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iamasaddie · 2 days

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tired

paring: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: explicit warnings: explicit sexual content, unspecified age gap, reader has hair that you can run your fingers through, no use of Y/N, UNEDITED a/n: fully inspired by this post @bonezone44 dared to put out so i thank them for basically punching me out of the no-writing period of my life <3 and also thank you to people who've been tagging me in multiple wip challenges and fic games, especially @milla-frenchy and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog <3 you reminded me that i was indeed an author a million years ago word count: 2.6k masterlist

Joel was tired. His back was hurting from helping Tommy fix up his roof, his knees were aching from climbing up and down that goddamn ladder that he could swore was ready to break at any second. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a night where he could just relax. Throw his body somewhere in his house and have someone take care of it.

Now that Ellie was building her adult life with Dina, their place - his place - now felt like just a roof over his head, all the homeyness gone with the girl that almost single-handedly owned his sharp and rusty heart.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, dry fingertips running over the lids. He did not want to go home and fall asleep on the couch, cursing everything the world stands on the next morning when he needs to fight the tears of pain with every back spasm he gets. No, he needed someone to take care of him, to give him something good, god knows he’s given these people more than enough over these past years. But, Joel sighed to himself, scrunching his nose as his eyes fell on the dirty knees of his jeans, he was not in shape of wining and dining women tonight.

That’s what you need casual connections for, old idiot, he chuckled to himself, remembering a few times he had to spell it out for some ladies that he wasn’t interested.

You practically jumped on a stool next to him while he was still considering his options.

“Hey, Joel, long night?”

Of course you’d be the first to ask about his day. Little miss sunshine. Well, at least that’s what he thought at first, before seeing you mercilessly killing a couple of infected villagers that weren’t careful enough on the patrol. Still, you were as syrupy sweet as honey on a fresh batch of pancakes when it came to him. The only one who didn’t cringe when he said his firm “no, thanks”. The only one who didn’t actually take his no for an answer.

You never actually threw yourself at him, but Joel learned what desire looks like and you were too young to learn how to mask it properly.

“Hey, kid.” He nodded, he knew how much you hated the nickname because it put even a bigger barrier between the two of you.

“Told you not to call me that, I’m only—“

“Twenty something years younger than me? Yeah.”

He saw your lips hiding in a thin line, your unbreakable spirit was too fragile when it came to him. Joel must’ve gone soft, or insane, because he nudged your shoulder with his, making you lift your head up and look him in the eyes.

“Tommy’s roof’s been a pain in the ass to fix. It’d be easier to burn that place down and build a new one, but my brother is as stubborn as them mules he’s been dreaming to have.”

You huffed a laugh, palm squeezing the slippery glass that was now empty a little too hard. “You know,” you started, shyness verging with hope that you tried to sheath with a nonchalant tone. Joel knew. And for the first time in years he actually contemplated, nodding to you to continue. “I could help you relax, I sometimes give massages in the hospital. It can really help with back pain.”

He purposefully kept silent, looking you in the eyes and trying to make you go back on your proposal. But as he knew already, you were no less stubborn than his little brother. It was karma or something that the only people that were semi-constant in his life were the ones who’d rather kiss an infected than give up.

Joel wasn’t exactly tortured with his conscience, he didn’t seduce you, and most of the old world morals have died already, so the age gap the size of an adult child didn’t bother him either. He was almost glad you tried again, he just needs to make sure you know it’s not something it isn’t.

“Yeah, my back’s been hurtin’ pretty bad today.” He finished his drink not tearing his eyes off you, and then he slowly let them trace your lips, the naked expanse of your neck that you showed off by unbuttoning a couple of buttons on your shirt. He looked lower, noticing your breasts rise and fall faster under his unmasked gaze.

“Wanna go now?” Your voice was breathless like you’d just ran a marathon. He wondered how you’d sound later tonight.

“Sure, darlin’. Lead the way.”

You never said anything when Joel strode past the hospital shack, not even slowing his pace. He was saying something about the roof again but it was hard to understand through the blood pumping jungle beats in your ears.

You kept nodding and humming in agreement, though you couldn’t quite process the words. As you followed him, the anticipation gnawed at you, every step closer tightening the knot in your stomach. You knew he was taking you home, well, he was taking you to his house, and you went too slow for the amount of times that you dreamed to step over his doorstep. Joel's house was small and dimly lit, for some reason it was exactly how you imagined it: homey in spite of the circumstances. Joel took off his jacket silently, the faint smell of cedar and something musky filled the air, mingling with his earthy scent. He turned to face you, those piercing eyes locking onto yours.

“You gonna give me a massage wearing this?” He pointed at the warm coat you put on in a hurry as you were leaving the bar. Your fingers stumbled over each other as you tried to open the buttons of the damn thing. You felt a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks under his scrutiny.

Your fingers touched as you gave him your coat, but there was no electricity, his fingers were rough and scratched your skin, your palm became sweaty and you hurried to wipe it on your jeans when he didn’t look.

“Let’s go, bedroom’s upstairs,” his voice was low and calm, somehow its vibrations helped you settle, grounded you. You gave him a quick smile and followed his broad figure. Every stair squeaked under his heavy footsteps, you looked like a mouse that was chasing a bear. Willingly. The bedroom door creaked open to reveal a space just as humble as the rest of the house. A couple of drawings in handmade frames, a chair with a pair of pants on it, and the bed. Your eyes were glued to it. The bed and its tangled sheets seemed inviting, though a wave of nerves prickled your spine. ‘You’re here to give him a massage, don’t get ahead of yourself’ you thought, teeth sinking in your lower lip. You weren’t too young or naive to think that a massage was all this night would end with, but such a quick change of heart in Joel made you doubt your every breath.

When you brought your eyes back to the man you saw him studying you, you could swear a nervous tick clenched his jaw but you didn’t let yourself ponder on it.

“I’m gonna rip the bandaid off and say it as it is, okay, pretty girl?”

Your breath hitched. Joel stepped closer, his eyes steadily holding yours. You nodded, not trusting your voice. His gaze was intense, making your heart hammer loudly enough to be heard.

"Massage ain’t exactly the thing I took ya here for,” Joel admitted, eyes dark, voice raw with honesty. “If you catch my drift.”

“I…” You cleared your throat, you wanted to look confident, or at least not scared. You’ve wanted to get into this man’s bed for months now, imagined how and when and what, and now that it happens you can barely squeeze out a, “yeah, of course I do.”

Joel smiled, one of his hands flying to cup your jaw as he brought his lips closer to yours and you closed your eyes in anticipation of his soft skin on yours. “Good girl,” the remnants of his wet breath stained your lips.

As quickly as he came at you, he left. His pace was languid when he worked on taking off his jeans, leaving himself in a ridiculous attire of a flannel shirt, a t-shirt underneath and simple cotton boxers.

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle at the sight. His eyes snagged on your smile, sharpening with mischief. Joel raised an eyebrow, catching your amusement. “What’s so funny, darlin’?”

“Nothing,” your cheeks felt extra hot and you were glad for the poor lighting in the bedroom. “Lay on your back, please. As I said before, I’d like to help you relax.”

Joel held your gaze for a hot minute, but then silently followed your order. “I’d maybe argue any other day, but not now, sweetheart. Today I’ll take all the care I can get,” he smiled, but you missed the warm gesture. He laid back, his head hitting the pillow, long curls that he had left to grow splayed around the back of his head. You were too focused, letting your hands wander over his chest, feeling the texture of his shirt and the years of safer life that he was hiding underneath had grown out brushing against the fabric. You moved your fingers lightly over his chest, watching his eyes flutter closed.

His hands blindly found yours, hardened blisters of his palms scraped your soft skin, and he pushed your hands lower, somewhere you didn’t dare look for too long.

“Don’t be shy, babygirl,” he muttered with his eyes still closed. You let him guide you. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the rigidity slowly melting away under your touch.

You remembered him talking about ripping a bandage off, so you followed his philosophy, hooking your fingers under the elastic of his boxers and tugging the material down. As the cool air grazed his skin, he released a slow, shuddering breath. It felt like something forced you to lift your head up, you met his gaze and saw a flicker of softness and gratefulness in his eyes.

“This okay?” You whispered, hands already exploring the places your eyes were too shy to inspect.

“More than,” Joel’s voice was calm, breathing barely indicating the intimate setting you were in. His eyes fell shut again and a part of you thought that was only to give you more freedom, save you from his scrutiny. You noticed the slight hitch in his breath with each new touch, his body responding to your feathery strokes.

When your fingertips grazed the hot skin covered in coarse hair you couldn’t help but look. Even in half darkness it was easy to see that Joel was well-endowed and eager. His cock laid on the pillow of his pubic hair, the shaft slightly curved. Pink tip was glistening with precum and you wondered if you got him excited or the promise of future pleasure. Your left hand was resting on his hip when as if hypnotized you traced your index finger from his tip to where his base was covered in sparse graying curls.

Joel’s cock jumped to attention, twitching under your light touch, prompting you to close your fist around it which you immediately did. With the first tug on the velvety soft skin both of you released a moan.

“Spit on it, baby, make it wet,” Joel’s voice was relaxed, as if you put your hand on a muscle that was aching for days and relieved the pain.

