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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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DCxDP fanfic idea: Big Fish in Gotham Pond

Based off of @saphushia art found here. . I just loved the idea of Tucker not knowing his skill level because he grew up in the boonies

Tucker gets scouted by Wayne Enterprises after he fixes a kid's computer game while in Gotham visiting Danny.

See, Tucker always known he is passable at tech- one has to be when a technology theme ghost is consistently harassing one's best friend- but to be good at something in a small town like Amity Park didn't mean much .

It's a big fish in a small pound sort of deal. That's why he's never put much thought into it. If Tucker were ever to rank himself in terms of school grades, he would say his computer skills were about a C-.

B+ if it was just coding.

His parents also don't think much of his obsession with his PDA or phones. They thought he waste too many hours on them like the rest of his generation.

It didn't matter that Tucker's technology was about five or more years behind his classmates.

The Foley were hard-working people who barely scraped enough for bills. They were never below the property line, but they danced on it often enough that Tucker knew never to ask for unnecessary purchases.

For as long as he could remember, his parents have always worked long and hard hours. He never blamed them for missing so much of his childhood, in fact he was grateful that they worked so hard to keep the roof over his head, but he did miss them.

That's why Danny's house became a haven for him. He was always at the Fenton's place because the loud, wacky family was much better company than the home silence.

Tucker knew that his family's financial situation didn't change how Danny or Sam viewed him. They had his back through tick and thin just as he did for them, but as they got closer to graduation the difference between them became jarring.

Sam had easy picking of what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go. Her parents were so overjoyed that she wanted to go to a university that they didn't even argue about her wishing to major in botanical biochemistry.

She had started house hunting in Star City midway through senior year. Her parents would gift it to her as a graduation present. Sam would live there for the next eight years to finish her degree.

Danny's parents, while somewhat eccentric, were also certified geniuses. Between the two of them, they had five PHDs and were often freelancing for companies when not doing ghost research. They too could send their two kids to college States away with housing not being a issue.

Jazz went to Metropolis to study Physiology. She lived in a small apartment but was doing well off her scholarships and parent's funding. Last he heard, she had a part-time job at the Daily Planet as a research assistant to gain some independence.

Danny wanted to go to Gotham for their engineering program. He, too, had an apartment of his own, with scholarships and equal funding from his parents. He also worked at Wayne Enterprises, but he was a receptionist. He hoped that once he graduated, he could apply for their engineering program

Not Tucker. His family could only help him get into Community College near Amity. He also couldn't afford to move out so he stayed with them, picking up a part time job to help out when he could.

Tucker is a first-generation college student so even though it wasn't much, he loved to see how his parents glowed when telling others their boy was futhering his education. He wanted to do something that paid well- and after years of patching up Danny- he figured nursing would do the trick.

Tucker would do all his basics in the community College, take a break to save up some money and then move on to the bigger schools.

The day of the graduation felt bittersweet. Team Phantom was finally adults, finally starting out in the real world, but while Danny and Sam moved on to bigger and better things, Tucker knew he would be left behind in little no-where Amity Park.

He never brought it up, but he felt a small dosage of envy the last day of summer before his friends finished packing and left.

Despite both being gone, Tucker had little to no social life even though they called, texted, and emailed often. His days blurred between class, work, and home. Even then, classes were long and tedious, work often ending with one or more customers screaming in his face to try and get free food.

His parents quickly started to nag that he should find a wife as they had married young. They couldn't figure out why he didn't want the same, even though he had no social life again.

Life became dull.

Tucker's only sparks of joy were playing online with Danny and Sam - when they found the time to log in or re-coding his old tech to try and salvage it whenever it broke down.

Soon, it became apparent that Tucker was slowly lacking motivation when he started skipping classes to sleep in and started feeling anxious when he needed to clock in for shifts.

It leads to him barely getting out of bed.

He felt horrible about it, thinking his parents sacrificed so much for him only to have him throw away the opportunities they gave him, and the cycle of not being able to get out of bed would start all over again.

It was Danny who caught on, and all but begged Tucker to come to Gotham for a weekend. He even sent money over for the plane ticket.

