your orgasm comes like the snap of a rubber band. You hold him as tight as you can as it washes through you, the waves almost painful as he keeps fucking you fast and hard, your name a series of broken sounds from his mouth until his hips stutter and he groans deep in his chest. You try to keep your eyes on him as you come down from your high and are rewarded with the scrunch of his brow and the slight part of his lips as he comes. Beautiful, you think.

The room is all of sudden much quieter without the sounds of your fucking. It's just the dull sounds of Frank's through the floor and your combined panting as he pulls out of you and flops on the bed beside you. You wince this time, the soreness really settling in. Joel finds your hand and kisses the back of it in a move so unexpectedly tender you can't look at him, raw as you are already. The bed shifts and you figure he's throwing out the condom.

"You okay?" he says. You open your eyes and find him standing at the edge, looking at you. He's holding your robe from the bathroom. You stretch and let him look.

"Yeah," you reply. You give him a smile as you scoot to the edge and wrap yourself in it when he holds it out. "Thank you." Joel grunts.

You go to the bathroom yourself to pee and see the damage. Hair a mess, your mascara gathered around your eyes like you've been working hard. You've got hickies forming on your neck and chest, the skin rubbed a bit raw from his beard around your mouth. You love how you look right now.

You look like you got fucked well. And you did.

But now you want a shower and a snack and to go to bed.

You half expect Joel to be gone when you go back into the bedroom. You remember belatedly that you don't let hookups stay the night. Will he leave if you ask him to? If he's already left then you don't need to worry about it. A small part of you worries you won’t ask him to go.

Instead, he's sitting on the edge of your bed putting his boots on. His shirt is unbuttoned but other than that he's dressed. He looks up briefly. His own hair is going in a thousand different directions and if this wasn't a one-night stand you'd fix it for him, a hand pushing it back like you did when he was between your thighs. But things are different outside the heat of the moment.

"You want some water or anything?" you ask instead.

He shakes his head and finishes his boot, stands and buttons his shirt. "Nah," he says. "Should just head out."

You wonder belatedly if there's anyone at home missing him. Maybe he's got a wife. Maybe he's got a life that he's running away from and into your arms.

"Bar'll be closed by now, or as good as," you say. You spy his jacket by the door and bend to pick it up. "No one'll see you."

Joel's face does something funny that you don't quite know how to read. He takes his jacket from you and shrugs it on. "Alright," he says.

He looks awkward in a way you didn't know he could so you throw him a line. "Thanks," you say. For fucking me. For listening to me. For making me feel good. "It was fun. See you around?"

His expression softens. He steps close and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger before kissing you once, firmly but chastely compared to what you were doing before.

"See you around," he says. And then he opens the door and disappears down the stairs.

You hear the outer door close and only then do you let out a breath. Your entire body feels like you just spent hours at the gym. But your mind? It's going a thousand miles an hour. You don't know what to think about first -- how Joel looked, how he spoke to you, how his hands felt. How he implored you to ask for what you wanted, how he made you feel good because it made him feel good. How you desperately, desperately want to see him again, to know him in every possible way. How you want him to walk back up the stairs and hold you until you fall asleep.

And that's not how you expected to feel. It's not how you should feel after a one-night stand with a guy you serve a few times a week at your place of employment. Like he saw right to the core of you, like he gave you something you didn't know you needed.

You need to get a hold of yourself. This is how it starts -- this is how you get hurt. You care. Well, you always care, but no one has to know that. You let someone care about you. Not that Joel does, but he could.

But isn't that the one thing you want most of all?

You sleep in the next day. There's not much that needs to be done at Frank's besides bookkeeping and inventory which doesn't take you long. When you finally make it downstairs, three Advil popped to ease the soreness of your entire body, you're surprised to find Bill himself sitting at the bar.

He looks just as you remember, hair a little longer and a little grayer. Shit kickers and jeans, a hunting jacket and trucker hat. You'll bet his actual truck is parked around back where no one from the road can see it.

"Uh, hi?" Bill hasn't come around for at least a year, which is making your stomach sink a little. The last time was when there was a fire because some dumbass tried to smoke inside and he wanted to make sure you weren't going to quit on him for having to throw water on the nasty curtains.

"Heard about Seth," he says. Always right to the point, this guy. He's drinking what looks to be Coke with a lemon. "Sit." You do as he says. So much for bookkeeping.

"Yep," you say. You have no idea where he heard it and know better than to ask. "No big deal."

"I want to retire."

What? "Do you...work here?" Bill appreciates honesty and he's the kind of asshole that respects you if you're an asshole back.

"No," he says. "But I own the fuckin' dump. And me and Frank want to retire."

"There's a Frank?"

"My partner, dumbass. Keep up."

You were already groggy and still muddled from last night but this is forcing you to bring everything into sharp focus. Bill wants to retire. Which means he wants to...

"So my options are to sell this dump or find someone to take it."

If he sells the bar you're shit out of luck. No way another owner would let you live upstairs the way you do for next to nothing and let you work here and run the show. This is...a lot to take in.

"Are you listening to me?" Bill says. You blink a few times.

"No," you admit. "Can you say that again?"

He sighs. "Do you want it?"

"The bar?" you ask incredulously.

"No, idiot, the dumpster out back. Yes, the bar." He raps his knuckles on the bar top. "You could keep everything the same. It's just paperwork, really. I'll just give it to you. God knows a young person like you could make it nicer, turn a better profit." He says it like it's an insult.

"Are you fucking serious?" This goes against most every rule you've had for yourself for the last who knows how long. Don't get attached, keep moving. No one really needs you so you can disappear whenever. You haven't gotten bored yet, haven't gotten restless, but you know it'll happen. There's no way you can do this forever. But owning a bar? That would make you stay. You'd have no out. You’d have to let yourself be seen, let yourself be needed. You’d have to commit. You’d have to not fuck it up.

"Why not?" he shrugs. "I know you said it was temporary back when you moved in, but you practically run it."

He's right. Everything is temporary for you. But would sticking around be so bad? Would trying to actually make a life for yourself, have a home base, a thing you care about be the end of the world? And then there's Joel...No. Not going there.

"I..."

"Either you take it or I shut it down." Bill gets off his stool and looks around. "No one cares enough about it to try to sell it."

"Then why me?"

"Do you care about it?" he asks. His piercing stare pins you to your stool, compels you to be honest with him where you're rarely honest with yourself.

"Yeah," you say. "I do."

"Then there's you're fuckin' answer. I know you do. You clean the shit out of this place and train the seasonal dipshits and learn the names of the fuckin’ drunks and live upstairs and make this a good place for good people to come. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice." It's possibly the most words Bill has ever said to you in a row.

"Can I...think about it?"

He shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Not too long, though. Gotta decide by the end of the year. Maybe earlier."

That gives you three months, give or take. To figure out what the fuck you're going to do.

With one conversation Bill has shattered your entire life here. Now there’s actually a timer on it, this little piece you’ve carved out and started to enjoy. Could you make it a real thing? Could you finally admit to yourself that this is what you want – to be wanted? To be needed? To have something that’s yours?

The bar door shuts and you realize Bill has left you alone with your thoughts. You shift in your stool and a wave of soreness rolls through you from your core.

You thunk your forehead on the bar. “Fuck me,” you say to the empty room.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction

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cagesofgold · 9 months

Text

eren jaeger headcanons <3

🎵teenage fever - Drake 🎧

His favorite way to unwind is to play with your hair. Due to having longer hair himself he’s grown accustomed to the different skill sets required to craft different hair styles, and actually, is really good at it. His fingers are lithe and nimble and are able to weave through strands with ease.

He drives an all black car with tinted windows, and has a polaroid of you in a photo booth with him on your first date in a plastic case hanging from his rear view mirror.

he also always makes sure to keep your favorite snacks in the car, as he’s a guy who’s bound to text you at 2am asking bout some “you up for a drive?” 💀

in terms of tattoos despite popular belief, i personally think he’d keep it on the minimal side. He’d maybe have some on his arms - or a sleeve, but he likes to keep them tidy. Although, he is one of those guys that would have that tiktok thirst trap spider on his chest or adjacent to his v line…..

this mf smells gooooood, he’s so paranoid about smelling bad because of Jean saying he smelt like a burning pile of bodies in high school and hasn’t been able to shake the fear since.

despite not being overly adorned in tattoos he does like piercings. He’s got about five on his ears and has a nose piercing but he always forgets about it.

loves reality shows. A few months into your relationship he noticed you watching them and acted with his full chest that he had no interest, yet as the weeks rolled by he somehow got closer and closer to the couch and before you knew it he was fully shouting over Lisa Rinna. (You’ve also seen him following over 30 housewives from the different shows on instagram…)

cannot stand metal music because he spent his entire childhood covering his ears from where it bled from under Mikasa’s door. (Otherwise he’d probably enjoy it)

he’d dress quite simply, mainly with blacks and whites and would sometimes mix and match with some red or green, but i don’t think he’s as ambitious as some of his friends fashion wise, but he still looks good as hell.

his favorite holiday is with out a doubt halloween, is some of this because he spent so long as a child building the most elaborate scares for the kids on his street? maybe. but he also likes autumn as a season so that has something to do with it.

doesn’t get along with his dad too well but is a total mamas boy. He visits her at least twice a month considering they live in different cities.

is a cat person, but when he was younger he liked dogs more as according to him they were “much radder” - his own words 💀, but as he got older and became more subdued he developed a preference for cats.

has anxiety that he manages to hide, he wasn’t used to being comforted and it took a while for him to fully open up to you.

despite smoking weed with Jean and connie almost every other day he still makes a dramatic scene any time Zeke lights a cigarette around him, i’m talking coughing and clutching his chest, Zeke’s standing there like this 🧍‍♀️waiting for him to stop his fucking shenanigans.

if you want to go out with Eren Jaeger prepare to be a victim of the sassy man apocalypse, because my god, this man is relentless, and the SIDE EYE on this mf is ridiculous. He could knock down an army with his sass alone.

takes good care of his hair, oils it twice a week and does hair masks in order to keep it soft and shiny. He can’t have his gorgeous girl going out with some guy with brittle, greasy ass hair…

goes to the gym but doesn’t like it very much. he goes most days for at least an hour but never posts gym pics on his instagram or anything, he just has no interest apart from maintaining his body.

cannot sleep without you. he can try, sure, but he’ll never be successful. Before you both decided to move in together he was at your house every night, nuzzled against your body with light breaths slipping from his lips, which sparked the conversation, why not just move in, you’re here everyday anyway?

tends to bottle things up, and if something is bothering him you will have to work it out of him slowly…but he’s trying, for you he’s trying.

his lock screen is a photo of you asleep against his chest, he just thought you looked so peaceful.

gets embarrassingly competitive in just dance, threw a Wii at Connie once because he made him lose a perfect score on timber.

finally, he loves stargazing, especially with you. He’ll take you out to a deserted street, a bag full of snacks and a joint as you both lay on the hood of his car, chatting about whatever comes to mind, and it’s at those moments, when his eyes focus on the slope of your nose and the shape of your mouth, that he feels a warmth inside him he’s never felt before. <3

#attack on titan eren #eren jaeger fluff #eren aot #eren x you #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #eren fanfiction #eren x y/n #eren fluff #aot x you #aot x reader

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transmascaraa · 5 months

Text

bf!lyney headcannons!

your bf wanted to hug you while you slept, but you unconsciously said something which made him overthink for the rest of the night...

bf!lyney x gn!/m!reader

author's note: HEYYY I'M ALIVE. anyways thanks for so many likes/notes i really appreciate it. i didn't upload anything for the last 7 days or smthn cuz i had no motivation ☹️ BUT NOW I REALLY WANNA WRITE THIS. it's like reverse comfort

"did i do something wrong?..."