Your short nails dug into his hip when you started contemplating how to do it. You weren’t completely innocent, far from it, but somehow you could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times you needed to spit during sex. Deciding against spitting in your own palm, you took a different position, scooting lower down the bed and hunching over Joel’s waiting cock. The moment the smell of his skin and sweat hit your nose it was like you were intoxicated. Your lips closed around his flushed tip, tongue diving to get more of his taste. Both of your hands settled on his hips, either to hold him down or find balance. You abandoned the idea of spitting, the thought of not having his cock in your mouth almost pained you. It was like this was the grand finale of your romantic labor. Here, on your knees between the legs of a man who was holding you at arm's length for the longest time. It shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did. Taking care of him, even in this basic, primal way, felt like taking care of yourself.

Your wet mouth slid further down, the thick shaft of Joel’s cock stretching your lips. It took you a moment to realize Joel’s hands were in your hair. For a moment you thought he wanted you to stop, you even started to lift off, but the firm pressure of his hand on your head made it clear that he wasn’t against this turn of events. You let yourself build up to a comfortable taste, exploring each centimeter of his skin in your mouth, the way a couple of veins bulged under your tongue, the ridge of the head pushing further in your throat. You didn’t hurry and neither did he. You savored the slow rhythm of push and pull, letting him go deeper with every thrust.

One of his hands left your head and you raised your eyes to Joel’s face, mouth still very occupied with his cock. He must have felt it, because he barely lifted his head off the pillow, stray curls sticking to his sweaty forehead and you could swear you saw him wink at you before he laid his head back, using the freed hand to tuck away long strands of hair behind his ear.

The picture of this man, always so rough and guarded, finally relaxing under your touch and shedding the years of hostility made you drunker than any booze Tommy could’ve offered. Your movements became faster, saliva dripping down his cock and making it glisten. You felt Joel’s hips tense under your palms and you didn’t even need to hear the shameless moans drowned by your excitement and the sloppy wet sounds to know he was close.

“Doin’ good for me, baby, doin’ real good,” he groaned as you felt the tip of his cock punch the back of your throat repeatedly. Your eyes watered, but you admitted to yourself that you would rather suffocate and die than let the cock of this man out of your mouth. Your jaw was aching, the pleasurable pain that said how good of a job you did.

The shaft under your tongue felt even harder, a loaded gun pressing on your tongue and you couldn’t wait for it to shoot.

Both of Joel’s hands returned to your head pressing you into his skin so hard that little hairs tickled your nose and your vision started to go blurry.

His load was salty and thick, you felt it slide down your throat like lava, burning you from the inside. Barely catching your breath you sat straight, watching closely how Joel’s chest rose and fell following his erratic breathing. There was an indecent amount of wetness gathered in the gusset of your panties and by the look on Joel’s face you knew you’d have to handle it yourself.

“Feeling good?” Your voice sounded weird, hoarse and raspy in the gritty silence of the room.

“You’re really good at massage, darlin’, I’m more relaxed than the day I was born,” Joel held his gaze on you, using his shoulder to scratch the underside of his jaw. You took it as your key to leave, after all, you never agreed to anything more.

Joel’s voice stopped you with one foot over the doorstep.

“Maybe I could return the favor some time.”

#iamasaddie fic #joel miller x reader #Joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you

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1d1195 · 1 day

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Ding - Round 6

Read Ding here | ~6.3k words

Warnings: some smut 18+ only, oral, fingering, cockwarming if you squint; angst, car accident, trauma dumping, sucky parental figure. Please read with caution. You might also see one of my cliffhangers.

From me: I feel like the beginning is messy to read--almost like it's out of nowhere? But it's pretty intentional, tbh. I hope it doesn't detract from the story. Hope you like it 💕

Summary: Cupcake and Harry are busy. Harry has his big fight. Cupcake was right about throwing her life out of balance by adding in a boyfriend. They miss each other. They don't know how to deal with that either. At least not while they're apart.

It was not Harry’s fault. Even though he thought it was.

But to be fair, it wasn’t her fault either. Even if she felt it was.

Harry grew into adulthood knowing he was stubborn. Everyone in his life told him so. It was obvious. He didn’t get to be an undefeated champion without grit. His entire gym was named as a near synonym of the word. But she continued to surprise him, and it was clear that he had very much met his match—she was competing for his crown of stubbornness. If Harry wasn’t so mad about his current state, he might even acknowledge that she was winning.

At first everything was new and completely fine. He was enamored with her. Finally she was all his. He took her on a real date—several real, authentic dates. He danced around with her in the bakery kitchen. Brought her food for movie nights in her apartment. (He also licked her when the movie lost his attention, and she looked too good to be sitting there without his head between her legs.) He even brought her bouquets of flowers simply because it was Monday.

She stayed at his place, wrapped close to him. It was as if they had done it for years. When he woke up early for a run, she joined him, assuring him to go ahead and circle back for her since he ran way better and faster than she did. But he enjoyed the way she massaged his muscles in the shower most. (The way she wrapped her hand around his dick most of all.) She made him breakfast before they left for work and Harry thought if the bakery wasn’t to her liking she could open a breakfast place as a second choice.

She chatted with Sarah while he worked out and trained. Without any kind of asking, she helped clean equipment when he needed to focus more on training. She organized his desk in his office because it was a disaster and it stressed her out. Whenever she cleaned, she hummed and didn’t notice. It made Harry fall deeper in love with her. Every moment he was with her was magical.

Until she was exhausted.

He missed her. For the first time in his life, he had felt completely in love with someone. The way he wanted to be in love. He finally had that. They were inseparable. Nights spent cocooned under Harry’s covers. His finger tracing her features in the dark. “So pretty,” he murmured.

“You can’t even see me,” she whispered.

“S’how I know you’re so pretty. Can feel it.”

So not having that for two weeks was like trying to swim through cement.

She had what could only be called a complete meltdown. Frosting and cupcakes everywhere. She was overwhelmed—said yes to too many functions in a row and spread herself too thin. She was frustrated with Harry and his time training and just missed him.

But she didn’t say it.

Because Harry was frustrated too. He tried to help her, but she didn’t let him in. There was the whole not knowing her family—even though she had effectively wormed her way into Mum and Gemma’s heart. Though he wasn’t surprised in the slightest; honestly, he thought his niece liked her more than Harry and she had only met her twice.

So, when she exploded, for lack of a better word, it was magnificent. It was nothing he had ever seen before. The exhaustion in her eyes, the worry on her face, the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Harry was sick with worry and frustration just to hear her cry but was nearly impressed. The cupcakes overturned on the floor were nothing in comparison to the way she cried.

“Cupcake, you are overreact—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she hissed at him. That was entirely on him. Gem had taught him better than to tell a woman she was overreacting.

“Lemme take something off your plate, kitten,” he tried instead. He was ignoring her frustrated tears even though he wanted to brush them away. “Tell me what’s going on,” he figured it had something to do with her dad because she kept checking her phone and she hadn’t mentioned going to see him in over a week. But her car was overdue for an oil change, and she didn’t want to drive it that far but hadn’t a moment to deal with it. She also complained about something regarding her eyebrows, but Harry didn’t fully understand it because quite honestly, he had never thought about her eyebrows.

But if it meant caring for herself, he wished he pushed further.

Their schedules hadn’t lined up in two weeks. No more than an hour or two alone. She saw him plenty while she chatted with Sarah at the gym while he trained or worked. He and Maeve had started a competition of who could sprinkle the most cupcakes in fifteen minutes (Harry was willing to admit defeat once in his life—he would never beat Maeve) even though she didn’t like that they were having fun when she was stressed.

They hadn’t practiced her self-defense moves in nearly a month.

So, it felt like her fault.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was Harry’s sour attitude reflecting right back at her. Harry didn’t take her frustration lying down. He snapped back at her which felt so heinous to do but he was grumpy.

But he was tired of arguing with her. Tired of feeling frustrated, begging her to let him in when it was obvious she didn’t want to. So, for the first time in his life, he stopped fighting.

It pained him to no end. He could see in her eyes that she was exhausted. It hurt him so badly. Each time he said, “Whatever, Cupcake,” he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world for not taking her frustration away. But she wouldn’t let him in. She wouldn’t let him take away her frustration. It was like she wanted to argue with him. It was entirely unfair, but she was mad about his indifference. It didn’t make any sense for her to be mad when she had just as much blame to take for his sour mood.

“Why don’t you just go home?” She suggested. Bitterness coated every word.

“Yeah?” Harry looked up at her from his phone, his eyes narrowed. She could see his muscles tense like they were in the ring, and she was aiming for his head. “Jus’ leave?” He repeated.

“Obviously you don’t want to be here,” she muttered.

He slid back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor with a screech that made her teeth hurt. “No, cupcake,” he shook his head and made his way for the door. She hated itwhen he said the sweet name like that. She knew it wasn’t her nickname when he said it. It wasn’t filled with the love he liked. It was sarcastic. Mean. It hurt her more than an actual punch would have, she was sure. “You don’t want me here,” his voice was low. She closed her eyes, trying to keep as calm as possible. It was hard because she was anything but calm. But she said nothing. “You don’t want me in your life,” he snapped finally letting all the emotion out that had been building over the last week. “You keep things from me. You build up walls that I can’t break down. Every time I get to the top y’add another layer of bricks.”