Tucker couldn't have gotten on that plane fast enough. He arrived early on Friday since the tickets were cheaper- and Uber over to WE headquarters to pick up Danny's keys as they agreed.

That way, Tucker could sleep and rest in the apartment while Danny worked.

Danny would finish his shift and have the weekend plus Monday and Tuesday off to spend with Tucker. When he arrived, Danny was helping a school check in for a field trip, so Tucker sat down to wait.

Next to him, a kid was growling at his laptop, frankly typing and moving his fingers over the computer's touch mouse. Tucker accidentally glimpsed his screen when the kid started swearing in a different language.

It looked like a shooting game but his lag was bad. By the time the boy pressed the buttons to have his little drone move the other flying things he was chasing were flipping though the air and out of his shooting rage.

It sucked when that happened, and since he was using WE free wifi for guests, it was probably the game. The graphics were badass, though. Seemed almost real.

"Hey try updating the system" He tells the kid after seeing the boy once again lag so bad he missed his shot.

Green eyes swing to him drenched in rage. Which yeah, Tucker knows how frustrating that could be.

"Did I ask for your help!?" The boy snaps, his words lined with an upper-class accent. Made sense since he was wearing a Gotham Academy uniform like the rest of the large school group. "Why are you even looking this way, peasant?"

"No, sorry. I just noticed the lag." Tucker raised his hand, slightly amused at the peasant insult. "I thought I could fix it for you."

The boy's face spams, "You believe you have the ability?"

"Ugh sure? I can try?"

"Here. Be quick. The fate of this city's air defenses depend on it" the boy turns his lap top to him and Tucker blinks.

Okay. So fix the game. He can do that.

And he does, quickly opening the code, analyzing the control and commands , he gets it running properly in less then twenty minutes. The boy seems utterly shock but he quickly takes control of the game and shoots down all the escaping ninjas from the sky.

"Thank you." The boy says with no more tense in his shoulders. Then he closes his laptop and dissappears with the crowd of students.

Tucker thought the kid was a cute.

Danny hands him the keys not long after and he leaves.

Never was he aware of the Boy being Damian Wayne and that the game was not a game but a actual defensive drone system that was fighting off the League of Assassins.

He only finds out how important those two facts are when Danny gets a call from Tim Drake asking if he could pass along Tucker's information because the CEO wanted him on staff as soon as possible..

Both nineteen-year-olds lost their minds after getting the call, screaming at each other in ghost shrieks of glee. They called Sam to let her know- and have her lawyers look over the contact Tim Drake sent just to make sure it wasn't a big-time company trying to screw him over.

He went to an interview three days later. He faced Tim Drake, the current seventeen-year-old CEO, Leo Noir, the current head of HR, and Jessica War, the current head of computer services. They asked him many questions about himself- some of which he felt he had answered terribly- then had him take a computer test.

Tucker thought it was busy work, so he quickly breezed through it. He fixed the problem in many of the coding for various programs, adding his flare to the final product, and after thanking them for their time, went out into the lobby.

He hadn't even reached the door before Jesssica ran after him, offering him the job. Apparently, the first two problems they had him do was the busy work. Tucker had thought they were the ones to let him get comfortable with the coding program.

Like a tutorial in video games.

The other seven were actual issues; many of their latest cellphone products failed. Tucker had solved them in an hour, which had taken the actual team of coders about a month.

"Nitey one dollar and thirty-five cents an hour," Tim tells him tapping the hiring contact. "It would be eighty hours every paycheck. You can work here or at home. Full Benefits. What do you say?"

Tucker's jaw drops. "When do I start!?"

He calls his parents to tell them he will be staying in Gotham with Danny. He tries to explain what had happened but it was all so fast that he can only babble about certain parts.

They tell him not to worry about explaining because they understand how much this means to him.

His parents help pack everything for him and when he flies back for it they, offer him hugs and support. Tucker is so glad they aren't mad.

"I sort of knew it was coming," His dad laughs. "You and that Fenton boy have always been inseparable."

"I did the same thing, you know," His mom says, wiping tears from her eyes but smiling all the same. "I moved with your father states away with little to no plan when I turned twenty too. Drove your grandfather mad."