-you two regularly sleep in eachother's arms but tonight y'all were just twisting and turning throughout the entire night

-and that was the only reason that you two weren't making any physical contact

-also a reason you had an uneasy dream about some random people(your parents actually lmao) and you finally snapped at them in your dream

-lyney woke up at like 2am realizing he isn't holding you close to him

-he tried to hug you again but you flinched in your sleep and mumbled a "leave me alone" loud enough for him to understand what you said

-he put his hands back where they were and looked at you with a worried expression on his face

-you looked like you... perhaps... hated him?

-no, it can't be.

-you love him, right?

-right?

-he turned to his back just to look at the ceiling and overthink about those 3 words you said.

-not to mention, in your sleep.

-but he was an overthinker.

-what did he do wrong?

-did he upset you?

-do you hate him?

-he was so worried that he stayed awake for the rest of the night.

-looking at the ceiling, and occasionally looking out the window of the room that you guys shared.

-finally, around 8am(idk when other ppl wake up, i wake up at 7/8am) you woke up.

-stretching out as a faint smile rested on your lips.

-"good morning, lyney..." you smiled as you hugged him

-he was a little worried.

-"good morning, m-mon amour..." his voice sounded... almost scared.

-"what's wrong? did something happen? you look like you haven't slept..." you put your hand on his cheek, caressing it gently

-"h-huh? n-no, i-i'm totally fine! see?" he "smiled" as he kissed your cheek

-"no you're not. i thought we were being honest with eachother, lyn..."

-there it is.

-a "negative" reply.

-it wasn't a nightmare.

-he DID mess something up.

-"n-no! w-wait, i-i'm sorry... for whatever i did, i'm sorry... i'm so sorry, mon cœur, please, forgive me... i didn't mean to hurt you..." he buried his head in your chest, his voice sounding like it was holding back tears, clenching onto you tight as if you might just slip away.

-"what?" you said confused.

-"h-huh?..." he muttered.

-"you didn't do anything, why so apologetic all of a sudden? did you have a nightmare?"

-"n-no... i-i just... l-last night... i wanted to hug you b-but..." he started tearing up, but trying to hide it.

-"but what, lyn? don't hide your feelings from me... y'know i hate it..." you held his chin up and kissed his nose.

-"r-right... b-but then... y-you told me to l-leave you alone... i-i'm sorry..." he started crying and buried his head into your neck, holding you even closer.

-"oh... poor lyney... i was just having a nightmare, nothing to do with you... i'm fine now, you did nothing wrong, don't worry..."

-as he calmed down, he looked into your eyes sincerely.

-"you'll tell me if i upset you with anything i do, right?..." he asked, wiping his tears.

-"right, lyney. i wouldn't hide anything from you."