She stayed silent.

“Go on, cupcake. Say m’wrong,” he challenged. “Say y’let me in.”

But both knew she couldn’t say it.

It was eerily quiet in the kitchen. The pinch of Harry’s brow made her sad. She wanted to smooth it out with a kiss. “Tell me to stay,” he whispered quietly.

But she couldn’t say that either.

“Yeah,” he sighed and turned. “S’what I thought.”

Maeve wondered if her best friend was going to have a heart attack a lot during her time at A Pinch of Sprinkles. The opening in town nearly sent her to the ER. She was running on fumes at the time. Christmas always made her anxious. Anytime they were chosen for a wedding also had Maeve worrying about her medical history. But in comparison, those were nothing. If Maeve had known what not talking to Harry would do to her, she would have told her that Christmas was a tropical vacation.

Harry stopped coming to see her.

“Did...” she swallowed, nervous to infuriate her best friend further but out of care for her, she had to know. “Is... Harry still...”

She glared at the cupcakes she was frosting, squeezing the icing bag a little too tightly. “I don’t know,” she grumbled. She hadn’t gotten a text from him nor seen him in a week after she told him to leave.

Maeve’s heart cracked. “Babe,” Maeve murmured softly. “He... he adores you... what happened?”

She shook her head unwilling to go over it again. The nights were filled with tear-soaked pillowcases, and she was exhausted from stress and crying. “I just can’t be in a relationship. It’s too much.”

Of course.

Maeve was sick of her best friend’s loneliness. “That is bullshit,” Maeve rolled her eyes. “Did you push him away?”

“Maeve, shut the fuck—”

“Oh, good luck pushing me away, babe. No,” she shook her head and grabbed the bag of frosting from her hands and threw it at the sink to gain her attention.

“I was wor—”

Maeve ignored her words and continued on with her own. “I might not be a boxer, but I can take a punch or two all the same. You pushed him away. Now you’re sulking. You’ve been punishing yourself for so long because you think you don’t deserve to be happy. Harry did nothing but love you and try to help you and you wouldn’t let him—”

“I am going to fire you,” she muttered bitterly. Harry never said he loved her anyway. How could he love her after all that? How could he love her if he didn’t even know the truth?

Maeve continued anyway, immune to her threat because she knew that wasn’t true at all. “You deserve to be happy, and Harry made you happy. That scares you,” she finished.

Angry tears filled her eyes and she ground her teeth together.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

Maeve was her best friend and knew more about her and her family than anyone. “I don’t get happy things.”

“But you do. You have me, number one,” she snorted, fortunately. The tension eased just the slightest bit. “You have this bakery. And more importantly, you have a guy that is so crazy about you, he has been calling me every night to make sure you’re home safe and sound.” Her heart fluttered. She didn’t know that.

“Every time I love someone, they go away,” she whispered.

Maeve felt nothing but sympathy for her sweet friend. “You have to give Harry a chance. You have to tell him why you’re doing this. I have a good feeling about him,” Maeve reminded her. For the first time in a week, she felt her body untense.

“He calls you?” She asked.

“Every night.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “That’s nice,” she whispered.

Maeve nodded. “Really nice,” she agreed. “Plus, he’s like super hot. Did you even sleep with him yet?” She blushed at her words and reached for a new frosting bag out of the fridge. “You bitch! You didn’t tell me?!” Maeve screeched. She smacked her arm repeatedly. “Tell me everything! When did you do it? Where did you do it? Harry must have a massive dick, right? I feel like he’s—”

“Maeve,” she laughed. The first time in a week. It felt good to laugh. “I...”

“No, you have to spill. Something.”

Her cheeks were flaming. “I think I’m addicted to it,” she whispered.

“Thank. God.”

Harry refused to go back to the bakery for the rest of the week uninvited. His workout sessions were horrific. Louis yelled at him for missing his marks and he felt everything about his footwork was sloppy. The way she ignored him made him feel terrible. But naturally, he didn’t help either. He hadn’t texted her in over a week.

But it didn’t stop Harry from waking up to a call at eleven thirty at night.

“What?” He grumbled. He didn’t want to fight. He was tired of arguing with her and was tired of being frustrated. She would have to do the work if she was going to try and fix this when he needed sleep.

The sound of her shaky breath snapped his eyes open. “Can you come get me?” She croaked.

That did him in within seconds. The vulnerability in her voice. “Cupcake, s’matter?” He was awake instantly. It wasn’t sarcastic. It was her name. The one he used that made her feel adored. It was sweet and made her feel better almost as if he was already at the bakery. He quickly slid into trainers that he didn’t even untie; the back of the heel was smushed down and uncomfortable against his foot, but it didn’t matter. Her sniffling made him insane with worry. It was like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. “Kitten, talk to me,” he ordered. His heart racing and his fear taking over. He wasn’t sure he locked his door, and he was lucky he even remembered to grab his car keys before he descended the stairs to the parking lot.

“I’m alright,” she promised, tears filling most of her voice.

“Y’don’t sound alright.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Cupcake, I swear t’God,” he threw his car into drive before it was fully turned on.

“I just miss you. I’m sad and scared. Okay? I’m physically fine, but I’m a mess. I want you here,” her voice wobbled, and Harry felt like he was breaking. “Please,” she sniffled.

Harry felt crushing relief and he watched the needle on Clay’s speedometer lower from a felony charge to a healthy speeding ticket. “M’five minutes away, kitten. Stay put.”

“Okay,” her voice was quiet, sad but Harry didn’t mind.

“You’re okay?” He repeated. She nodded. He couldn’t see that though. “Cupcake?”

“I’m okay,” she promised, it was punctuated by a sniffle.

His heart felt so broken feeling the anguish in her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered to the phone. “I wasn’t nice,” he mumbled.

“It’s hard,” she whispered. The remainder of his drive was silent. Just her sniffles and the hum of his tires on the road to accompany the small miles between them. Harry sprinted to her bakery door. She was there pacing the front and unlocked it as he approached. Harry dropped his phone right inside the entryway, the bell signaling his arrival, finally.

Within one second of crossing the threshold, she was in his arms. The door only clicked shut once he was around her. His face buried in her hair, his arms tightening around her like he was trying to keep her afloat in the middle of the ocean. “M’here,” he hummed. “M’here, Cupcake,” he promised. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart finally slowing after so much anxiety had plagued her over the last couple of weeks.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he assured her. “S’okay.”

“It’s so hard,” she repeated, herself from the phone call. Harry wished they were home. Even though it was late and private Harry wanted the comfort of her bed or his sofa to let her fall apart. The bakery was warm, but he wanted pillows for her head and blankets for her body to comfort her while she whispered secrets to him.

“I know, kitten. I know s’hard. But I... I adore you, Cupcake. Don’t y’know that? What do y’think all this is between us? I want t’meet your dad. He’s obviously a huge part of your life... and keeping secrets from me? S’not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

“You know everything ‘bout me. S’like I don’t get t’know anything ‘bout you. Do y’think I’m suddenly not going to like you? I assure you that’s never going t’happen.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I did.”

“What could you possibly have done? You’re made of sugar, Cupcake. You have to let me in. I told you everything. You know my family. You know my friends. You know why I bought Driven and why I have been fighting since I was ten years old. You have kept me out of everything. I don’t even know why you opened A Pinch of Sprinkles. I know you have a dad. You never talk about your mom. I don’t know about your childhood best friend or your favorite pet. There are these walls you keep up and I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to break them down.”

“You don’t eat cupcakes when you’re sad,” her jaw shakes as she pulls from him. The space between them feels worse than the last few weeks without her combined. It’s cold and lonely. More so than not speaking to her. More so than not sleeping beside her. His heart hurt instantly. But not as much as it hurt to watch her lower lip move almost independently of the rest of her face.

“Cupcake, what does that have t’do—”

But before he could finish his thought Harry could see it did have to do with what he just asked about. The way her eyes were shining with tears. It felt like someone clipped his vocal cords. All words escaped him, and he just stared at her as she continued. “You eat them at baby showers, weddings, and at birthday parties,” she listed. Harry stayed quiet. “You don’t eat them when your mom leaves when you’re six years old because it’s too much to be a mom,” her voice was so broken as she spoke. Harry felt her pain in the air. Like needles stabbing every inch of his exposed skin. It seemed impossible that someone wouldn’t want her. To willingly choose to leave her. Her mum no less. She was looking at her hands like they were going to give her the answer to a test she forgot to study for. “You don’t eat them at funerals or when you break your arm,” she continued. Harry wondered who had died and which arm she had broken and how. “You eat them when you get a good grade on your math test or on an anniversary.” Harry’s heart was breaking. He always wondered about the things she kept hidden in her personal life and she laid it out right there for him. In the one place that she probably loved more than anywhere else on earth. “You don’t eat them when you’re sick or sad. They’re for when you’re happy. You can’t be sad while eating sprinkles.”

It clicked effortlessly. Obviously. “A pinch of sprinkles,” he murmured softly. He crossed the space that separated them. Immediately, he cupped her cheeks in his hands, they felt cool compared to the warmth that emanated from her skin. Hot, frustrated tears started to spill over. He swiped at them with his thumbs below her eyes in tandem. He caught as many as he could but there was an overwhelming number of teardrops. It was impossible for him to keep them all from falling in rivers down her face.