He loves them both so much. He promises to send money- disregarding their denials- and flies back to Gotham, where Danny has opened his apartment until he gets enough for his own place.

He plans on renting a house with three bedrooms, one for him, one for his office, and another for Danny, as soon as he can. He wants to pay his friend back for everything he did and Danny deserves a bigger living space.

And for once, he'll not have to worry about money!

For once, life is looking up!

(What Tucker is unaware of, is that his parents think he moved to the big city to be with his childhood best friend turned recent lover. They don't know that the money he is sending home is from his own payroll and not Danny's. They think he's a stay-at-home husband.

Tucker is also unaware that the Bats are closely watching him in case he goes rogue. They have been slowly "causally" running into him in the city and breaking into his place to check for supervillain activity.)

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Big Fish in Gotham Pond au #Tucker is unaware of his skills #The Bat's are keeping a eye on him #His parents think he dropped out to be gay in Gotham'#Danny is happy for his best friend #Sam is laughing silly in Star City #Tucker in his main character era #Is Danny in love with him? Who knows

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jaysgirlx · 3 months

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"Need help sweetheart?" Bookstore Customer!Jason Todd helps you reach the books on the higher shelves. You were his favorite employee and he wanted to make your day easier. He'd been coming here for a while but you always forgot how tall he was and how good his body felt pressed against yours. You only knew how to mumble out a couple words because you didn't know what else to say to a man like that. "Uh sir, you don't need to-"

"Please call me anything but sir sweetheart, you know I'm not new here"

Bookstore Customer!Jason enjoyed teasing his favorite employee aka you of course. He teases you about working at the bookstore even though he's constantly there and he'll always be flirting with you even if you're working the counter that day. He knows he's holding up the line but he's a paying customer so he doesn't care.

"How's my favorite pretty girl doing?"

"M'tired today Jay, I can't handle your nonsense right now"

"Okay that was mean- wait, Jay? that's a first"

"Buy a book or get out Jason"

You could easily tell Jason liked classics and poetry but for some reason he was willing to read your favorites even if they were a smut-filled mess. One time, he backed you up into a corner, after reading one of those books you liked, "Hmm, you like this kind of shit baby? cause I can do all that to you and so much more"

Over time, you learned that Jason also likes to follow you to the store, whispering to you about all the things he could do to you if you'd let him. His hand is always on your hips, pressing his body fully into you. He knows you like it especially when you roll your hips into his when nobody's looking. He wishes you'd use your words and just say you were his but he knew he wasn't even close to getting that, at least not yet.

Jason tried to buy a new book every week, sometimes not even to read. He needed an excuse to be there since your boss has never been fond of him ever since he had caught him feeling you up near the back shelves once. He learned his lesso so now he purposefully buys the books you like, just so he can watch you ramble on and on about them without getting kicked out of the store.

Bookstore Customer!Jason thrived on the feeling he got from watching you go from being so nonchalant around him to the most talkative girl in the world. he wants you comfortable if he's going to fuck you. You find yourself shutting up one time because you thought you had bored him but he quickly gets rid of that thought for you, "Keep talking sweetheart, I'm just wondering how pretty your mouth would look with my cock stuffed down your throat"

"Jay I don't- I can't- I haven't-"

"Don't worry, you will and I'm sure you're a fast learner"

It wasn't that hard for you to notice that Jason got a little jealous when his brother Dick hits on you the first and last time he brings him to the bookstore. Dick easily chats you up and Jason watches the two become a bit too friendly for his liking but it wasn't his place to speak, "Now I see why my little brother brings home so many books"

"It's good he does, I like guys who read"

"I actually quite the fan of classic literature-"

"Oh shut up Dick"

Bookstore Customer!Jason had all your coworkers wondering if you'll ever let the poor guy hit. They weren't sure if Jason was interested in you or your body, regardless they couldn't ignore the smile you got whenever he walk in. Or the way you'd laugh at his dumb jokes. You had him on a leash and you didn't even know what to do with him. He's begging to take you out or just even spent a night with you. He didn't just want you, he needed you. "C'mon I promise to take care of you princess, I'll even take you to that little coffee shop in Bludhaven"

"Who told you about that?!"