-"i wouldn't either."

~~~~~

finally writing again after a while

not too bad🥱

i love reverse comfort sm i swear ajcbsbshds

edit: WHY SO MANY LIKES OMG I LOVE YOU ALL SM GUYS THANK YOU ALL<333

#genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x you #reverse comfort #lyney fluff #lyney #lyney x gn reader #lyney x male reader #lyney x m!reader #lyney x y/n #lyney x gender neutral reader #lyney brainrot i swear #⑅⁠čikonyxo's post🎭

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waynewifey · 9 months

Text

dear mr. wayne — b.w

part one: dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

summary: it’s not easy being a politician’s wife. it’s even harder to love a vigilante. months of negligence make you an easy target to his enemies.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: angst romance & dark action

warnings: swearing; smoking; kidnapping; violence; a bit of gore; “you” is she/her; bruce is the worst husband ever btw

word count: 2.8k

A/N: i wrote this back in january 2022 when the batman movie had just premiered, so kinda off the hype here. i hope you enjoy it anyway. already working on part 2, let me know if you guys would like it! also, this has taken a path way darker than i had in mind so i’m sorry if it’s too much. comments are appreciated!

gotham city, USA.

it's late.

you have no clock nearby, but you feel it in your bones. in your muscles too. it's too late and bruce should be home already. laying in the sofa, only half conscious, you regret telling alfred to go to bed. at least you wouldn't be alone. of course, being married to the batman you knew he would patrol at night often. you were okay with it. but lately bruce had been too focused on his other, and recent, goal: running for mayor. at first it seemed out of character, he was never good with the public or the press. but he stared at thomas wayne's painting in the hall in such painful façade, it made sense all off sudden. you were supportive of it. you showed up to every event just to stay by his side, to show the people the lovable man he was. the man you loved. the man who couldn't even be home for dinner.

the penthouse's elevator dings, opening its doors at the end of the hallway you see perfectly from your seat. your head doesn't lift instantly, like in the first week. instead, a long sigh escapes from your lips as bruce reaches the living room.

"hello, darling." he says, still in motion as he walks the stairway up to the room you shared. not a single kiss, or a hug. you follow him, because what else is there to do? you need to go to bed anyway. by the time you get there, slowly, his suit is already on the floor and he's taking a shower.

"how was the meeting?" you ask, knowing he usually did his Wayne Enterprising meetings — which consisted of hanging out long hours in bars with business men — at night. recently, he started a complicated relationship with a real estate company he wanted to invest in.

"the usual." he stopped fully answering these questions three weeks ago, making the only time you ever talked even shorter. the city has gotten more violent than ever since his batman duties were put on standby.

"any closer to sealing the deal?" you sit on the bed, watching the open bathroom door.

"probably." it's not like he's being rude. well, maybe a little bit. he just doesn't want to talk any more, it's clear on his tone. but it's 2am and you brain isn't working too well.

"when is this gonna end, bruce?" you finally say, as he puts his boxers on. "when are we ever having dinner again? or going on a date? when are you gonna stop treating me like i'm some sort of home decor?" you almost vomit out the words that have been stuck on your throat for days. surprisingly, the heartache doesn't softens. instead, it gets worse. it's like admitting your abandonment.

six months ago, you started trying to get pregnant. it hadn't always been a dream of yours, but the idea of having an heir to all you've spent your life building is charming. you realised you were in the right time to do so, you had just turned 28, bruce was 32, and both had stable careers. a month later, bruce announced his candidacy. and so soon you gave up. you told yourself once he won the election everything would be fine. you would try again. but, realistically, being a mayor was already a lot of work on itself. he wouldn't want a pregnant wife or a child to take care of. after the four years, who knows? he might as well have a new life project. and your family would always stand on the side.

"i don't know what you're talking about..." he doesn't look into your eyes. hell, he barely looks at you. that feeling, the negligence, is enough to trigger the tears. you take a deep breath, making an effort to look composed.

"don't you, though?" your voice is shaken. look at me. look at me. look at me. look at me. he doesn't. "bruce." you call, finally getting his attention. however, the boredom on his face knocks you off your feet, legs trembling in pain and anger. "i just want you to make an effort on us..."

"really? cause that's all i ever done." he's leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a way you would find attractive in other circumstances. but now he's yelling and you fight back the urge to shrink into the mattress. "do you think i wanna have a kid on this fucked up town? i'm tryna fix this. fix everything!" his faces turns red-ish. something inside of you makes you want to leave the room. you've always been an avoider, that is one of the reasons you hadn't really had couple fights. so, basically, this is very new. "i've got the weight of the fucking world on my back."

"let's leave then" you manage to say, replacing the you chose this. it was true, however, that he was the one to put himself in this position. bruce wayne could've gotten his entire life without working if he wanted to. but he always needed to save everyone, to suffer for other's happiness. he was a giver. sometimes you wondered if he needed to be saved instead.

"you know i can't do that." he mumbles, in a defeated tone. a sigh escapes from his lips, suddenly the tiredness takes over his face. it's almost enough to make you let it go, to internalise your distress again. he really can't, you know that. he feels that the city is his liability, because it was the only thing he had since he became an orphan. but he had you, too. he just didn't acknowledge that.

"and i can't stay like this." it sounds like an whisper, but it's a plead. choose me. please. he seems to read it in your eyes, face contorting in agony when he realises what you're asking for. me or gotham? it's stupid to think he would ever choose you. but you hoped, so desperately, because you would choose him. always.

"let's not do this tonight, okay? i have to be in the office by the morning." tears instantly fall as he turns off the lights and lays on the bed, turning his back to where you slept. for a moment, you're static. his words were final. were you ever in control of something in your life? why were all of these decisions being made for you? mechanically, you stand on both feet and walk to the door. you don't even notice your movement until you're on the elevator. your husband didn't intervene either. this neighbourhood is one of the safest in town, which honestly isn't much but you had to get out. anyway, nowhere is totally safe at 3am.

you walk two blocks, clinging to the fluffy sweater you wore. the depressing air of gotham slows your pace, to a point you start wondering if it was really necessary to be aware. you could feel the city devouring you, starting with your hope. the blue 24h sign lights up the street, in a way that isn't welcoming, but you know the place well enough to not be scared to get in. a bell sounds over the door and wakes up the male behind the counter. he's got long black hair and seems to haven't seen a good night of sleep in weeks. same,you think.

"hi. can i get the blue one?" you point at the camel's behind the man. he nods, quickly putting a pack on the wooden board. the prices pops up on the cashier's display. you pay and go outside. smoking was an bad habit from your college days, when pressure got too excruciating. every now and then you would treat yourself to some cigarettes, for the confidence it gave you. the sense of control to be the one, for once, ruining yourself. the smoke burns your throat on the first inhale and you hold back a cough. you're too entertained by the cigar to notice the black van approaching. it stops right in front of you, and everything happens too quickly for your brain to process. it's all dark.

he's in a meeting, the boring kind.

the kind that has him seated in silence while a representative talks to his employees, who never get to listen to their actual boss. there's a chart being shown on a large tv on the other side of the room. he's not listening, though. he's writing down ideas for a thanksgiving speech. a head pops into the conference room.

"mr. wayne." it's one of the new assistants, hired especially for the election season. he didn't care to memorise her name, because temps usually don't last long. if she hadn't called him, he might've not even looked up. but the room is silent, expecting eyes on him. the girl at the door looks terrified. "you're urgently required outside, please."

he sighs as he gets up from his leather chair. the second the door closed behind him, chatter is heard again. in the corridor, the woman conducts him to his office and they get in. there's a bit of a commotion, four men lounge around his table, all their faces tense.

"mr. wayne, i'm afraid we don't have good news." the head of the marketing team speaks, a man called robert vance. he's probably said the same phrase to bruce about seven times this month, so that doesn't do much. the assistant approaches with an ipad, unpausing a video. "we received this from an anonymous email about forty minutes ago. we weren't able to get the ip address just yet."

the video starts with a black screen, zooming out to show a woman with a bag over her head. she has her hands on her back and is kneeling on the ground. bruce's heart skips a beat noticing the hair falling down her shoulders.

"bruce wayne..." an eerie voice whispers from behind the camera, breathing heavily. "i've robbed an egg from your basket, and you haven't even noticed!" there's a disturbing chuckle and the video shakes a bit. bruce doesn't move, eyes stuck on the screen. no one in the room has done anything other than breathing. someone gulps. "it's been long hours, but we're having fun, aren't we, darling?" a gloved hand reaches for the bag, pulling it out. her face - your face - is dripping blood. you're biting on a fabric, still in your home clothes. bruce's jaw clenches. you're crying, face beaten, in this degrading situation. your eyes pierce the screen right into his. suddenly, a gun is tapped on your forehead and you close your eyes into a sob. your lips mouth please. "i'm running out of patience here, you're running out of time. let's do business, shall we?" he laughs, knocking the pistol on the side of your head, making you fall laying on the floor, unconscious. the spot bleeds. "here's my proposal: you come clean about your father's deal with carmine falcone and maybe i don't shoot little mrs. wayne... or i do both. it's your choice, really. the clock is ticking. tick tock, wayne."

the video stops, the sight of a gun pointed at your unresponsive body burns into his mind. bruce is panting, the adrenaline rushes into his brain. there's a million of plans being built, but none of them seem viable.

"don't let media get this." he managed to say. one of the men in suits says it's too late. the tv flicks on showing a news report on the video. he kicks the side of his table, the contents being thrown across the room. "FUCK! you bastards wait forty fucking minutes to show me this?" he screams, no one can look him in the eyes. a hand runs through his black hair. "meanwhile my wife is out there with a gun on her head! and what have you done? i swear to god, if i don't find her alive and well i'm killing everyone in this goddamned room with my bare hands."

he storms out of there, reaching to his phone to call alfred and noticing the multiple missed calls. fucking silent mode. the sun is setting.

"i got the address." the butler says, instead of hello. a 'ding' sounds in his ear.

there has been pain for so long. you try to remember before the pain. but all is pain. he has to make it stop.

the floor is cold cement and you feel so small in this huge warehouse. the man in the mask knows you can't run. not only you're tied up, but the will had left you long before getting dragged into that van. he sees it in your eyes. so he strolls around, always in that ridiculous dark green overall. then he beats you up for fun. no cameras. just you and the devil himself. you find yourself praying, after all these years. you don't pray to get out, no. you pray so that it ends soon. you pray that the stab wound in your abdomen will get you an infection. you pray that when you close your eyes, you never have to open them again. but the divine has left you in the cold cement.

there's an explosion. your eyes open. there's smoke and dust taking over one of the walls. you're seeing everything horizontally, cheek on the floor. the man in green is just as scared as you were.

bruce wayne busted that fucking wall down. he expected a full team of psychopaths and maybe some more security. there was just one coward in the warehouse. the thing stares at him coming out of the smoke, fingers fidgeting. the batman steps forward. the freak steps back. then turns around, runs to a half broken wardrobe and grabs a gun from it. bruce walks slowly. there's a struggle loading the gun. he takes the opportunity to run and throw the thing on the floor. he bangs his head on it. the vermin screams. he takes one punch. two. tries to reach for the fallen gun. bruce steps on his hand and the loud crack echoes in the room. he screams again. three punches. the mask is taken off. his nose is bleeding. more punches. he holds the neck. the head is turning purple. oh how he wants to kill this little shit. bruce wayne will kill him. it will just take a few more seconds...