She nodded. Her tears continued to spill over, rolling down her cheeks and sliding down his thumbs as he tried to stop them. “A pinch of sprinkles,” she repeated softly. She inhaled sharply. Turning against his hands holding her in place. A new wave of anguish crossed her face that Harry didn’t know could exist on someone’s face—especially not her perfect features. All the art museums he went to in university for his art history requirement made sense. The distortion of features on someone so beautiful was right before him. He understood. “You don’t eat cupcakes when your dad is in a car accident and becomes paralyzed from the neck down because you were too tired to drive even though you were the one that wanted to go to the drive-in and the only thing you can do is bring him to an entirely new town with a place to help him the way he deserves because it’s never going to be enough to thank him or repay him or—” the words were cut off by sobs that she could no longer control. Her heart was breaking right in front of him.

Harry knew how to fight. He knew how to stand with poise and grace that no one would expect a boxer to have. He knew how to throw punches that could knock a grown man out in one hit. The correct form to kick was ingrained in his mind from when he was ten years old.

Harry didn’t know how to begin to fight her sadness.

“Cupcake,” he whispered. She covered her mouth and the noise that came out of her body was so sad, so broken. Harry wondered how she could still be standing. Harry always thought he was pretty tough. That stubborn nature of his thought he was one of the toughest people in a room.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

The pretty, sweet girl who was constantly covered in sugar and frosting—she was the strongest person he knew.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she went through—how she still coped with it. It was a miracle she got in a car ever again. She was braver than he ever was or could be. “And he doesn’t hate me,” she whispered through her sobs. “My mom left him because of me. He is in a wheelchair and unable to live a normal life because of me.”

“Kitten,” he warned worried she would work herself up too much beyond his ability to help her. Harry was an idiot for making her feel this. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. If he only knew...

“Why doesn’t he just hate me?” She whimpered and Harry finally pulled her into his embrace. Her tears immediately soaked his shirt. She got snot all over him and Harry just kept her close to him he let her cry for longer than he ever wanted her to, but it felt good to hold her again. Regardless of the pain.

“How could anyone hate you, Cupcake?" he asked after a minute.

“I hate me,” she whispered. The question was rhetorical, but she responded anyway.

He kissed the top of her head. “If I had a kid like you... S’not anything I wouldn’t do for them. Your dad doesn’t regret that.”

“Of course he does,” she sniffled. “I couldn’t even take care of him.”

“It wasn’t your job, Cupcake.”

“But it was my faul—”

“Take me t’meet him,” he interrupted.

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“Take me to meet him. Y’go every week, yeah? Take me,” he asked. She felt so vulnerable. Her heart felt heavy.

“Meet him?” She whispered. Harry didn’t even comment that she repeated him again.

He nodded. “He saved your life for me, Cupcake. M’sure of it. S’least I could do t’meet him.”

Her heart felt something dangerously close to hope enveloping it. It was too good to be true. Her dream job, a cute apartment, a best friend, and the perfect guy. “You don’t hate me?”

He scoffed and buried his face in her neck. He missed her smell—vanilla and sugar (although he wasn’t sure that was truly her natural scent but merely from spending so much time in the kitchen). He missed her voice and the warmth he felt just holding her in his arms. “Christ, Kitten. Course not.”

“But I was so... awful. And I... I ruined his life. I'm cursed or something. I'll... I'll ruin your life too.”

"Sweetheart," he cooed. "Y'don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm not a good luck charm, Harry."

"You are, Cupcake. You are the luckiest thing s'ever happened to me."

She looked at him miserably. "I've done nothing but made your life confusing and hell."

He pulled back a little so he could get a clearer look at her face. He smiled. The first genuine smile he felt in a week. “I can take a punch every now and again,” he promised. “Think Louis would say I could be knocked down a peg or two every once in a while,” he winked.

It wasn’t fixed. But she looked slightly less broken. She felt a little more whole. Harry’s smile did wonders for her.

The next day, Harry stood in the hall outside of the dining room. Other residents were in various activities, but her dad sat in his chair, slumped slightly, and he smiled at her entrance.

“Dad,” she said softly sitting across from him.

“Busy week you had it seems,” he smiled.

She blushed. “I know. I’m so sorry. I should have called. It was one thing after another—it’s no excuse I should have been here, and I was—”

“Honey,” he shook his head slightly, one of the few movements he retained from the crash. “You’re living a life. It’s okay.”

Her heart broke to see him in his chair. Unable to live the same kind of life.

“I... brought... something.”

“Something or someone?”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t see a cupcake box, so this must trouble,” he joked, smiling brightly.

“Harry is here. He wanted to meet you,” she explained.

“He wanted to? What about you?” He asked. She looked at him nervously. Her eyes said everything she didn’t say out loud. Her dad continued to smile. “Well, it’s about time, honey.”

She rolled her eyes and waved him over. Harry hurried, stepping right beside his wheelchair. Without hesitating, he grabbed her dad’s limp hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” he said shaking it firmly with both hands. When the handshake was through, Harry ever so gently placed his hand back on the arm rest of his chair.

Her dad smirked and winked at the sweet girl. “I’d offer you my seat, Harry, but I’m afraid I’m stuck in it.”

“Jesus Christ,” she covered her hand over her eyes.

Harry chuckled, taking the seat on the side of the table between them. “No problem, sir,” he assured him, taking the joke in stride. Adoration for them both squeezed around her heart. “Cupcake, do y’mind getting us some water?” She blinked in surprise. Normally, Harry wouldn’t let her lift a finger.

“Oh... um... sure,” she said and hurried off to find a nurse to help.

“Cupcake?” Her dad repeated.

“Yes, sir. She’s quite sweet like one,” he smiled gently. Her dad stared Harry down for a moment. Not maliciously. Just watching. Waiting. If they were in the ring, they would have been eyeing one another waiting for someone to make a move.

Her dad made the first one. “She said you wanted to meet me.”

Harry nodded. “I adore your daughter. With everything in me. M’going t’protect her every moment of every day. I wanted you t’hear that from me. I wanted you t’know that.”

“She can be a little feisty sometimes,” he warned, but the smile didn’t leave his face.

“M’aware,” he didn’t want to tell him about their stalemate over the last few weeks. That didn’t matter anymore and it wouldn't paint either of them in a good light.

“She said you have a big match coming up.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir. Biggest one of m’career.”

“Think you’ll win?” He asked.

Harry was confident. But he didn’t like to let his confidence overinflate his chances or make himself sound presumptuous. Anything could happen. But he was going to try his hardest and best. That would be good enough for him. “I believe so. I’ve worked hard for this. I want it more than most anything,” he promised.

“Most?” Just like his daughter, he caught the key word.

“Most,” he repeated. There was a significant pause as Harry considered his next thoughts. The words he didn’t want to explain but what he wanted her dad to know anyway. “Did she tell you about Jack?” Harry asked quietly.

The name didn’t ring a bell. He shook his head. “No. She doesn’t always tell me everything.”

Harry smiled sadly. “At least she’s consistent,” he murmured. “My manager Louis and I teach self-defense classes... she joined one several months ago,” he let another pause tell her dad the words he didn’t want to say. The story he probably shouldn’t be telling him in the first place. “M’confident she could protect herself. But m’hoping she won’t ever have to. M’going t’keep her safe,” he assured him. “I promise.”

He could only imagine the wave of emotions that took over his brain. Harry obviously wasn’t a father, but he didn’t need to be one to know he would murder someone for his daughter. Paralysis or not. “And you?” He asked quietly. Digesting the bit of information Harry alluded to.

“Me?” Harry repeated.

“Are you going to hurt her?”

“Never,” he assured him. “I’d... I’d take a bullet for her,” he promised.

“Speaking from experience, that might hurt her more than just letting her take the bullet,” he chuckled and winked. Harry snorted but nodded.

“Understood.”

She returned with three glasses of water and an extra long straw for her father. “You guys sharing war stories about me?”

“I was jus’ ‘bout t’tell him how you’re trying t’fatten me up with raspberry lemon filling,” Harry stood and held her chair out for her to sit.

“You are more than capable of saying no to cupcakes, Harry.”

“I beg to differ, honey. It’s a sin to say no to them,” her dad smiled. “A sin to say no to you,” he winked again.

Their reunion in Harry’s home was carnal to say the least. Harry missed being inside her. He wanted to fall asleep with her wrapped around his dick. Harry had spent many years of his teens taking care of his own sexual needs and yet somehow the weeks apart from her were worse than all those years combined.

Perhaps it was the noises she made. Begging Harry for a release. Her body craved his. It felt like a part of her had been missing for the duration of their silly stalemate. It may have only been a few weeks, but it was a few weeks without orgasms made possible by Harry’s mouth, fingers, and dick.

“I wanna stay inside you the rest of m’life,” he moaned into her ear in the middle of the night. They would both be tired in the morning. Louis would probably hate her (even though Harry assured her that was impossible) but it was worth it.

They started going over her self-defense moves again in between dinner and TV shows. Harry was encouraging. Making sure she followed the right move and not her instinct. Correcting her form and making sure she knew he would always be there for her. She told him more secrets that made Harry feel so whole.