"…Dick"

When he finally manages to convince you to let him kiss you, you're nervous as fuck. You thought this was just another one of his antics but no, this was real. He'd promised to stop hitting on you if you felt nothing and you should've know it was bad idea when you could hear your own heartbeat still your let his lips touch yours. It was such a bad idea because before you knew it, he's got you pushed up against the wall, leg parting your thighs with your hands gripping at his shirt. "Jay, more please" Suddenly after all this time, you're pleading for him. Oh how the tables have turned. You're begging for all he's got, and you know he has so much more to give.

"Just give me a moment baby, got be patient" Within a matter of minutes your pants are discarded on the floor, and your panties are still on but being pushed aside while two fingers are being pumped in and out of your pussy. He's got one hand on your hips holding you down while one of your legs is wrapped around his waist. "Didn't I tell you I could do some much for you baby?"

You nod quickly while he's sucking on your poor neck, that would definitely be red all tomorrow. you feel his teeth sink into your skin, not too hard but rough enough to leave a mark. "Now keep quiet, I don't want any of your coworkers hearing us back here" The next thing you know you're cumming on the boy's fingers and he wants you to do it again. and again. and possibly 50 more times if you're willing.

The next time Jason comes, he's holding what you think is flowers and you know he'll be your victim today.

"So I thought real flowers would be cheesy and you'd probably not want to take care of em, so my brothers taught me how to make these paper flowers and…here just take them"

"Wow, I'm getting hand-crafted flowers from THE Jason Todd? Someone must have a really big crush on me huh? Are those bandaids on your fingers? Want me to kiss your boo-boos? "

"Are you going to finally go out with me or do I have to make you cum-"

"Yes yes! Just do not finish that sentence out loud"

"You are soooooooooo in love me"

"Jay, get out"

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sttoru · 6 months

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‘if there’s anyone in this world who loves being a girl dad the most, it must be your husband — gojo satoru.’

☀︎｜tags. girl dad!gojo x female reader. fluff. you’re married. reader gets called ‘mama, sweetheart’. wrote this at work so not beta read. fic one out of two for satoru’s birthday!

giggles fill the living room — familiar laughter that sounded like your daughters’. a more sultry and manly voice also resonates in the background. one that you could recognise from miles away.

your curiosity leads you to investigate the source of the joyful sounds and soon enough, you find your dear husband and daughters sitting on the couch. though, in a situation you hadn’t quite foreseen.

satoru was talking on the phone about important business whilst your little girls were giving him a rather sparkly makeover. the most heartwarming thing was satoru’s surrender to your daughters’ antics — allowing them to do whatever to his face and hair.

“mhm, yeah..” the white-haired sorcerer hums over the phone, not having the slightest idea about what ijichi was yapping about. probably something that has to do with the recent sighting of a special grade curse in the city.

but, that wasn’t satoru’s priority at the moment at all (even if it should have been). his focus was all on his two daughters that were enjoying their playtime with him.

“papa’s so pretty.” one of them comments with a big smile — a smile satoru wishes to protect until his last moment on earth. her fingers push and pull on a small strand of his hair, trying to tug it into another ponytail.

satoru had already lost count of how many messy and half-done ponytails his snowy hair got divided into. the same goes for the amount of stickers on his face and neck.

the two sisters work together to put another pink and glittery sticker on satoru’s chin — though were no match to their father’s playful attitude. he jerks his head forwards and teasingly nibbles on their tiny hands that came in touch with his face.

this causes almost ear deafening squeals to reverberate through his ears. not that he’s complaining — satoru loves to hear them.

“. . .gojo, are you listening?” ijichi’s shaky voice over the phone interrupts the squeals. satoru doesn’t even try giving a proper response and only mutters a quick ‘yeah’ between snickers. that was enough of a sign for ichiji to understand that he couldn't get through.

everyone knew how much satoru loved his little family. he cherished them and put them above everything, including his work. sometimes it was necessary for you to remind satoru that he's needed outside your home - that he was and will keep being the strongest sorcerer that people depend on.