"baby, no" at first he thinks he's imagining it. it's so soft, so weak. but he looks up and there she is. his hands loose. right on the corner, chains on her legs. her face is ruined from blood and dirt. her wrists bleed too. the motherfucker chained her. hell is too good for this thing.

bang. on his shoulder. he looks down and the blood is dripping on the freak's face. he’s pushed to the side, holding the wound. tiny white dots obstruct his vision. he grunts through the pain. the man gets up and runs towards you. bruce can’t move. he arches his back, trying to roll and lay on his chest. it feels like he can’t move his arm anymore, like his bones had detached. when he finally does so, the man is escaping through a window. his hand searches for the adrenaline-boost in his belt, grabs it and quickly injects on his leg. it takes a second to get his blood rushing again. he crawls up and jumps through the window, which leads him to a metal balcony.

you’re almost standing, but he holds your chains and a gun to your face. the shooting sound had scared you awake. you can’t believe how close to bruce you finally are, but the conditions couldn’t be worse. you can hear water running below your feet, you don’t need daylight to show you the violent river you’re standing above. this is not good.

bruce has his hands up in the air and is holding himself back to not do anything stupid. the man’s face is contorting into the creepiest smile. no.

everything happens so slowly, yet he’s not quick enough to grab you in time. you’re falling in the air and he jumped after you. for a moment, the world is air. you can’t hold out your hand. your hair is flying in your face, he does not want to die without seeing you one last time. his cape holds him back and the distance between you only increases. you’re gone. the impact comes.

part two

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ioniansunsets · 6 months

Text

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn Birthday Special ✖

✖ Word Count: 836

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: I think of this as a 10pm-2am party on the 30th so Kayn can quietly pretend its a party for his real 31st Birthday.

----

It was irritating, he'd have to admit. A full day of media and paparazzi chasing him. All he wanted was to by your side, to celebrate with you, to not have to phase through walls just to hide from the crowd. The crowd that was even worse than usual because it was Halloween night. He clicks his tongue as he pulls his facemask up to hide away from the crowd.

" Gods help me."

He whispers angrily under his breath. Almost like an answer to his prayers, Ezreal pops up and drags him down an alley, helping him to slip away from some fans and find his way to the club that you told him to meet you at. It was the usual spot, Heartsteel's favorite bar, the bouncers already waving to let Kayn and Ezreal in.

" Everyone's waiting LMAO! You're so late." " You're late too loser. The fuck you on about!"

Ezreal laughs as he flings the doors open. You, with the help of some others in Heartsteel booked out the entire club for Kayn this night. A hustle and bustle as K/DA and some other friends of Kayn's hang out, laughing and drinking. Cheers from everyone as he walks in, everyone wishing Happy Birthday on what he personally thinks is the wrong day. But attention is attention and he can't say no to a little fun at night. Everyone in little Halloween costumes, high fives, loud laughs, awkward hugs he talks to everyone, socializing and thanking them for the wishes. Yone graciously DJ-ing for the party, Akali pointing him a middle finger as they make eye contact but showing up to the party anyway, Sett and Aphelios trying a hand behind the bar to make drinks for the party. K'Sante sitting by a table talking to Alune and the rest of K/DA. But still, something was wrong, he sees all his friends but where the hell were you? The you who was arguably the most important person to him. The you were the one who invited him here anyway.

" Happy Birthday Kayn!"

At the sound of your voice he perks up, immediately putting his drink down to turn and find you. As he spots you a little away he basically runs over to throw his arms around you, lifting you up and giving you a little spin as you hug him back.

" My favorite person! Where the hell were you! I'm only here because you told me to come by the way."

He sticks out his tongue in mock irritation, arms still around you the whole time. All the attention and well wishes from everyone could never compare to your love. Ah how he loved your smell, your cute laugh, your stupid teasing smug face as it stared at him. He leans down giving you a quick kiss before letting go. Resting his arms across his chest waiting for a good explanation from you.

" Took a while because I had to get this finished for you."

You defend yourself, you hold up a present for him. It was small, suspiciously small for a gift for someone as amazing as him, but it was from you so like hell he won't complain. Picking up the box for your hands he holds it up, shaking it a little, no noise. Curious now he opens it, face immediately lighting up. He puts the wrapping down behind him as he holds up the gift.

" Oh fuck is this...?"

You nod as he examines it, a custom guitar strap. Designed like his recently solidified aesthetic from the Paranoia MV, bright colors, a yellow base, pink, purple and green accents with an imitation of his signature down the strap. Little handmade patches of him and Rhaast on the corner, hearts the colors of all the boys around the middle, and finally your initials sneakily sewn in the underside next to Kayn's right where the strap would meet the guitar, there, yet hidden from view so he could still use this on stage. A beautifully thought out way to have something of you near him all the time, even when he was on tour, on stage or in his studio. How personal... Kayn laughs, a hand returning to pull you into him, he leans down close to your ears as he growls out softly,

" Damn babe...you're going to make me emotional."

A blush rising up your face, Kayn turns to give your cheek a quick kiss. A hand sneakily rising up to wipe something away under his eyepatch. You take note to tease him about it later.

" All custom made and details hand sewn by the way, I got K'sante and Sett to help me."

" Thank you. Amazing gifts from you as always."

After a quick kiss on your forehead, he pulls away from the hug, hand wrapping around yours as he drags you to the bar, the brightest smile on his face as he gives Aphelios a nod to make drinks for you two.

" Now let's properly celebrate together."

#i'll proofread this later #im done with my essay teehee back to writing now #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAYNIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU #Ionian Sunsets #Shieda Kayn #Shieda Kayn x Reader #Heartsteel!Kayn #Kayn LoL #Kayn League #Kayn League of Legends #KaynLeague #SCENARIOS #League of Legends Scenarios #happy birthday kaynnnnnnn xoxoxoxoxo #also by other friends of kayn i imagine zed shen and jhin just sitting at a table drinking whiskey or someshit LMAO

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ghost-with-a-teacup · 1 year

Text

𝟐𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Everyone has their own coping mechanisms when dealing with stress, their way of simply forgetting whatever was happening in their life, at least for a moment. Yours happened to come in the form of baking in the late hours of the night as you tried to ignore your worries for Simon as he was on his mission.

You bake at 2AM as you wait for Simon to come home.

Warnings: None! Only the fluffiest of fluff, you know the drill.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Notes: This definitely didn't come to mind as I myself was baking at 2AM, no! Never! (side note, the cookies and cinnamon rolls came out great, hehe). Anyway hi, this is my first time writing for Simon, recently fell down the COD rabbit hole and all so apologies if anything is off. Aside from that, this is just a short lil fic that started off as a headcanon that spiralled out of control. Happy reading my lovelies!

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You're up late at night, again. Not that you could help it, thoughts were flying through your head at just about a million miles per minute. About how worried you are about Simon on his mission, about what could have happened to him, if he was uninjured, healthy, safe. It was like this every time he had a mission, and yet every time it became no less difficult. Being a part of an elite task force was an honour yes, but with honour comes the dangers of being placed on the most difficult of missions. And while even though you were at home, safe and sound, it scared you, the unknowing of what could happen to him. But more than that, you missed him. More than anything.

So to get your mind off of all the 'what-ifs' in your head, you bake. All sorts of things, cinnamon buns, apple pie, those lemon crinkle cookies you knew Simon adored so much. Following a recipe step by step to ensure a lovely end product managed to distract you at least for a bit, until you were left to your own devices once more after it was done. But it acted as salvation while it lasted, allowing an escape from the dark corners of your mind.

✧

Music fills the kitchen as you hum along, measuring and mixing ingredients as you swayed to the beat.

Your focus is entirely on what's in front of you, the task was for getting your mind off of Simon after all, so unbeknownst to you the door opens as the one person you were trying to distract yourself from comes home.

He walks in almost silently, there was a reason his callsign was Ghost, and drops his gear down by the entrance to go in search of you. It wasn't difficult, the lights acting as a pathway straight to where you were, the music going along with it. Stepping quietly, Simon makes his way over to the kitchen and for a moment he just stands leaning on the doorframe watching you flit about. An impossible fondness fills his eyes and chest as he does, you being so in you element always left him feeling that way. You doing anything really with him being there to witness it, because it means that he's finally home, at long last. But any place he could call home, so long as you were a part of it.

Once you finally stood still for a bit, mixing a part of the recipe, Simon makes his way over to you. Without a word he wraps his arms around your waist as you let out a gasp of surprise, tensing for a moment at the unexpectedness before relaxing once more as you realize who it is. In an instant the bowl is forgotten as you turn in his arms.

"Simon," you say softly, a smile overtaking your features as you return his embrace.

"Darling," he says, tone matching yours as he gazes into your eyes.

Nothing more needed to be said, he was home, and that was enough.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Notes: And done! Just a really short fic, I think maybe even the shortest I've ever written, but sweet nonetheless. I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you

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its-time-to-write · 11 months

Note

Thank you so much for the response to my request <3. the fic was better then I could have hoped!!!!

I have a new request (but feel free to focus on the story themes you were wanting to do!), I have been really wanting to see a Jamie fic where he takes care of sick reader. Could be period or illness (no preference) and Jamie has no idea how to help but tries his best. I think its a cute idea

Can't wait to read more of your fics!

Thank you so much for requesting!! Literally love when people ask me to write things. Also, apparently everyone loves a sickfic because my other one has the most notes of everything I’ve written. Anyway, here’s your fic!

there’s orange juice in the kitchen

You are not sure of much, but you know one thing: you’re in pain. It’s 2am, and you’ve gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep. You’ve given up on laying in your bed and have filled up your bath with hot water, bubbles, and bath salts. Lots of bath salts. Your abdomen feels like it’s shredding itself and you suppose, technically speaking, it is. You’re just relieved that tomorrow is the weekend and you don’t have to slog through a work day, white-knuckling these absolutely ripping period cramps.

You don’t have regular periods like, ever, and your doctor’s concerned about your fertility. You remember waving it off with the statement, “That’s a problem for another day.” Thing is, that was just a cop-out. You didn’t want to think about it for a single second because then it would become real, and you make it a personal point never to complain about a period no matter how brutal it is because at least it’s something and never mind that your last one was four months ago, you’re ok. You have a good life and good people and you’re fine.

It’s just the principle, you know? The desire of choice.

The hormones don’t help either.

But anyway, you’re in your tiny bath trying to soothe the pain you’re in, trying to make yourself tired enough to fall asleep once you get out. You breathe, in, out. In, out.

You’re up till 6am when you finally doze off.

—

You wake up in a sweaty haze. You’re in soft pants and a large t-shirt, on top of your sheets rather than in them. You reach for your phone then pull your legs in with a sharp gasp. You’re still in pain.

It subsides so you reach again and check the time. 9:01. You groan. Three hours of dubious sleep is not enough. You have a missed text from Sam (remind me which brand of kitchenware you use?) two missed texts from Keeley (look at this absolutely adorable puppy! Attached: 1 Image), and a missed call from Jamie.

Ah, right. Jamie.

Your boyfriend.

Who you were supposed to meet for breakfast exactly sixteen minutes ago.

Shit.

You call him back and he answers on the first ring.

“Hey love!” he says. “You alright? Not like you to miss breakfast.”

You grimace. “I uh, I wasn’t feeling well last night and I haven’t slept very good. I forgot to text you. Didn’t fall asleep until 6.”