She watched him train. Harry walked her to her car after falling asleep on the table in the bakery kitchen. They hadn’t spent a night apart since Harry met her dad. They fell asleep watching a movie or show nearly every night. Harry would simply lift her in his arms and carry her to the bedroom. She would coax him out of his slumber and snuggle up to him as they made it to a more comfortable position in bed.

That was the case one week prior to Harry’s big fight.

He had fallen asleep in her lap (after he had lazily brought her to orgasm with nothing more than stroking his finger messily around her clit. Simply because he could and thought her sleep shorts looked lonely without his hand inside them). Now he had an arm wrapped around her waist, face nuzzled against her T-shirt. “I love you, Cupcake,” he mumbled sleepily. She ignored it. Thought that maybe he was asleep because surely someone so big and strong—someone so scary yet boyish—couldn’t love her after all she put him through. No matter how good her mouth was on his dick. “Hear me, kitten?” He asked rolling to look up at her.

She smiled, blushing. “I heard you, thought you were sleeping.”

“Well, I love you in m’sleep, too,” he turned again, rubbing his nose against her shirt. She giggled, rubbing her fingers through his hair and massaging scalp. She was so enamored and so surprised she felt speechless. “So you’re supposed t’say it back,” he turned and looked up at her. “Unless...y’don’t feel the same way...or I said it too soon or something and it’s—”

“Oh no way,” she assured him. “I love you very much,” she laughed and brought her face down to his and kissed him.

The morning of his fight, they woke up early. Harry headed into the shower, and she followed right behind him. With a sleepy smile he enjoyed the feel of her mouth on him as he always did, gripping her hair in his hands while he thought about how a $100,000 would change his life and allow him to spoil her.

But after a healthy breakfast (and another blowjob from beneath the table while he ate because she simply thought he deserved a relaxed morning) there was no use denying it.

Harry was grumpy.

By the time they got to Driven, he snapped at her a few times (more than a few times) and she took it like a champ. In fact, she was planning on ignoring it entirely. It wasn’t his fault. Stress was natural on a day like today. His warmup wasn’t supposed to be heavy the day of a massive fight like this even though he tested Louis’ patience to no end.

“Again,” he snarled at Louis. Louis looked at her for support.

“Baby, you need—”

“I said, again. I know what m’doing,” he growled ignoring her.

Louis let him have one more round of practice. But it was Louis’ comments on his attitude that he found her around lunch time in his office setting up a light lunch from one of his favorite restaurants nearby. Tail between his legs. “M’sorry I snapped, kitten. S’jus’ the nerves.”

She smiled. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“S’not okay, though.”

She shook her head grinning at him. “I’ll yet at you later when you eat the frosting off my cupcakes.”

He nodded. “M’gonna hold you to that,” he promised.

“I know it’s silly to say. But don’t be nervous. You’re going to win, I can feel it,” she assured him and draped herself in his lap while he ate his carrot sticks.

“Course. M’good luck charm will be there,” he brushed his finger on her cheek.

“You know, I hate when you get hit. It's been my least favorite part of this whole experience.”

He shrugged. “So, I won’t get hit,” he smiled knowingly.

She laughed. “I don’t think I’m much of a good luck charm when you were already undefeated when I met you,” she reminded him.

He felt everything soften in him. The tenseness, the anger, and the frustration all disappeared. “Oh, kitten,” he shook his head. “You have been m’good luck charm for so much more than boxing matches.”

Louis was ready to explode with anger. Part of her wondered if he had ever followed through on his threats of getting in the ring to throw punches at Harry. She thought it might be cathartic for him. Before she can blink, the introductions are over. The sound of the bell chimes through the arena room.

Ding

Round one was over and she was holding her breath so she seriously considered the idea that she had blacked out and missed it. But Niall had murmured to her that he didn’t get hit once and she felt so proud, so excited. The kind of money Harry was going to win would do incredible things for his life. Maybe in addition to holding her breath, she had squeezed her eyes shut and turned to Niall.

His opponent was big, strong. He wasn't facing Harry because he wasn't good. It terrified to think the kind of damage an opponent like him could do to him.

“Looks like he forgot extra towels,” Niall murmured to her bringing her back to reality. She could see the irritation in Louis’ eyes and Harry holding his hands up with the gloves. How did y’expect me t’grab them? She could imagine him grumbling back only further irritating Harry. There was enough for the time being but she knew they would go through a stack of them in no time at all.

“I’ll get them,” she offered standing waving at him in some silent sign language neither discussed but Louis knew what it meant. He looked the slightest bit more relaxed by her standing. Part of her thought for the first time in their relationship he didn’t hate her. Even though Harry assured her repeatedly that he didn't. (He was utterly kind to her throughout the self-defense classes and when Harry reminded her of such, she alluded to the fact that she paid for that kindness.)

“Cupcake, you’re the best,” Niall squeezed the back of her arm as he stayed put. “Want me to come with you?” He asked.

“No, I got it,” she smiled. “I’m going to use the bathroom and hit the concession stand too. So, if I’m not back at the end of the next round I didn’t fall in the laundry basket,” she promised. Niall chuckled and waved her off.

After going to the bathroom and making her way back to the locker room, flashing her badge around her neck, she found the extra towels laid out. The noise was deafening—even from inside the locker room. She grabbed an armful's worth and made her way toward the entrance to the arena.

When she turned around, the last person she ever thought she’d see was waiting just inside the door. The volume behind him hadn’t changed. But she swore in that moment, the crowd, the bell, the thudding of her heart, everything got louder.

She knew he was trying to intimidate her just by standing there. There wasn’t a single person around. Everyone was in that arena. Her legs felt like lead, but she walked forward anyway. The towels in her arms provided extra space between them as she started to walk right past him. “Excuse me,” she muttered.

He’s just trying to intimidate me. She repeated to herself.

“Round two is about to begin!” She heard announced from behind the door followed by a delighted cheer.

It was nothing.

Jack was just trying to scare her. She hadn't done anything wrong.

All she needed to do was walk by him confidently. Then she would watch Harry win life-changing money. She was home free. Leaning into the door, the metal bar squeaking as it released the hold on the frame to let her through to the main room.

But at the last second, the towels fell from her arm in a heap as he grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door. “I don’t think so.”

Round two was starting.

Ding.

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dxxdhood · 3 days

Text

take care

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

summary: when you have a bad day at work, jason knows just the way to help you unwind.

tags: smut (18+), dom!jason todd, sub!reader, fingering, teasing, dirty talk, massages

wc: 2.1k

No matter what you try to tell yourself, you can’t stop crying. Ever since you woke up this morning, it feels like life has been throwing you the worst possible things to deal with– people being casually rude to you, your boss expecting unreasonable amounts of work done. After finally falling into bed, you completely lose it, sobbing so hard your body starts shivering.

Jason won’t be back for another couple of hours at least, and usually that’s enough time for you to unwind from work, but today you can’t stomach the thought of doing anything. Instead, you slip into sleep while the tears are still fresh on your face.

There’s a warm pat on your shoulder, and for a second, the bliss of sleep follows you from your nap into reality. But all too soon, you remember the day you’ve had and the tenseness from earlier sinks back into you.

“Hey,” Jason whispers, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah– I’m,” You shake your head, stumbling across the half of the blanket that’s made it on the floor as you walk to the bathroom. “I’m just really tired. I’m going to shower, I forgot to earlier.”

You catch Jason’s concerned look from the corner of your eye, but you try not to stress about how you’re worrying him. As soon as the door closes behind you, you grip the bathroom counter and look at your reflection.

You’re so exhausted you look sick, but you don’t want to bother Jason with your own worries right now. When he’s not on patrol, he’s always researching more ways he can stop crime and minimize conflict. Really, he doesn’t have a ton of time of his own to relax, so you really shouldn’t burden him with your feelings.

After a half-hearted shower, you toss on a T-shirt and shorts before walking towards the living room. Jason’s lounging on the couch, and he waves you over to watch a movie– Pride & Prejudice 2005.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” You say, trying for cheerful.

“Just thought we could use something familiar,” He says, placing a blanket on top of you before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“I’m still going to need you to explain half of what’s going on, I can’t keep up with all the characters.”

“That’s why we’re watching it,” He kisses your cheek. “I just tricked you into listening to me ramble about my favorite book.”

You giggle, and for a second you almost feel light enough to enjoy the moment. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re forgetting something, though, and when it hits you, you nearly kick the blanket off of you.

“Shit! I didn’t make anything for dinner!”

“Hey, hey,” Jason moves his hand to rub the back of your neck. “It’s okay, I got something going in the oven.”

You settle back into your place on the couch, but you feel terrible. It was your turn to make dinner today since you got off your shift first. You can’t believe you let yourself fall asleep instead! Jason doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, he just cuddles into your side further as you both watch the camera pan around Elizabeth Bennett.

Suddenly, it hits you. You know how to make up for worrying him and forgetting about dinner. At first, you subtly try and bring your hand under the blanket, feeling around until you find his thigh. When you make contact, Jason gives you a look, trying to gauge whether or not it was intentional. You give him a cheeky smile as you continue.

Jason settles into the couch, just laying back and allowing you to do what you want, still figuring out why you’re suddenly in the mood. You run your nails against the inside of his thigh, lightly at first before digging in just a little, knowing he likes it a little rough.