"wow, you two really made papa super pretty!" satoru coos as his daughters bring him a hand mirror. his phone had already been discarded somewhere on the couch - not even bothering to hang up on ijichi first.

your husband effortlessly picks the children up and cuddles them close to his body, smothering them both in sloppy wet kisses on their cheeks and necks - making them giggle uncontrollably. "y'know, papa will give you both a nice little reward for making me so beautifu—”

a faint cough echoing from the mobile device next to them reminds satoru that he was still on call. he reaches out and grabs his phone, rolling his eyes in a sassy way before clearing his throat;

"i need to attend important business. see ya." the sorcerer declares and hangs up right after. to him, playing around and taking care of his daughters was more than necessary. even in comparison with an actual critical situation: it wasn't like there weren't any other special grade sorcerers that could take on the mission.

the second his phone plops back down on the couch, satoru's hands fly over to tickle his little girls' bellies. they wriggle and squirm around in his lap - squealing for help from their mama.

you had been watching the scene unfold from the doorway and decide to join in on the fun once you hear your daughters’ call. you gasp dramatically before scurrying over to the couch, acting like you were genuinely scolding your husband for his 'torturuos' tickles;

"oh no, my little girls!" you pout, taking in the way your daughters laugh and outstretch their tiny arms towards you, searching for an escape in your arms. you gladly help them away from their dad's grasp, though not without getting a whine out of satoru.

one of your daughters sticks out her tongue at the sulky sorcerer on the couch, the other mimicking her sister's actions. you chuckle and decide to do the same; frowning and sticking your tongue out.

"ack!" satoru clutches his chest, fingers curling around the material of his shirt like he just got shot. he topples over on the couch and acts dead with his eyes half closed, "i can't. . . believe. . . it. my girls hate me. ugh, my heart - can't take it."

you scoff at his exaggerated act. you were used to it after years of dating and marriage, but your daughters seemed to still take the bait. they writhe around in your arms and once you put them down on the floor again, they run back to their 'fallen' dad.

they shake him by his shoulders and harshly pat his cheeks in attempt to bring him back to life. a constant loop of 'papa!'s and 'wake up!'-s echo throughout the house. even some 'we're sworry!'-s thrown in-between.

satoru couldn't take it anymore and his arms move at the speed of light so he could pull both of his daughters in a big hug. he squeezes them a bit too tight to his chest, causing them to shriek and laugh.

"are you not joining us, sweetheart?" satoru asks with a shit-eating grin. it's then that you realise that he was blushing from pure joy — his cheeks rosy. well, you couldn't possibly deny his request when he was this ecstatic.

the high-pitched 'mama too! mama too!' coming from both girls mellowed your heart even more. and thus, you give in.

you happily join the pile - climbing on top of your husband and between your daughters which lay on each of his sides. your head rests on his chest, your eyes closed and your ears filled with laughter.

satoru eventually relaxes, however that genuine smile never leaves his lips. this is where he belongs. with his family - the most important thing of all.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff

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nariism · 7 months

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ೃ⁀➷ WHERE THE HEART LIES ˚ ༘♡

a/n: fluff, pining, childhood friends to lovers, reader was in the same orphanage as wriothesley when they were kids, mild codependency (?)

happy wishing everyone! ≧◡≦

Amongst the hundreds of books stored in the Duke's office, none hold a place in his heart quite like the dusty old atlas you gave him when you were children.

It's old and worn, something aged with the faint scent of Tidalga wafting as the pages turn. To an outsider, the atlas almost looks like garbage, or rather, exactly what it is—the only crappy book in the entire vintage shop that you could afford with your terrible allowance.

He doesn't see it that way.

It's a precious commodity to him, something he holds in high regard (despite the way he's glued the spine together on nearly a dozen occasions with the amount of times he's flipped through it).

Wriothesley is not a sentimental man. Growing up the way he did taught him not to grow too attached to material belongings.

There are few things in the world he would consider treasures: his boxing gloves, for one, though that's a given. His growing tea collection that originally started as a treat he would spend coupons on, but somehow evolved into a hobby.