“A.M.?” Jamie asks and you reply to the affirmative. He lets out a long “shiiit,” followed by a, “how contagious are you?”

“For you? Not very,” you say. “For another girl, incredibly contagious, although some say that’s an old wive’s tale.”

Jamie is silent in confusion, then- “Ohh, I get it! You’re not sick-sick, you’re on your fucking period.”

You chuckle, despite remaining curled up on your side.

“Yes,” you reply, “My fucking period. I feel nauseous and tired and I am bleeding so. Much. It’s like my body’s making up for the last four months of nothing.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment and you internally cringe, kicking yourself for over sharing. You haven’t been together that long, about a month and a half, and he doesn’t need to know that about you. He’s a famous footballer, after all, and a guy’s guy. Probably gets grossed out about periods and stuff.

Then he says, “Can I come over? I’ll bring food,” and your worries almost completely evaporate.

“As long as you don’t care about how disgusting I am or the fact that I hurt a lot, sure,” you say. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

—

Jamie’s at your flat in 40 minutes, which is fast considering how much food he walks in with. He’s brought a bag of Chinese takeout, plus two overflowing grocery bags.

“This is for now, these are for later,” he explains. He’s in a pink sweatshirt with matching shorts and socks, and maybe it’s the damned hormones again but he looks hot. His hair is pushed back with a headband and you want him to fuck you. You don’t think you can convince him, though, what with the blood. And the fact that he’s Jamie fucking Tartt. And that he probably doesn’t do shit like that because it’s gross.

Your brain whispers, but he’s here, isn’t he? so you just push that thought down to live with other scary ones like, I will never have kids, or I’m going to live with this pain for the rest of my life.

Jamie is oblivious to this, just pulling everything out of the bags and chattering on. He’s kicked off his trainers near the door, and he hasn’t made any comments about the fact that you’ve wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like a shroud, or that your hair is in the messiest bun in the history of the world. Not the sexy, reader-insert fan fiction type of messy bun, either. Just an I-did-not-get-anywhere-NEAR-enough-sleep-last-night messy bun.

“-and me mum always drank orange juice, swore it helped with bloating or hydration or somethin’, I don’t really know, but I got some of that too and this tea that’s supposed to help with cramps, and also a shit-ton of chocolate because I didn’t know which kind was your favorite. I was thinking we can sit on the couch and watch a movie or play Animal Crossing or some shit while eating the takeout, then I can cook you a proper fucking meal later. Coach always says it’s important to have a balanced meal when you’re under the weather, and I think it applies to this too.” He stops when he notices you just looking at him. “You alright, babe?”

“Yeah, I just- why did you get all this?” you blurt out.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Jamie looks unsure of himself. “I dunno. I mean, I do know. You didn’t sound great over the phone, and Keeley’s always telling me to fucking listen to other people, and me mum was always the same on her period so I used to get her the things she wanted all the time. And-” he takes a breath, “and I picked up on what you said. The fuckin’ four-months shit. That ain’t good babe. Even I know that. And, we haven’t been together that long, but I’m pretty fucking sure you know that too, and I wanted to let you know I’m sorry.”

You’re momentarily fixed on the way he says certain words. Keeleh. Sorreh. It’s sweet, for some reason, and it causes a dull ache in your chest. You realize what he’s actually said to you and that ache deepens. You’d kiss him if you weren’t sure your breath was gross.

So instead, you settle for nodding and staring at your kitchen wall. That’s because option one is kissing and option two is crying. You can’t do either right now.

A traitor tear slips out your eye anyway, and you hope Jamie won’t see it. He does.

“Hey, hey.” He comes around the counter and pulls you into a hug, blanket shroud, messy bun, and all. “Love. It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re not alone, and we’re going to go sit on the couch and eat as much food as we can and then pass out, alright? We’re not going to think about anything else except what’s right in fuckin’ front of us.”

“That was,” you sniff, “weirdly philosophical. And very sweet. And I’m sorry for being disgusting.”

Jamie pulls away from you, and you think this is the first time he’s realized how gross you are.

“Don’t say that shit, babe,” he says, and you laugh before you realize he isn’t joking.

“I’m serious,” he continues. “You might feel disgusting, but you aren’t. You smell like fucking lavender, for Christ’s sake. Your pajamas are clean, and so’s your hair. Might be fuckin’ messy right now, but me mum also taught me to braid, so it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

You pull him back against you and let some more tears come out.

“Why are you being so nice,” you ask, voice muffled through his sweatshirt.

“Oh, dunno,” he replies, hint of a smile in his voice, “Think you’re fit. I like shower sex. You pick.” He pauses. “Maybe both. Heard that it can help with cramps.”

You laugh wetly into his chest. He’s warm and comforting, and so completely not what you expected him to be. You both stand in the kitchen for another minute, his cheek resting on your head before he says, “Oi, you hungry?”

“God, yes,” you say, “I could eat a fucking horse.”

“Good.” Jamie picks up the bulging bag of takeout and a roll of paper towels. “Lead the way, babe.”

—

It’s not until much later, after you’ve eaten, watched a movie, and showered (and all that implies) that you realize you’re finally tired. Finally calm. You let yourself relax on your bed in Jamie’s arms, breathing in his clean smell. In, out. In, out. By the third breath, you’re asleep.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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nexysworld · 1 year

Note

Imagine things have been going very smooth between bunny!reader and yandere!leon like let’s say a good 2 months of her folding under Leon’s rules and being perfect for him so he cranks up the affection even more to the point she gets drunk and hazy on his love

Her ovulation comes around and she absolutely cannot get enough of Leon. He’s gone on a one day mission which has him back home late the same night but to bunny!ready Leon being gone even that short was enough to rile her up so when he comes home she’s still awake. Leon is thrilled to be welcomed by cuddles and kisses until she starts rocking her hips and hits him with a “I’ve been so good lately, right? Just for you. So won’t you reward me and put lots of bunnies in me, pleaaase?”

I let you imagine Leon’s state afterward ahah

All I can say is fucking inspiring anon. Inspiring! So much so I turned this into a quick oneshot I typed out on the last 30 min of my lunch break because I couldn't get it out of my head. For those new, this oneshot is based on the same au as my Yandere!Leon fic Guardian Angel which was inspired by @explorevenus's fic Something Permanent. ~ Breeding Bunnies ~ Read on AO3 🖤 Requests are Open 🖤 Masterlist Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, daddy kink, breeding kink, smut, use of pet names like bunny

Leon was exhausted, all he wanted to do was get home to his little Bunny. It was rare that he had to leave on such short notice, all he had time to do was leave a bedside note with an explanation before he was out the door at 4am.

The mission went fine, though Leon had to admit he rushed things as much as he could, originally scheduled to be gone for 48 hours, he’d completed the mission and was on his way home by 11pm same day.

Jeep rolling to a stop outside the farmhouse, he saw that the bedroom light was still on. A little concerned he checked the time, 2am. So he’d been gone in total 22 hours. But why was his little Bunny still awake? You knew you had a bedtime, it wasn’t good if you were tired all day. Not really in the mood to do anything about it, he trudged inside, kicking his work boots off at the door before making his way upstairs. Luckily he opted to take a shower at work before coming home, so he didn’t smell like swamp and blood.

He could hear the soft whimpering noises coming from the cracked door of the bedroom, clearly, you hadn’t heard him come home yet. Adorable. Any irritation he had from you still being awake was gone.

The second his hand touched the knob and the door creaked, all noises ceased. Whatever he’d almost seen you doing had stopped. There you sat on the bed, hands folded over the blanket, face red and flushed. “Welcome home Daddy~ I missed you.” The sound of your voice was heaven to his ears. “It’s a little late for you to be up don’t you think?” There was no anger in his voice as he slipped onto the bed, letting you wrap your arms around him. “I know, I’m sorry.” You cooed softly clinging to him, burying your face into his chest to inhale his scent. “I tried cuddling with your pillow, but it’s not the same. I just can’t sleep without you.” “Awww poor Bunny, I’m here now though. Let’s get some rest, ok?” He adjusted the position so he was lying on his side pulling you into his arms tightly, peppering your face with kisses. He didn’t question it when you brought your leg over his hip, assuming you just wanted to snuggle as close as possible.

His heart was bursting with love, knowing that you missed him so much. Not even his imagination could properly conjure such a beautiful scene - nothing could make this night any better, or so he thought anyway.

Being so exhausted though, it wasn’t long before he felt himself drifting toward unconsciousness. Almost asleep he felt a slight movement against his leg. He ignored it, savoring the feeling of falling asleep. Again it happened, jostling his consciousness. A few more times and he was fully awake, realizing you were grinding against his leg. “Mmm Bunny, quit it, not tonight mkay?” He rubbed the back of your hair softly. “Pleeeeaassseee? I missed you so much.” “Bunny, no. Tryin’ to sleep.” “But I’ve been so good lately, right? Just for you. So won’t you reward me and put lots of bunnies in me, pleaaase?” Leon’s eyes shot open as your words sent all the blood flowing to his cock. Did she really just ask me that? “You want me to fill you up with bunnies, baby?” “Please, need you.” To emphasize your point, you ground yourself against his hip again extra hard, mewling at the rough sensation of cloth on your clit. You were so wet with need, there was a dark spot forming all the way through your underwear and onto his pants.

“Fuck, Bunny. I could never say no to that.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up, tugging his pants and boxers off, tossing them somewhere into the darkness of the room. Leaning over you, he helped you out of your panties before connecting your lips together in a rough kiss. Leon grabbed himself, teasing you by running the fat tip of his cock up and down your slit, taking an extra moment to gently tap it against your clit. “Aww poor baby, look how wet you are. Guess you really do need my babies, don’t you?” He lined himself up with your hole, sliding in without stopping until he was balls deep. Not even giving him the chance to move you started bucking wildly fucking yourself on his cock, earning a hiss from him. “More…more…” you begged between each rock of your hips. “God, you’re killing me tonight sweet thing. Just can’t get enough of me, can you?” He gripped your hips tightly, ceasing your movements. You whined squirming against his hold. “Shh. Shh. You’re too eager baby, just relax and let me take care of you, hmm?” Leon pushed your legs up, flattening himself against you more until you were in a firm mating press, cock somehow managing to reach deeper than you ever thought possible. “Such pretty noises.” He cooed as you babbled incoherently each time he pistoned his hips against you. His pelvis bouncing against your throbbing clit was adding extra stimulation, bringing you so close to the edge.

“Mmm Daddy–” You barely got the words out, pussy clenching around him as you came undone, clinging to him. His nose buried in your neck, he gave a few more hard thrusts before he came as deep as he could, riding it out with a few slow thrusts.

He didn’t pull out immediately as he gently let your legs down into a more comfortable position. He opted to lay on top of you enjoying your sweet smell, and letting his slowly softening cock act as a plug.

“God Bunny, can’t wait to see your swollen belly in a few months.”

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spoilmesweetieforficssake · 6 months

Text

Pregnant Reader - Part 4

Cravings (For Food, For Melissa)

Thank you to everyone who has liked and commented and reblogged this series so far (and an extra thank you to those of you who have even asked for more!)

What started out as a one shot has now turned into a little 5 part series. I'm not entirely sure when I'll manage to finish part 5, but I'll get there! (And to those of you who left prompts - I will also get there with them!)

Anyway, enough rambling - links to the previous parts of this little mini series below and part 4 under the cut. :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You smile as Melissa puts your lunch bag down on the table in front of you, chuckling as promptly turns her chair around to face the opposite way before sitting down. It wasn’t the first time. At home there had been a number of occasions when the combinations you had been craving had made her want to vomit.

Barb, sat at the table with you both, watches with interest. “Did you two argue?”

“Nope,” replies Melissa. “I just don’t wanna see this.”

The other woman continues to watch as you open up your lunch, lifting the lids on the various containers within and starting to create your cravings masterpiece.

“That…puts my cravings to shame,” admits the kindergarten teacher. “That…”