You finally palm him through his shorts and he lets out a small gasp. His shoulders seem to fall back and you swear you can see some of the tension Jason always carries around leaving him. Carefully, you wrap your hand around his cock, and you lazily stroke him through the fabric as he exhales through his nose. You’re about to crawl under the blanket to take off his shorts when Jason grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you up to face him.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.”

“Huh? Don’t you want me to,” you gesture to his lap instead of letting your words trip you up. “I mean, I just started now, so I should really–”

“What are you talking about?” Jason shakes his head, his fluffy hair shifts with him.

“Look, I–” You massage your forehead, trying to work through some of your anxiety. “I was going to do something for you, Jason, so just let me–”

Jason slides his hand from your shoulder across your arm until he’s supporting your hand, bringing it in so he can kiss your knuckles.

“You’re always doing stuff for me,” He whispers. “Let me return the favor.”

The speed at which you break eye contact and begin fiddling with the blanket speaks volumes to Jason. You gulp as he lowers your hand, careful not to overstep. You know that if you say the word, the two of you can stop and go back to watching the movie in front of you. But still, no matter how much residual stress keeps bothering you, you want to know what Jason has in mind for you.

“Yes,” you say.

“What?” Jason leans in, not having heard you the first time.

“Yeah–” you try to fight against your own embarrassment at accepting the invitation. “I’d like you to… take care of me.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence before Jason bursts into giggles. You have the sense to feel offended, but he quickly wraps his arms around you and rests his head on your shoulder.

“God, lighten up, will you? You sound so serious, it’s not that big a deal.”

Immediately you fail at keeping a straight face, and although you really don’t want to give him the win, you end up letting out a snort.

“Alright, come on,” He taps your back. “Lay on your stomach.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask, even though you’re already maneuvering into position, tossing the blanket off the couch in the process.

“Just trust me, okay? Relax, I’ve got you.”

Jason’s hands are warm when they reach your back. You take in a small inhale, not quite sure what you were expecting. He moves his hands softly at first, just stroking the skin of your back and shoulders to get you accustomed to the feeling. As soon as you start getting comfortable, he starts applying the slightest bit of pressure, kneading at your shoulder muscles.

A sound escapes you that you’re not proud of, and though you’re certain Jason is smirking, you refuse to turn around and see it. Sighing into the couch cushions, you close your eyes and let yourself fade into the feeling. Jason moves downward, massaging your back in slow motions, carefully running his knuckle down the small of your back. It’s incredible, more than, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

“You can press harder, you know.”

He huffs, “See, I was thinking that, but if I hurt you right now I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself.”

Jason has a talent for saying things like that, things that make you melt no matter what’s running through your head. To his credit, he tries, kneading out all the knots across your back, but still with lighter pressure than you would’ve given to yourself.

“Is that alright?” He asks. “You want me to keep going?”

You hum, already starting to sink into the feeling. Jason continues, hands roaming all across your back. Your eyes start to close and you can feel yourself slipping into sleep before a hand starts to move down your body, gently feeling up your ass.

“Okay?” Jason says.

“Okay–” and as soon as you respond, he kneads the sore muscles in your upper thighs and ass, and although it causes a part of you to completely melt into the cushions, a part of you feels like you’ve just had a fire lit within you.

“Jason,” you start. “If you keep going, I might… uh–”

“No, you can say it,” he whispers as he leans in, covering your body with his own so you can feel his breath across your cheek. “Tell me what I do to you.”

“Shit–” you bury your head into the couch, but Jason carefully sets hand on your head and helps you make eye contact with him.

“Talk to me,” his voice drops low. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

He places a hand on top of one of yours resting in front of you. You flip your hand over and interlock your fingers with his. A barely audible exhale escapes from Jason as he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I want you to finger me.”

He’s smirking as he kisses your cheek, his lips trailing lower to your jawline before you even have time to register his movements. It’s like a switch has flipped in him, like he’s finally allowing himself to let loose for your sake. Like all he ever wants is to make you feel good if only you’ll allow him to.

The hand not holding yours moves from your ass to your inner thigh, softly rubbing circles only centimeters away from your slit. He catches you closing your eyes again, getting lost in the comfort around you and he gives your upper thigh a pinch.

You give a small shout, and Jason uses the opening to slot two fingers in your mouth. He doesn’t even need to give the command, you’re already sucking him on instinct. Always efficient, Jason unclasps your hands to reach for the lube in the side table drawer while you’re distracted. He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Because I can keep going if you’re not ready–” he pretends, as if he didn’t have a perfect view of your signal.

You nod, but your head is still mostly shoved against the surface of the couch.

“Jason! Fucking go!”

He snickers as lubes his fingers before gently working one in. How typical, even when he’s being nice, he still can’t help but be a tease. His pace is slow but thorough, working himself all the way into your heat before sliding out, only to rush back whenever you seem to get used to the sensation.

Already being relaxed from the massage must be getting to you, because as soon as you stretch to accommodate his second finger, your breathing starts to quicken. He speeds up slightly, moving to kiss the spot between your jaw and neck, nibbling a small mark despite knowing it’s in the perfect spot to be seen.

He finally starts hitting the spot inside of you where he’s needed, and you almost yelp in relief.

“Faster,” you sigh, and gratefully, Jason listens. He quickens his pace, hitting inside of you with accuracy, and leaning on top of you now to better the angle. You can feel the planes of his chest against your back, and the warmth radiating off of him causes your face to heat up.

“Ah–” you start, and Jason is able to get it out before you can.

“You’re close?”

This time when you nod your head, he accepts your answer and continues the same speed and intensity. He uses his other hand to grip you by the shoulder and force your head up so he can hear your gasps. Jason moves his head close to your ear again, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he whispers, “Come for me.”

You groan, naturally wanting to bury your cries into the cushions, but Jason’s grip stops you. The casual show of his strength has you thrusting back towards his fingers, and he dutifully works you through your orgasm until you’re finished.

He flips you so you don’t end up falling asleep with your airflow cut off, and under his observant gaze you finally stop trying to cover yourself up. You flash your teeth, and Jason rubs the curve of your cheek with his thumb before slipping off the couch to get a towel to clean up.

#dc comics #gn reader #smut #dc smut #dc #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x you #jason todd #dom!jason todd #sub reader #red hood #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut #jason todd x reader

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endeline · 1 day

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Let The Light In: Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Words: 1.2K (unfortunately this is a bit of a filler while I sort out my finals 😭. Another *proper* new part to follow soon!)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies to lovers (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so incredibly in the wrong, slow burn, the girls are still fighting!

A/N: Literally posting/writing this on the train otw to class so if you see me editing this later (per usual), no you didn’t.

“I don’t know where your head’s been lately, but I really need you to lock in today, kid,” Leo's hands grip your shoulders firmly. The stern, disappointed expression that would have sent you running home in tears a few years ago has become all too familiar over the past few days.

Professionally, you’ve never had a worse week than this one. Your hands shake constantly, making it impossible to take clear pictures, and your tear-filled eyes make it so you can’t tell that your photos are blurry until it’s too late. Every click of the shutter feels like a failure, each misstep a confirmation that you're falling apart.

Leo’s voice softens slightly, though the urgency remains. “Look, I know you’re going through something, but we’ve got a job to do. People are counting on us.”

You nod, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I know. I’ll get it together.” But even as you say it, doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve.

Leo gives you a brief, encouraging squeeze before letting go. “I’m counting on you,” he says simply, turning back to the task at hand. You take a deep breath, willing your hands to steady, your vision to clear. You can't afford to let this week define you. It's time to lock in, just like Leo said.

The problem is that doing so is rather difficult when what, or rather who, you’re trying to focus on is the reason your chest has felt so tight all week. This is the first official game of the season, and your team has promised at least three news outlets that by the end of the 40 minutes they’ll have cover shots for their articles about the game. Realistically, you know this means photos of Paige, but with your newfound inability to even look at her, you wonder if a picture of Johnathan the Husky would suffice. Hell, for a fleeting moment, you seriously consider shifting your focus entirely, filling your memory card with shots of the mascot, relying on whatever Charlie shoots to fulfill your assignment. But you know that’s not an option. The publications want Paige, the world wants Paige, and your job hinges on delivering her in every frame.

Paige. Her name alone sends a shiver down your spine. You try to steady your hands, adjusting the settings on your camera, but every time you catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of your eye, your focus slips. Her confident stride, the way she commands attention on the court, it’s all too much.

You position yourself at the half court line, trying to angle your shots to capture the game without letting your eyes linger on her. The crowd’s roar, the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor, and the rhythmic bounce of the ball blend into a cacophony that should help you drown out your thoughts. Yet, every cheer for Paige feels like a personal attack on your composure.

Through the lens, you see her in action—swift, agile, unstoppable. It’s almost offensive how unaffected her game seems when your photography had taken such a blow this week. Each shot she takes, each defensive maneuver, you’re supposed to capture it all. Instead, you find yourself focusing on anything else: the scoreboard, Geno’s animated gestures, you even cave in and take shots of Johnathan, who’s currently entertaining a group of kids on the sidelines.