And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the map of Teyvat you gave him in the orphanage you came from. Because it wasn't only a birthday gift, it was something infinitely more meaningful than that.

He remembers that birthday fondly: he was twelve and you were ten. You'd snuck into his room beyond curfew and lights out, sheltered yourself under his blanket, and shoved the poorly packaged gift bag into his hands.

The two of you spent the entire night going through the pages, amazed at how giant the world truly was outside the confines of your orphanage—imagined how freeing it would be to explore it with nothing but your pair of feet and each other.

"One day," you breathed with excitement bubbling in your voice, "We'll leave this place and travel all across Teyvat."

It wasn't just a promise to see the world. It was a promise to see it together.

For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.

The older he got, the more he clung to that.

You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.

Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.

Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.

Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.

It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.

The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."

Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.

Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.

You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.

Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?

"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.

Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.

Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.

"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."

"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"

The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.

There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.

"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk.

"No, I'm not. She's absolutely crazy. She's insane—!"

He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.

Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.

Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.

He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.

But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.

"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."

"Why would I ever throw it out?"

"It's old," you lament again.

"And?"

"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"I can still use it," he insists.

You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"

He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.

"Actually, about that..."

You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.

"What is it?"

Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.

His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.

If he didn't ask now, would he ever?

"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."

The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.

But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.

"Just you and me?"

"Just you and me." Just us.

There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.

He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.

"And what about the Fortress?"

"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."

"Won't the paperwork back up?"

"I can deal with it whenever I come back."

"Why me?"

Another silence.

"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.

Why would it ever be anyone else?

He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.

"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."

He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.

"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.

"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."

It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea.

Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.

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kookslastbutton · 7 months

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | ch. i

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, slight actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, loverstoexesto ?, unrequited love

word count: 3,328

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, mention of gossip columns and unequal treatment of how oc is portrayed post-divorce, hint of differences between men and women in the business world, oc struggling to be professional, both care about each other and are not toxic but oc fell in love, oc has the need to groom him a little out of habit, talks about Bam, feat, Namjoon and Taehyung, and sexual content

sexual warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, desk s*x, d*rty talk, oc is on bc, handjob, swearing, making out, neck kisses, clothed s*x, impulsive s*x, light praising, growling, some minor petnames (baby, Kook), mention of threesome, recalling of past sexual events

playing: Unkiss Me

a/n: uh…this one has been in my drafts and idk its kinda angsty but I decided I will share it. Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

From the moment he stepped into your office, Jungkook could tell every ounce of color was drained from your face. All except for your puffy red eyes that is, which he knows you've been rubbing fervently to keep your tears from rolling down your cheeks.

He doesn't blame you for it though–you're his ex-wife.

Recent ex-wife that is.

For three years the two of you masqueraded as the perfect power couple; appearing completely in love to the public eye in hopes of forming an unshakable business partnership (transaction more like). You attended charity balls together, collaborated on several work projects, and attended countless corporate functions to establish both your presence in your respective industries.

That's right, you and Jungkook were in an arranged marriage and it would have flourished into a classic love story if it wasn't for one obvious detail–you're the only one that fell in love.

Despite all the times he's called you "stunning" when you dolled up for formal events or that you "feel so good" during late-night sex, Jungkook never truly loved you. He cared about you, did his best not to intentionally hurt you, and even tried loving you back; thinking he could fall for you with time.

But the most he could ever see you as is a friend, a beautiful friend, though a friend nonetheless. He knows how much it pains you, especially after you've held out hope that he'll want you the same way someday. This one embarrasses you the most which he wishes it wouldn't.

Well, Jungkook doesn't want to trap either of you in a loveless marriage any longer. So even if it means being the center of gossip columns for a while, he's giving you a divorce so you can find the right person to share your love with.

After all, you deserve it; you both do.

Today's day one of looking at one another as exes and it's bittersweet, to say the least. The only factor that would make this worse is if children were in the equation, but there aren't any.

"Thanks for letting me swing by __," he speaks first, doing his best to conjure up a genuine smile. The black floral button-up he's wearing suits him well and his smooth chest peaking out near the collar is far too tempting, yet you know better than to let your eyes linger.