“Is an abomination to all that is edible,” finishes the red head.

You just smile as you take a bite of your creation. Admittedly, your smile is aimed more at the fact that as disgusting as Melissa finds it, she’s the one who packed your lunch that day, albeit packing the components separately. She loves you, but putting those ingredients together is something she just won’t do for anyone.

“You are gonna love me!” grins Melissa as she closes the front door behind her.

“I already do!” you call through from the sofa where you’re trying to get comfortable.

“I got ‘em!” she grins as she appears in the doorway, waving the bag of chips at you. Propped on her hip she also holds an almost overflowing grocery bag. “I got ‘em all!”

“I do love you,” you manage through the tears that threaten to steal your words. You had been unable to settle, finally getting out of bed some time around 2am. It had been the opening of closing of every cupboard in the kitchen that roused a sleepy Melissa around an hour later.

Half asleep she had wrapped herself around you, her front pressed to your back, eventually cajoling you into admitting what you were looking for. Barely a few minutes later she had donned her jacket and had her car keys in hand.

“Melissa no, you can’t go out at this time.”

She had merely smirked. “Either I try and get these or we both you you’ll be pacing the floors all night and I won’t be able to sleep either.” With a peck to your cheek, she was gone.

But now she was back, dropping down onto the sofa next to you. You smile as she tucks herself into your side, kissing the top of her head. “How many stores did you have to go to to find them?”

She shrugs. “A few.”

You shake your head, knowing that a few probably meant every store that was open within a five mile radius. “You know I would have survived without them, right?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be happy without them,” she says, reaching to open the bag of chips. She pops one in her mouth, screwing up her face at the flavour. “And you can have all of them.”

You chuckle. “Sure you don’t want another one?”

“Wouldn’t wanna deprive you and that little Tesoro you’re carrying,” she replies, her head coming to rest on your shoulder as her arm snakes around and comes to rest protectively across your bump.

It melts your heart every time she calls the baby by a fond little nickname, and she has plenty of them. The closer to the time of her arrival it gets, the more Melissa seems to do it, and you’re quite sure she’s unaware she’s doing it.

Feeling Melissa leaning more heavily against you, you twist your head to catch a look at her face. Eyes closed and mouth slightly open, she’s already in a deep sleep. With a smile, you reach and manage to catch the edge of the blanket that had been draped over the arm of the couch. Tucking it around the two of you, you try and crunch as quietly as you can as you continue to tuck into the fruits of Melissa’s midnight cravings snack run.

You’re aware of what you’re doing, almost painfully so. And you also know that Melissa has to have noticed it to. Neither of you would be considered the cuddliest of people, but you’re more tactile with each other than you are with anyone else. At this point, the touches exchanged between you are almost second nature, a hand on your back here, playing with the ends of Melissa’s flaming hair as she sits close, her hand resting on your thigh if you’re sat next to her. It’s never anything too obvious, but subtle and reassuring.

Or at least, it had been reassuring until you started to feel the effects of certain hormones. You had read that there was a possibility that during certain phases of your pregnancy when you might feel more horny than you normally would. You’d shrugged it off. So you might feel a little more turned on than usual, nothing you couldn’t handle.

What you hadn’t been prepared for was being horny all the time. Every little touch felt like it burned. The friction of your own pants could be enough to drive you to distraction. It was absurd. Humiliating. Especially when you had never felt less attractive in your life.

You felt huge and gross and swollen and sore. You try to tell yourself that the way Melissa looks at you has not changed, but when you look in the mirror, it’s difficult. You look like an inflated version of yourself. Your curves feel grossly emphasised by the ever growing life inside of you. It doesn’t help that nothing feels like it fits. Or at least, none of your usual go to outfits. No, anything you wear now comes from the maternity section and makes you feel fat and frumpy.

It's that feeling that has you shying away from Melissa’s touches, finding reasons to keep your distance. You hate it. Miss her even when you’re laying right next to her. In bed one night, you feel her press a kiss to the back of your clothed shoulder where you lay facing away from her.

“You want anything before I turn the light off?”

The way you shrug away from her doesn’t go unnoticed, and as you turn to answer her question you clearly see the hurt on her face before she manages to hide it. She forces a smile and shifts away from you. This time, however, rather than letting her, you reach out and catch her arm.

With no small effort, you sit up, turning to face her. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, the false smile never leaving her lips.

“’Lissa,” you sigh. “I know you’ve noticed. And I’m sorry. It’s not because I don’t want you to touch me, it’s because I feel…I feel like I’m on fire! Every little touch sets me ablaze and I feel like I’m going to explode!” You take a deep breath, stilling your gesturing hands. “I want it so bad, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you. Like this is all hormones and you’re just scrathing an itch. But I also don’t want to want to like I do because I feel a mess. A huge, swollen, sore, gross, sweaty mess.”

You’re not sure when the tears started but by the end of your little tirade your breath is coming in hiccupping gulps and you’re sniffling as tears stream down your face. You don’t fight when Melissa tugs you to her side, accepting the handkerchief she holds out in front of you.

“You know I still find you beautiful, right?” she asks.

Your response is a snort. A very ugly, wet snort. “I’m a snotty, snivelling mess,” you grumble.

She shakes her head, shifting so you can see her face. “No, you’re beautiful and I love you.” She leans in to kiss you. It’s soft and it’s gentle until suddenly its not. She leaves you breathless, your hands clutching her shirt. “Still feel like you’re on fire?”

“All the damn time,” you hiss.

She kisses you again but can feel your hesitation. You’re holding back, and she knows it. Twisting to face you, she leans her forehead against your own. “Let me show you how beautiful you are to me.”

You hesitate still, trembling with need. Pulling back, you look into those green eyes you love so much. See the fire there. See the love. “Please,” you whisper, whimpering when she presses her lips to yours once more.

You felt you should have known she’d make you feel amazing. And not just physically. She’s constantly checking in, reassuring you. Somehow, she knows that tonight, you need her close. That you need the comfort of her lips on your own, to be able to see everything she feels written plainly on her face. It takes a little bit of figuring out, finding new ways that work, experimenting with new angles, all the while she delights in how much more sensitive you are. You take your own delight in the still being able to please her, revelling in each sound that pours from her lips, in every hitch of her breath, of how she clings to you as she comes undone.

For the first time in weeks, as you lie together afterwards, you feel settled. With Melissa pressed against your back, her hand resting against your bump you are sated and settled, as is she, and the life growing within you. “I’m sorry I didn’t just talk to you before.”

She nuzzles against the back of your neck. “You talked to me tonight.”

You cover her hand with your own, lacing your fingers together. “But I should have talked to you before, not pushed you away. That wasn’t fair on you. You’ve had to deal with all my other cravings, now you have to deal with my cravings for you too.”

You feel her smirk against your skin as she chuckles. “I watched you put lime jello in a salad the other day, believe me, this craving is way easier to handle than some of the things I’ve watched you eat recently.”

#melissa x reader #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader

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ellabehavior · 9 months

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You’re on your own kid ~ Rafe Cameron ☼

Summary: Rafe and you have been best friends since you were young. However, now that he got his new girlfriend you suddenly realized that you could possibly like him more than simply as a friend.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of drinking

A/N: Its been a while yall, but i’m back!! I hope y’all enjoy :)! ( i hateee this but i hope y’all love)

angst to soft!

Summer went away,

You’ve been best friends with Rafe since as long as you can remember, but last summer was the summer where everything changed.

The summer before your first year of college.

School was back up and you were also starting to look at Rafe with a different eye. He was taller, tanner, smarter, he’s growing up.

Still the yearning stays.

Everytime you’d pass Rafe in the hallway hed give you a short smile but never really acknowledge you.

You missed last summer when you guys would hang out everyday, tell eachothers every little secret, and have the best deep conversations at 2am.

You knew at this moment that things might never be the same again.

I play it cool with the best of them.

For the first time in months Rafe contacted you, he invited you to go to a party with a lot of people from your school.

When you arrived, that’s when you seen him with her.

He had his arm around her neck and her long blonde hair rested on his lower arm.

I wait patiently, he’s gonna notice me.

“It’s ok, It’s ok” You whisper quietly while gaining the courage to go up and talk to Rafe.

As you walk up to him he gives you a half-hug due to the blonde on his right.

“Hey Y/N i haven’t seen you in a while.” He grins.

“Yeahhh, I guess i’ve been busy yknow with all the test and s-” Immediately you get cut off by a high pitched voice.

“Rafeyyy cmon let’s go play some games this is boring.” She says with a pout.

“Mkay babe. Bye Y/n” The boy said walking away without a glance at you.

It’s ok we’re the best of friends, anyways…

About a week after the party Rafe finally calls to check up on you.

“Hey y/n.” He drowsily says .

“Rafe? It’s 1:00am what are you calling me for?” You voice concerningly

“I just miss my bestie that’s all” He laughs.

I hear it in your voice,

You're smoking with your boys.

I touch my phone as if it's your face.

“Rafe are you high right now?” You almost shout.

“Yes, Maybe, No.” He giggles.

“Rafe do you need me to come get you?”

You rush to grab your keys and your wallet to go pick Rafe up.

“No i’m here with my girlfriend.” He says.

You stop in your tracks, immediately getting a sick feeling in your stomach as soon as those words come out from his mouth.

“Oh Okay, we’ll I’ll talk to you some other time okay?” You suggest.

And with that he hangs up the phone without a goodbye.

I didn't choose this town,

I dream of getting out.

There's just one who could make me stay,

All my days.

As a kid you and Rafe would always talk about how when you guys were 25 you’d move to London together, and to this day that’s still your biggest dream.

You hate this place, it’s full of people who will be rude to you just based off of how you grew up.

Surprisingly Rafe is now dating one of those girls, Lily.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I waited ages to see you there

I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that you never cared

You promised yourself after last time you would never go to another college party, but here you find yourself at one that Rafe invited you to.

You would be lying if you said you’re here because you wanted to party, you’re waiting to see him.

You see Lily off in the crowd dancing, She’s perfect. You understand why Rafe would pick her. Her hair flows perfectly in the wind, her makeup is never less than flawless, and even though you want to tell yourself that she’s ugly, she’s one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen.

As you study Lily you see Rafe come up from behind her and hug her.

You're on your own, kid

You always have been

The whole night Rafe didn’t even bat a single eye at you, so you left.

I see the great escape

So long, Daisy May

I picked the petals, he loves me not

Something different bloomed

Writing in my room

I play my songs in the parking lot

I'll run away

You tried to distance yourself ever since the party, finally realizing this crush is starting to form into something you don’t need right now.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks since you’ve gone no contact with Rafe and if there were 20 stages of grief, you’ve been through 30.

All you want to do is call him, text him, or tell yourself that maybe he’s just using Lily as a distraction because he really likes you.

“Why is it never me.”

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I called a taxi to take me there

I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare

It’s a cycle.

Another party, Another slap in the face.

You can see the other girls also looking at Lily wishing they could be with Rafe.

The realization kills you to know that it’ll probably never be you in that spot with all these options he has.

You're on your own, kid,

You always have been.

It’s a drunken night, and you’ll definitely regret this.

“Rafeyyy babyyy” you slur.

“Y/N? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” You can tell he is worried in his tone.

“I don’t like her. She’s rude, you deserve better.”

There is a long pause and then you hear someone speak, “He’s never liked you babe. You’re nothing compared to me, and you know that.”