But you can’t avoid it forever. Paige makes a particularly impressive play, driving through the defense with a grace that leaves everyone in awe. You instinctively snap a photo, and for a brief moment, you’re lost in the brilliance of the shot—a perfect still of her in motion, the intensity in her expression almost palpable. Then reality crashes back in, and you feel the familiar weight pressing down on your chest.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself, trying to shake off the unease. But the lump in your throat doesn’t budge, and the weight on your chest only grows heavier. Every second wasted feels like a countdown to disaster.

Then drawing you back in, in a sudden burst of speed, Paige breaks away from the defense, sprinting down the court. You follow her through the lens, your finger poised on the shutter. She leaps, going for a layup, and you capture the perfect shot just as she scores. The crowd erupts, but your heart pounds for a different reason.

As Paige jogs back to her position, the whistle blows for a timeout. The players disperse toward the sidelines, and you take the opportunity to review the photos on your camera. Your hands still tremble slightly, but the last few shots are good—really good. For a moment, a flicker of hope ignites in your chest. Sparking dangerously when you hear a voice behind you, “hey, you get a good shot of that layup?”

You turn, startled, and find yourself staring at Charlie, who’s face-to-face with Paige. She’s breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, but she’s smiling. The sight of her up close, the intensity of her gaze, even when not on you, it’s almost too much. You feel your throat tighten.

“Uh, yeah,” you hear Charlie say, holding up the camera, casting you a nervous glance. “I think I got it.”

Charlie steps back slightly, allowing Paige to move closer. Paige glances at the screen, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Nice! Looks great,” she says, her smile widening. “Thanks, but we’ll probably use hers though, we both know she’s the real pro,” Charlie tilts her chin towards you. For a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to just the three of you, standing there in the midst of the bustling gym.

Paige's response is nonverbal, a mere shrug, as she turns her attention back to Charlie, effectively excluding you from the conversation until the sound of the buzzer fills the gym, calling her back to the court.

----

The gym had erupted into chaos as Paige's final three-pointer sailed through the net, securing UConn's victory at the last possible second. The crowd was a roaring sea of cheers and applause, but all of it seemed to fade into a hush when Paige turned towards you, her eyes searching the sidelines for your face.

"Did you get that! Please tell me you got that," she shouted as she sprinted towards you, the excitement vibrating in her voice, her face flushed with the thrill of victory and the sprint. Her hair was a wild cascade, damp with sweat, sticking to her forehead, yet she seemed oblivious to everything but you.

You nodded, your heart pounding not just from the adrenaline of the game but from her intense focus on you. "Oh come on you know I did!" you called back, flipping through the images on your camera to show her.

She reached you, breathless, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath, then straightened up to peer at the camera’s screen. Her face was inches from yours. As she looked at the images, her smile grew, and she reached out to touch your arm, a light, lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"These are incredible," she whispered, her eyes not just bright with victory but with a warmth that seemed reserved just for you.

Paige moved impossibly closer, her proximity sending a flush through you. Then, impulsively, she pulled you into a hug, her body warm against yours, her heart beating fast against your chest.

----

Your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself, a subconscious effort to hold onto the warmth of the memory. Your camera, once a bridge between you two, now hung heavily around your neck.

You stood there, a silent observer, as Paige melded back into her world on the court—a world where once you had shared a special place. Now, you were just another face on the sidelines, capturing moments that no longer felt personal but were merely part of a job. The weight of the camera was a physical and emotional anchor, pulling you back to reality, reminding you of what your role here was supposed to be, even if your heart lingered somewhere back in a past that seemed both incredibly close and painfully distant.

‘She loved you.’ The phrase that had been on repeat since you heard the slam of her car door echos through your head throughout the rest of the night.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige buckets #paige bueckers fic #wcbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #uconn huskies #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers headcannons #fanfic #angst #wbb

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rilirios · 2 days

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➢ love me or love me not?

—✦ pairings. various!characters x gn!reader —✦ summary. love, it can be the most beautiful thing, or an absolute disaster. for you, it was a trainwreck. —✦ cw. angst, unrequited love —✦ w.c. 300+ all together —✦notes. hot freaks ib fic!! another repost from my old blog. im probably gonna repost one more then write something new or go back on break c:

i. heartache

you knew what you were getting into. falling in love with a person who was already in love. you saw the admiration in their eyes when they looked at their beloved. you saw the smitten look on their face.

but you were in love, utterly infatuated. it was sickening. and you knew you had two choices: either move on from this little crush or enjoy your feelings while it lasts. thus, you chose the latter. you didn’t want to think about the possible results of your love, of the rejection you’d face.

so you simply decided to roll with it. pretend that they didn’t love anyone, and enjoy the small moments the two of you had. giggling at words they told you, staying up late just to talk with them.

however the thought that you wouldn’t be the one for them still remained at the back of your mind.

— jing yuan, blade, dan heng, diluc, alhaitham, wriothesley, your favorites

ii. write me letters

a hallway crush is what you'd describe it as. but what is a hallway crush? someone you see in the hallway and ogle at for a couple of minutes before moving on with life? you don't even know if they fit the criteria of a hallway crush. sure, you've talked to them for a little while, but it wasn't enough for the two of you to become actual friends.

so then what are you guys? of course, you don't want to end up as just a classmate. and you don't want to just think of them as a simple hallway crush. you want to be more to them. a friend or something more. you wanted to at least exist to them, for them to know you're there.

no longer did you want to just gaze at them through the swarms of people in the hallway.

— kafka, fu xuan, jean, dan heng, neuvilette, your favorites

iii. outset island

looking through a box you found in your garage, you see multiple polaroid photos of your childhood. a certain kid popping up next to you in several of those photos. you don't remember them clearly, but you recall the memories you've had and the little habits they did.

like that one time the two of you hid under a truck to peacefully eat the pastries you weren't allowed to have (the both of you got caught but at least you had fun with it).

and of course, every friendship has to come to an end, and you had a fallout. you don't remember what it was, but you think it was related to you moving away since you both promised to stay with each other forever, despite how childish the promise might've been. you don't recall the words you said, only the tears on your old friends face and a feeling of guilt in your chest.

— lance, rei, jingliu, dan heng, blade, jing yuan, amber, pidge, neuvillette, furina

(my friend helped me with this so kudos to them c:)

#˚ ⭒☆ ⋆｡˚ · new additions #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #genshin impact x reader #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #kafka x reader #jingliu x reader #jean x reader #dan heng x reader #genshin x reader #hsr x reader

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velvetchrry · 2 days

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grim reaper!simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

He wasn’t quite sure why but he didn’t want to take your soul.

Fragile little thing, still clinging to life. Sickly. Withering. But you had a fire inside of you, he could feel it. Burning brightly enough that it might even char him.

He wondered the last time your bare feet had touched the grass. The last time you filled your lungs with summer air. The last time you left this tiny little prison keeping your mortal body alive with tubes and drains.

You smile at him. It sends a chill down his spine — something he hadn’t felt since the before. Before he was this. Before he was death. When he was still a man. He can barely remember his old name anymore. Why are you smiling at him?

“I’ve been expecting you.”

Your voice was a melody. Expecting him? You couldn’t be.

“Do I have a few minutes or is it time now?”

He’s taken thousands of souls. More than he can count. Ferried them to the afterlife. Nothing but a blip on his radar, long forgotten. The ones that were still conscious enough to see him begged to live. Begged to be spared. But never this. Never waiting for him.

“Would you like a few minutes?” The words coming out of his mouth surprise even him. He hasn’t heard the sound of his voice in a long while. Hasn’t had the need to speak. It startles even him — a distortion of his human voice.

“I would… I would like to say goodbye to my mom.” He wants to wipe away the tear trickling down your face. He wants to tell you it’s going to be okay.

He nods and hovers to the corner of the room. You don’t seem to mind that he’s waiting there while you call in your mother. She doesn't accept what you have to tell her. It’s not your time, how could it be? You’re young, you have so much life left to live. You’re going to live, she won’t hear anymore of it otherwise. You say okay, another tear falls. You ask her to go get you something to eat.

When she leaves, you look back over to him. A shaky breath releases from your chest. You quickly wipe the backs of your delicate fingertips on your waterline.

“I’m ready.”

But he’s not. Oh no. He’s not.

He doesn’t want to take your soul. Doesn’t want it to incinerate that last little piece of him that’s still human. The piece that wriggles its way up to the surface every so often. He knows if he helps your soul to the afterlife, he’ll never remember his name again. Never remember the touch of a woman’s skin, the feeling of a hot breath against him. Never feel the ache in his chest where his heart used to be. The phantom pain that reminds him who he was. Simon.

He’s at your bedside before you can even blink. You’re not phased, not one bit. He sits, and reaches to take your tiny hand in his. You furrow your brow gently but give it to him.

He sees a flash of the man he was again. The black robe slips down his arm. A sliver of skin reveals his tattoos back at him, tattoos he hasn’t thought about in decades. You study him in silence while he does the same.

Why does your soul sing to him? Why does it remind him of the things he’s forgotten? Why you? Why not the other thousands upon thousands of souls?

“Will it hurt?” your tiny voice squeaks out.

They don’t deserve you — the gods that rule the afterlife. They’ll waste you, they won’t cherish you like he would. Like he could. You deserve so much more, delicate flower that you are.

“No, darling girl, it is as easy as dreaming.”

They have millions of souls. Billions. Surely they won’t miss yours. He can steal one soul for his own. It’s just one. One soul. The most precious soul he’s come across.