The phone hung up.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this

I hosted parties and starved my body

Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss

It’s been hard to do anything since the altercation.

Eating, Getting up, Going to class, Socializing, and pretty much everything feels like a chore.

You’ve tried so hard to get his attention yet he never seemed to care.

And of course as a mean girl, Lily decided to tell everyone about what you said to Rafe. Of course he apologized for what she said, and for what happened but that didn’t stop the whole school for coming at you for a whole week.

The jokes weren't funny, I took the money

My friends from home don't know what to say

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

And I saw something they can't take away

You received a text message late at night, usual for Rafe.

Rafe: Hey, i’m so sorry for what Lily caused. You’re my best friend and I realized nothing is worth loosing that, me and her are over now after a long talk.. Can we please hang out? I miss you.

Fuck. This is what you’ve been longing for all these months and it finally is here.

You: Yeah sure, Sleepover? my place tmmrw? ;)

Rafe: Ofc. I miss you. Cya.

Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned

Everything you lose is a step you take

So make the friendship bracelets

Take the moment and taste it

You've got no reason to be afraid

The anxiety levels are high waiting for Rafe to come over, it’s been so long since you’ve had a real conversation through all this time of him being with Lily.

You start to wonder if he still likes Starwars, or if his favorite dancing song is 22 by Taylor Swift.

You then hear a knock on the door.

You're on your own, kid

“Hey!! Can I come in” he says.

“Of course.”

Then the catching up, the apology’s, and the stories start up.

It’s just like last summer.

Yeah, you can face this

While Rafe is telling one of his stories, you start to feel a pit of anxiety in your stomach because you know what you have to do.

You’ve gotten ready for this moment, practiced it in the mirror about 50 times to make sure your facial expressions, or your tone doesn’t sound too weird.

You're on your own, kid

“Rafe.” You stop him mid conversation.

“Yes?” he says with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“All these months i’ve been so distant but really all I wanted was to be near you, since last summer you’ve been the only thing on my mind and maybe you don’t feel the same way but-“

He cuts you off with a kiss to your lips.

“I’ve been waiting since the 8th grade for you to say that” He says as he pulls away.

“So all that practicing in the mirror was for nothing?” you giggle.

“Guess so.”

You always have been

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goldenempyrean · 1 year

Note

sick!nat x reader where they broke up a week ago and r hasn’t heard of nat since. however that changes when a feverish Natasha calls reader asking to be taken care of. reader still loves her so she goes to Nat’s house to find that Natasha is miserable and totally out of it. when Nat recovers will she remember that SHE was the one who asked for help? (little angst)

The Memories Of Love

〚 Notes - Wow. I stayed up WAY too late writing this. Know it stays "little angst" but I might've gotten a little too deep into it. Theres more swearing and stuff then my usual fics so just be weary of that! I am desperate for feedback on this fic though so give me your honest thoughts :D 〛

〚 Summary - You'd broken up. You were content to never to speak to her again and maybe you would have, but one call changes everything 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1840 〛

〚 Part Two! 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

The last thing you expected to wake up too was a call. Especially considering it was almost 2am and especially considering who it was coming from. You rolled over, grabbed your phone leading you to give an irritated groan as you muted the call, setting your phone back down.

You groaned to yourself, annoyed that you had been pulled from your peaceful slumber, you tried to settle back down, not wanting to be disturbed any further but not even a minute later, the recognisable chime of your ringtone rung out again as your phone began to vibrate rapidly.

“For fucks sake.” You muttered grumpily as you sat up and picked up your phone, rolling your eyes at the name displayed over the screen.

“What do you want Natasha?” You grumbled, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

On the other end of the phone, you heard Natasha mumble something incoherent. You frowned. Her voice was wrong, it had a distinct hoarseness and a noticeable rasp. Not to mention the small sniffles. Was that- Was she crying?

“Considering you’ve just woken me up, I don’t want to deal with your bullshit right now so you can either tell me what you want or fuck off.” You growled down the phone, not wanting to deal with her any longer.

The phone was silent for what felt like hours, your finger was hovering over the red button to end the call when a small voice whispered something, “I need you.”

“What are you on about?” You sighed, rubbing your temples as you tried to make sense of what she had just said, “If you’re drunk or something, I swear to God, Im genuinely going to just block you. I can't deal with your shit right now.”

The phone went silent again, you almost felt bad for snapping at her. It's just, this was the first time in an over a week that you’d spoken to each other after it happened. You weren't even completely sure how it happened anyway. You guess it had started the night she failed to show up for your date – the date that you were going on to make up for her missing the previous one... and the one before that. You’d tried to remain casual when you told her how it made you feel but no. That one comment turned into a long, tiring argument. One which ended with you walking out, throwing your keys to the floor claiming you couldn’t do this anymore. A year gone. A year of time, love and dedication you’d put into that relationship and suddenly, in the span of afew moments it was gone. Wasted.

The sound of deep coughing snapped you back to reality as you cringed at the sound, “Please Y/N,” The way she croaked your name pulled at your heartstrings, she sounded like she was almost begging, “please come over, I really need you.”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, softening your tone as you realised that something really might be wrong, “Are you okay?”

There it was. That feeling of worry you hadn’t felt in awhile, the worry you felt whenever something bad happened, the worry which you felt when you truly cared for someone. The worry you felt when you truly... You stopped yourself, not wanting to think about it any further.

“Please, just come over.” That was the last thing you heard before there was a small ‘thud’ on the other end of the line.

“Natasha, just tell me what’s wrong.” You repeated but got no answer, “Natasha? Oh for-.” You cut yourself off from your curse and gave an exaggerated sigh as you shook your head, only this time there was no real anger behind it.

You told yourself you didn’t care, and that Natasha can deal with it herself. Shes a big girl and she can handle it. You didn’t care. That’s what you told yourself.

Yet you still found yourself driving over to her apartment not even ten minutes later. The roads were barely illuminated by the dim streetlights, and you found yourself often gazing up and out at the overhead stars. God, what were you doing?

You asked yourself that same question as you approached the door to her apartment. Your hand hesitated wearily in the air, curling up into a fist. You paused. Did you really want to do this? You could turn around now, go home, get back into bed. She’d never know. Yeah, that’s what you should do and yet seconds later the sound of knocking echoed through the hallways.

Silence. You were met with a strange silence. No sounds of movement inside, no one came to the door, no sounds of anything actually. You knocked again, a little louder this time and tapped your foot impatiently, still there was nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” You muttered to yourself, pissed that you’d wasted your time on her again.

As you give the door your third and final third knock, your thumb goes down to reach for the handle out of instinct. You were so used to opening this door for her. It seems the habit was lingering. Much to your surprise, the door clicked off its hinges, swinging slightly ajar.

“Oh shit.” You hissed to yourself, wondering if you’d knocked on the door too hard. You wanted to leave. Just to forget about everything and go home but something inside told you to go in. Afterall, you couldn’t just leave the door open and leave, right? You had to go in. Atleast that’s what you told yourself as you took a step inside.

As you entered, it hit you immediately. Something was wrong. The air felt wrong, and the atmosphere was tense. There was no way you’d ever guess what you’d see next though. As you slowly padded into the living room you saw her.

Natasha was curled up on her sofa with a thin blanket half-draped over her as she shivered in her sleep. The lines around her eyes and lips were deeper then you remembered, her skin is paler too - unnaturally so. She looks so worn out, exhausted even. Inspecting closer, it was then you noticed the sheen to her skin, small beads of sweat lining her forehead and the pink-tinged clutches of afever clung to her cheeks. Oh.

“Poor thing.” You found the words leaving your mouth before you could stop yourself. Forgetting your previous annoyance, you turned back towards the entrance to her apartment, making sure to close the door properly, locking it behind you before resting your hands on your hips as you began to survey the room.

Kneeling down beside the sofa, you lightly shook her shoulder, attempting to stir her from her sleep as small jabs of worry began to slowly seep into your thoughts. It's been so long since you've seen her like this, she almost looks as vulnerable, a look you’d only seen once before. It's enough to trigger your innate need to protect, no matter how much you hurt inside.

“Sweet-“ You stopped yourself, feeling yourself blush with embarrassment as the petname slipped from your tongue, “Natasha?”

Your fingers lightly brush her forehead, feeling its hot and clammy surface. Her nose twitches slightly in her sleep. With a bit of hesitation, you try again. "Natasha..."

Nothing.

You shake her shoulder again. "Hey... wake up". It comes out quieter than you intend it, and the worry in your voice is impossible to hide.

Her breathing is steady but shallow, and she looks so exhausted and ill. No response came from the sleeping woman, and it became obvious that she really was out cold.

Looking around again, you realised the place was abit of a mess and your eyes caught sight of the almost-empty bottle of NyQuil which had fallen onto the floor next to the sofa she lay on, besides which was her phone, your contact details still displayed on the screen.

“Jeez Nat, how much of this stuff did you take?” You sighed to yourself as you picked up both the bottle of medicine and her phone, setting them both ontop of her coffee table before slowly beginning to tidy the area, picking up the small mound of tissues which littered her floor and putting them in the trash.

You have no clue how long she's been sick, and the state of the apartment makes you think it's been a while. It was going to be a long night. Over the next half an hour, you made a start on properly cleaning up her apartment. You didn’t know why you were doing it. You could’ve just left but again, something made you stay. There was something inside of you that longed to hold her, to comfort her.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore. So instead you tiptoed around, not wanting to make a sound, as you tidied up the living room, before heading towards the kitchen. The trash was full and the counter-tops littered with multiple takeout containers to which you found yourself shaking your head. It took another 30 minutes of shuffling around before you were done.

Satisfied with your work, you made yourself a cup of coffee and allowed yourself a moment of calm as you sat down to drink it. Even then you tried reminding yourself that you didn’t care yet you still found yourself feeling responsible, longing to look after her. In that moment your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest as one thought finally clicked in your head, a deep blush clouded your cheeks as the slow realisation hit you finally.

You still loved her.

Goddammit Natasha.

Finishing up your drink you found yourself fighting with your thoughts as you tried to push your newfound realisation to the back of your mind. A place where it couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard. You washed the cup and put it back neatly into her cupboard. You should’ve just left then, but there was still one thing left to do, a task which you knew was coming but still dreaded all the same.

Coming back over to Natasha’s side, you gave a final attempt at waking her, to which you had no luck. So, with a heavy exhale, you slipped your arms beneath her, hoisting the woman up into your arms before steadily carrying her over towards her room. You were mindful of her head, making sure to support her carefully. The sight of asleep of her in your arms almost overwhelmed you, the scent of her hair reminded you so much of why you fell in love with her in the first place.

You move with such delicacy - handling her as though she's going to break. Atleast it wasn’t far to her room. You leant down and carefully laid her down onto the mattress, tucking in the sheet as you pulled it over her. She looked beautiful, she was a sick mess and yet she remained beautiful. Resisting the urge to kiss her, your hands went to her forehead again, wiping away beads of sweat with the back of your hand while an unexpected wave of emotion floods your stomach. You swallow and wipe your eyes.

“God, Im going soft.” You whispered to yourself as you turned to leave, you didn’t plan to come back. Maybe you’d see if you could move up north. Start again with a blank slate. Maybe...

You shook your head again and turned back to take a final look at her. Natasha. Your Natasha. You couldn’t help but regret everything that had happened. The fight. Leaving. Everything. Whatevever, it was pointless now. You reached for the door handle, slowly pulling it shut.

And it was almost fully closed too but something stopped you. A small, frail voice came from inside, a voice which had the power to stop you in your tracks, a sole word which held enough weight to change your future entirely, “Y/N?”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #sick!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff sickfic #natasha romanoff whump #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #sickfic #marvel sickfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic

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azulera · 3 months

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Jadon and y/n coming back to Dortmund. The first game back and everyone is super happy to have these to back

By Night in Dortmund

Pairing: Jadon Sancho x Black Reader

Words: 2.5k

Notes: anon i know you probably wanted something short and cute but the emotions were flowing and i needed to let them free (i am in a writing slump). verrry mushy fluffy hurt / comfort forgive me, hope u like it

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

By night, Dortmund looks just how she remembered it. Locals are still trickling out from the shops and bars downtown, but the thin, quaint streets are familiar as the chauffeured car zips toward the hotel the club has booked for them. The driver’s English is fluent and though it’s nearing 22:00, his manner is chipper, and polite. He doesn’t blink an eye when Y/N leans over, pressing into Jadon’s side in the backseat.

“Are you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jadon reaches for her hand and pulls them both to rest in his lap. “Just thinkin.”

“About what?”

“About how when I came here for the first time, remember I saw someone’s nan, like, a group of em, leaving the pub like 2am. Couldn’t believe it.”

She huffs, and leans her head against his shoulder. Her hair and ears are protected by a yellow, silk-lined BVB hat.

“The exact same as England, no? All the nans love a pub run now and then. What was the one in Manchester all the aunties went to?”

“Don’t remember.” Jadon fidgets in his seat, and a cold surge shoots down her back. Perhaps it wasn’t the aptest comment to make. She can do better than to mention the city that for the next five months at least, they will both hope to forget.

“Well, anyways, it’s normal. Do you think the physios will-”

She interrupts her own sentence with a yawn, which is long and drawn out and makes both Jadon and the driver laugh.

“Are you tired? You can stay at the hotel while I go to medical.”

“‘No,” She shakes her head, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes that has seemed to strike from out of nowhere. “No, I’ll go with you.”

“My sleepy girl,” Jadon tutts, and kisses her on the forehead, right above her frowning eyebrows. She is determined not to let his affection relax her into sleep. “M’sorry it’s so late. Know you had a long day.”

It’s all of the past week– the past three years, really– that have been long, and even though leaving Manchester feels like a genie's wish finally granted, there is a balloon of tensions still swelling just under the surface. She’s thrilled to be back in Germany, and beyond excited to see Jadon in action again on the pitch, but also knows the current solution is only a quick one. A long term plan for her boyfriend’s career is not yet in their hands, still fluttering up in the air.

The uncertainty has been a frigid block of ice in her stomach since they deboarded the plane.

“So have you.”

“Yeah, but, still. How bout you decide after we check in our room? We’re almost there.”

Jadon peers out of the window, and she follows his gaze. The colorful passing lights, and the possibility of receiving more of his kisses are motivation to stay awake.

“We’re almost there? How d’you know?”

“‘Cause I know.” He continues looking out the window, but his hand tightens in her grasp. Leaning against his chest, she can feel his deep, hopeful sigh when it escapes him. “I’m at home, innit.”

—--

The Merck-Stadion am Böllenfalltor is no Signal Iduna Park, but the incessant fervor of German football fans is found in almost every city. Blue flags and scarfs are scattered so densely across the stadium that it’s hard to make out anything else from her seat, but when the players exit the tunnel at kick-off her eyes spot Jadon like magic. He is a tiny dot, covered in black, a dark speck on the bench, and simultaneously the only one in the crowd who matters. She wants desperately to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling about the match, but knows his phone with her “good luck” texts is tucked dutifully away in his locker. So from here, she can only think at him: You can do this, You deserve this, Everyone here is behind you.

The ice block inside shifts every time she moves.

It has melted down a fraction when the first half ends, with a lovely finish by Julian, but not much else to show. Darmstadt are not the most formidable of opponents, but anyone knows that home or away, a one-goal lead rarely guarantees anything, is hardly enough to shrink the worry down to size. During the break, she orders two hot chocolates from the beverage stand to stay warm and for moral support.

Once she’s finished the first cup, she reflects, that, just maybe, the anxieties she’s harboring are unfounded. The homecoming, after all, has been mostly joyful: Jadon’s medical test last night went seamlessly, the other partners and families in the seats next to her have been incredibly kind, and the welcome from Terzic and Jadon’s new and not-so-new teammates has been sincere, and warm.

So she can’t explain why it feels still as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Or, for some snag or slip up to scratch the surface, and ruin the pretty picture that Jadon is fighting so hard to restore. There's no logical reason why, in the 60th minute, when the match resumes and she sees the yellow #10 shining on his back, she's teleported back to those dreadful evenings in Manchester. Then, it seemed that no matter what Jadon did or said, in public or in private, his actions were misconstrued, his words twisted up by a manager who was determined to misunderstand him.

She tried, in those moments, to do what she could to help. The days she got home before him, she would order his favorite meals - spicy curry goat and rice-, queue his favorite 90's American movies, and bring him tea before bed. When they settled beneath the covers, she would rub his back and pet his hair, his hands clutching at every part of her he could reach, and their heartbeats echoing. Some nights his dry lips would press against her throat, whispering, confessing. I just wanna play. After a while, she never knew how to respond. “It’s gonna be okay” was the truth of what she believed, but she knew that words, however heart-felt, were not what he needed to hear. He just needed her to be there.

And so she was.

And now, here they are.

Regardless the color of the kit- this is where Jadon belonged. On a green, frost-bitten field, panting, his face frozen and his lungs burning. Blitzing defenders and setting up his teammates, performing how the world always knew he could and giving everything to push the team toward a win.

As long as he can be somewhere, and doing this, she thinks, a future will sort itself out. She’s sure.

He flits his way down the wing, and she imagines she can see the fire in his eyes all the way from her seat. The ice block resting in her stomach begins to melt away in its heat. By the time he delivers the assist, Marco flying into the box to tap the cross home, there’s nothing left but a puddle, quickly drying up.

—--

She beats the team coach back to Dortmund and looks up from her phone when the players begin to file out. Their shoulders are hunched against the cold, but even from a distance she can tell the three points, the clean sheet have lifted the daunting weight beginning to rest there. When she walks closer, she can even see the grins, hear the jokes and banter flying in a mix of German, Dutch, and English. She says a quick hello to Gio and Jamie when they pass, and congratulates Mouki on his goal, and it’s a lovely moment, - she’s more than pleased to see their faces, to be back among them. She’s almost taken by surprise when Jadon comes up behind her, sliding an arm across her shoulders.

“Baby,” She jumps into him, circling her arms around Jadon’s neck while he squeezes around her middle. They are in the middle of Germany but that spot between his neck and shoulder smells just like the body wash and cologne he uses at home, and for a second she isn’t sure she can let go. His new, old teammates still surround them, respectfully ignoring their PDA, but it’s all she can do to not kiss him on the mouth right there, in front of them all. “An assist first day back? You were born to do this, you know.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

The crest on her yellow BVB hat scratches against his coat as she nods.

“Yeah, it felt good, innit. Good to be back.”

She pulls away an inch to look in his face, at his cute nose which is pale from the cold, at the relief and fatigue and shine in his eyes which is back and which she hasn’t seen in long months. She cups his cheeks in her hands as she speaks, feeling her own grin spreading, making sure he hears what she’s saying, and feels it too. “I’m so proud of you, Jadon. And no matter what else happens, I’m gonna be here.”

Her words and their sincerity make Jadon smile, too, and he turns his head, kissing into the center of her palm, and nuzzling his fuzzy cheek there. His eyes slip closed for the briefest second. Y/N isn’t sure that her own eyes aren’t watering --she’s that happy for him, she loves him that much-- but is hastily wiping any moisture away when she catches sight of the platinum blonde standing just over Jadon’s left shoulder.

“Marcinho,”

“Y/N!” She and Jadon separate long enough for her to offer the midfielder a tight squeeze that he returns in kind. Save for a short chat after a match in the USA in the summer, it has been years now, since she last saw him. “It is so good to see you again. How are things in England?”

“Everything is good, but I have missed it here, to be honest. We’re both happy to be back.”

“I am happy to hear this. You were taking good care of our boy while he was away, yes?” Marco asks in the same light-hearted tone, but she can tell his meaning hints at something deeper. Marco knows what the past years have been like.

“Yeah, I was. Someone’s got to keep him out of trouble, you know?” She looks over to Jadon who is sucking his teeth, his eyes almost rolling. “He’s wild, this one.”

“Nah, I’m a good boy. Marco knows.” Jadon defends himself with little success, as the former captain is cackling in disbelief and ruffling his hair.

“Yes, I know exactly what you are like. That’s why it is good that you are back here, we will at least try to make you normal. Now come,”

Jadon steps away to wrap his friend and teammate in an embrace, and then he tucks her back underneath his arm, their fingers are interlocked, and they’re saying not goodbye, but “see you later”. The walk to the car is short, but it seems as if Jadon still has a lot to say.

“Thank you for comin here with me, baby. Know it was a bit crazy, the schedule and everything so rushed. Know you’re tired, even though you pretend not.”

Y/N shakes her head, even as the adrenaline rush of the past 48 hours has begun to wane, and the physical and emotional toll of a mid-season loan has begun to set in. It doesn’t change her answer in the slightest. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Jadon. I’m happy to be here.”

“No, but, I mean–” It’s Jadon's turn to command her attention, as if he hasn’t been doing just that all evening since he walked on the pitch, from the first time they saw each other on a night in south London, and every day since then. His eyes are wide and shimmering, and he finds it’s easy to speak to her, even if the memories are difficult. “It’s been hard, lately, innit. Really hard. And you been there, even when I was … even when it was hard. And I’m happier now, but you put up with me when I wasn’t. And that helped me to get here, so. Thank you.”

She does lean up to kiss him this time, but the car is hidden enough and she is too in love to care whether his teammates or coaching staff watch. Jadon, whose hand has raised to cradle her neck, his tongue pushing against her lips, doesn’t seem to mind either.

“I love you, baby." He bumps their noses together. "Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her breath flutters over him when she replies, telling him how she loves him back, how there's no place she'd rather be, in a small voice that's almost a whisper. Jadon is smirking, licking and biting his lips like he’s preparing to go in for more, but instead says Look, and tilts her chin to take in the twinkling stars crowding the purple-black sky above.

She was sure before that she had stopped crying, but Jadon’s hands are holding her so gently, his mouth is so soft, his eyes are so full of everything, that the tears may have returned. Because by night, like this, Dortmund is just how she remembers it. The sky is cold and dark but Jadon’s body next to hers, his hand along her throat is warm. The ice block in her belly is evaporated. They’re both a couple of years older and painfully wiser, but the thin, quaint streets that will take them back to the hotel, the taste of Jadon’s lips on her skin, are familiar.

The future opening up ahead of them is bright as a shining #10, as a yellow BVB hat.

As bright as they both make it.

#jadon sancho x reader #jadon sancho fanfiction #jadon sancho blurb #jadon sancho imagine #footballer x you #footballer x reader #football imagine #football fanfic

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