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath, waiting for the end to reach you. Death’s sure kiss.

He leans in slow, like he’s approaching a scared animal. Your eyes don't open. No — you trust him.

His lips meet your pillowy soft ones. He almost forgets how to do it, but your lips remind him. They help him. You kiss him.

He feels your soul like a lump in his throat. His large hand — the one not holding your wrist — wraps around your neck. It burns him, this kiss. He knew it would. Sizzles the very bones in his body.

An electrifying feeling takes hold of the both of you. Your skin is covered in goose flesh (his would be too, if it still could be). Your nipples harden, a wetness trails down your panties. You don’t break from him or his kiss. He wonders if it burns you a little too.

When the lump in his throat settles he finally feels it. He’s whole. For the first time in… maybe ever. He’s done it. He’s really done it. He breaks away from you.

Color has returned to your cheeks, the blood rushing beneath your skin. Already you look better than you did before he entered the room.

You don't understand it, he knows you don’t. Someday he’ll explain. Someday. But not yet.

The gods of the afterlife will never find you, and if they do, they’ll never have you. You’re his now. He’s done it.

He’s melded your souls together.

#call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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logansargeantsbabymom · 2 days

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Anyone but me

Insecure!Logan x Fem!Reader

warnings: Cursing, Insecure Logan

A/N: Here’s something short, I wasn’t gonna post since today makes 10 years since my grandpa passed but I didn’t wanna make today abt me. Enjoy.

Another race. Miami had been another race this season that has been shit for Logan. Why was something always fucking it up for him?

First they gave him shitty cars, then whenever they did give Logan a somewhat good car, he wasn’t driving it the way he should, then they gave away his car to Alex after he crashed his. Now he had to retire the car because KMag decided to crash into him?

It’s almost lil the universe is against Logan and his time in Formula 1, which might I add is utter bullshit.

Logan hasn’t been the best driver and I knew that, but I didn’t fall in love with him because he’s a formula 1 driver, no, I fell in love with him because he’s always been there for me even when he was going through his own problems and has never once complained about it (him being a famous driver was just a perk).

Logan and I have been together for just over 2 years which means I’ve seen the best and worst of his career, but right now after he got hit at his home race was heart wrenching.

I stood by the tv screens that showed his camera footage live from his car and my hands shot up to my face when I saw the impact of the crash. The crash wasn’t what made my heart shatter for him though, no, instead it was the live radio feed from him to pit that I was currently listening to.

His groans of pain and the tremble in his voice asking if he did anything wrong was what hurt. He was so worried and scared that he fucked up something whilst driving that he didn’t pay attention to whether or not he was hurt.

They replayed that crash maybe a dozen times and each time felt like it stung worse than the previous one before it. I watched as they got the track clear from any debris and brought Logan and the car back to the Williams garage. The look of red eyes and tear stained cheeks was the sight I was greeted with.

I would’ve done anything to take his pain away in that moment. Hell, I would do anything to make sure he never felt pain again. But unfortunately, I can’t. So I had to suffice for the next best thing, comforting him.

I walked over to him and the second he turned and saw me walking over with a somber look on my face he rushed into my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace before absolutely sobbing.

The team around us walked off allowing us a moment of peace while I comforted my boyfriend. His face was in the crook of my neck as he shook with violent sobs and I rubbed my hands up and down his back trying to soothe the ache in his heart.

“Logan you did amazing, it wasn’t your fault. I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far, I love you so much” I whispered in his ear as I kissed the side of his head.

We stayed like this for a moment, as Logan continued to sob I continued to try to soothe him and murmur sweet nothings in his ear with more small kisses on his head.

After a moment or two, I felt Logan pull away before he looked me in my eyes. I could tell he wanted to say something.

“What happened, Baby?” I whisper as I bring my hands up to his face to wipe his tears away

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispers, his voice breaking again as he moves my hands from his face

“Lo, don’t” I say, tears of my own springing in my eyes

“No Y/N/N, please. I don’t deserve you. I’m not good enough, you deserve to be with someone who wins and makes podiums. Not me, someone who finishes last or doesn’t finish at all.” by the time Logan was done berating himself, I was the one sobbing.

“Logan Hunter Sargeant. Stop talking like that. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. There was before you, during you, and I never want there to be an after you. I have never loved anyone more than I love you. My heart is so filled with happiness and you’re the reason. You’re the reason I’m still alive today, I have the best life right now and it’s because of you. So please don’t break my heart because you feel like I don’t deserve you, because I never want to live without you. So unless you’re unhappy in our relationship, we are not breaking up. Are you unhappy with us?” Tears were falling like waterfalls from both of our eyes.

“No, I love you too much. I just don’t want you to be with a loser like me” My hands shot up to his face and I made him look at me

“Stop it, I’m not leaving you. I’m staying with you whether you win 100 grand prixs, 1 or none. I’m here until the Lord takes me from this earth. I promise” I said as I placed a sweet and sincere kiss on his lips before we rested our foreheads together

“I’m here always and forever”

taglist

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99

#logan sargeant hurt #logan sargent fluff #logan sargeant angst #logan sergeant imagines #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant #charles leclerc #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #lewis hamilton

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dokries · 3 days

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always for you (my heart beats)

pairing: hong jisoo (joshua) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 875

warnings: some crying, passing mention of food near the end, reader not feeling well

author note: hi ! this is another repost, so if you’ve seen it, you probably have :D this is also very self indulgent but. i want a joshua :(

masterlist

it isn’t until you step into your shared apartment and slump down on the couch, tossing aside your things on the floor with a loud thud, that you feel the sheer exhaustion set into your bones.

you sigh, wiping your face with your hands before pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

today is not your day, to say the least. the drink you bought in the morning had found its way onto your clothes, and though you brushed it off with a weary smile when the barista apologized furiously, you’re just so tired. you don’t know why either, considering you got a decent amount of sleep last night.

lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the sound of the key turning in the front door’s lock, and joshua making his way over to you.

“darling? are you alright?” he asks, squatting down and gently moving your hands away from your eyes, that are…tearing up? huh. when did the tears start rolling down your face?

“–y love. my love?” noticing that you aren’t paying attention to his words, joshua takes your face into his hands, slowly wiping your cheeks with his thumbs; the pads of his fingers are warm against your skin.

“darling, is anyone in there?” he says jokingly. you hum a reply, not having the energy to form words.

he frowns at your response (or lack thereof) before getting up to sit beside your defeated form. without saying anything, he takes your hands into his before squeezing gently, rubbing calming circles with his thumbs. his bangs fall into his eyes, and you notice how disheveled his appearance is. did he run here on his way home from work?

you aren’t unfamiliar with the sixth sense joshua seems to have when it comes to you feeling unwell. on days you feel off, he often grabs you a drink or small trinket from the shop close by on his way home, only saying that he felt as if you needed a pick-me-up, as if he just knows.

you don’t know how long you stare at that mote of dust in his left eyebrow before your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “i’m sorry.”

joshua immediately pulls you into himself, stroking the top of your head. “no, no, you don’t need to apologize to me ever, especially when you feel like this. no apologies in our relationship.”

his chest is warm against your head and you’re suddenly surrounded by his steady heartbeat, keeping him alive. you find yourself wondering if your heart beats as steady as his, even though you’re crumbling in his comforting arms. as his hands rub soothing shapes into your back, you focus on breathing, using the way joshua’s chest slowly rises and falls as an example.

after an eternity, or maybe just two minutes, joshua pushes you back slightly so that your back rests against the couch and he can see your face again.

“wanna talk about it?” he asks softly. you know joshua would never push you to talk if you didn’t want to but you feel like maybe it would help; you know he did it often when he was upset. if it worked for him, maybe it would for you too?

mustering up the energy to speak, you shake your head. “just had a bad day, shua. it just–it felt like nothing was going my way today.” you pause before your boyfriend nods for you to continue, softly grabbing your hands again. “this week has been so hectic, you know? for both of us.”

he smiles softly before bringing your hand up to his mouth, and places a small kiss on the side of it.

“yeah…you’re right. is there anything i can do for you today though?” he nudges your knee for an answer.

you speak hesitantly. “can you…let me listen to your heartbeat?” you see him raise an eyebrow and you rush to continue, face growing warm. “i—i was more calm when i heard it. it’s like, hearing your heartbeat grounds me because i know you’re alive, and i’m alive with you,” you finish, looking down at your intertwined hands.

you hear joshua let out a low breath and look up at his wide eyed expression as he kisses you on the cheek before moving back from your face slightly, your noses almost touching. his tone warm, he calls your name gently. “of course. you can always hear my heart beat, as it beats for you.”

you giggle a little at his slightly very corny line and at his goofy grin, knowing he’s just trying to cheer you up. you move towards joshua’s chest, his arms wrapping around you once more.

you close your eyes, savouring the warmth of being hugged by him, and listen to his heart beat, just for you.

soon enough, you fall asleep and joshua lifts you up slowly before moving you to your bed and wishing you sweet dreams with a peck on the forehead. when you wake up, he’ll make soup is what he plans in his head, as he moves to sit down on the couch.

a small smile creeps up on his face as he puts his hand to his heart. the one beats for you, always.

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3xiles · 2 days

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Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?