"Of course," you answer and grab a small box from behind your desk. "These are 100% yours so I wouldn't keep them from you." Jungkook takes the box of belongings from your hands with slight hesitation. You're keeping a brave front for the sake of civility and professionalism.

He doesn't blame you for that either.

As a CEO of a large multinational corporation himself, Jungkook's no stranger to the age-old philosophy that that office is no place to let your personal woes get out of hand; you have a team to lead and a reputation to uphold. The latter is proving to be harder for you than him, however, being that the media is portraying you as some kind of she-devil, spinster, or worse of all—a cheater.

Jungkook plans to personally make sure those articles get removed from the public eye before the end of the week. (Not that he'll tell you though.)

"I still could have dropped by the house to pick these up if it'd been easier. I feel bad for interrupting your work day over a couple of old books, records, and dog toys." He watches you nod silently as he vocalizes the inconvenience of it all; he really doesn't have to but he does it anyway.

"No, it's alright. You haven't been to the house since you moved out, so I thought it'd be better if we met here instead." You pause to check the time. "If there's anything you think of that you might've forgotten later, just let me know. In the meantime, I have a meeting in twenty so..."

"He misses you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Bam, I mean." Jungkook throws the box under an arm and pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his camera gallery until he gets to one particular photo of a red and tan Doberman. "He hates the new place and all he does is sulk by the door."

Your heart's already struggling to settle down from the painful reality that the man you love is leaving you, let alone being reminded of another forced separation. Bam's the closest thing to a baby that either of you ever had and he was one of the few things that bonded you and your now ex-husband together.

Being Jungkook's dog, however, he couldn't stay with you. That means no more visiting the dog park, sneaking treats behind Jungkook's back, and snuggling together in the king-size bed after a stressful day.

"I'm sure he just wants his favorite chew toy that's been held hostage at the house," you joke lightly, thinking it simpler to spin the topic. It's similar to what Jungkook does when he uses flowery language to soften the cold hard truth of your divorce; that he doesn't love you and he can't ever. "Give Bam a lot of attention for me. I miss him too."

"Of cour—shit!" When Jungkook moves to slip his phone back into his pocket he loses his balance, causing the box with his belongings to spill out on your office floor. Naturally, you kneel down to help him clean up the mess. It's not until your fingers reach for the same item and come into contact with each other that you quickly retract your hand. "Sorry, did I shock you?" He asks gently and tosses the last item into the box before standing up.

"No, you didn't." You rise to your feet as well, until you're face to face with him. This time it's closer than before. His hooded eyes stare straight into yours and you can't believe it takes being inches from his face to notice how bloodshot his eyes are. "You look exhausted. You should go home and rest Kook." The petname is out before your brain tells you to stop.

Jungkook's eyes widen, the corner of his lip subtly quirking up for the first time since the start of the conversation. "Don't worry about me __. I probably get more breaks than you do. But thanks." He briefly glances at the ticking Snoopy clock behind you, a Christmas gift he gave you as a joke last year. "You still have that?"

You look over your shoulder at the small, Snoopy-shaped digital clock on your desk. Ten minutes until your next meeting. "It's cute and it makes for a great conversation starter with clients so I guess so. If you want me to give it ba—"

"Keep it," he interrupts. "Please, it was a gift and I'd like you to have it if you enjoy it." Jungkook gnaws on his lip before continuing. "Speaking of clients and business partners, I should make myself scarce now shouldn't I?"

"Yes. I do have that meeting soon." But once he leaves, neither of you is sure when you'll see the other again aside from the odd charity event. The Annual Winter Gala in December is one that particularly comes to mind.

Most high-ranking executives like yourselves attend the function to keep up appearances and to network with other professionals. Last year, you and Jungkook were the center of attention however now that you're divorced, you fear you'll be avoided like the plague—they always preferred Jungkook over you anyway.

"You're forming a new partnership with that actor, right? Kim Taehyung? I read an inkling about it online yesterday." He also read his whole biography too. The man is equally handsome as he is altruistic and kind.

"Nothing's signed and sealed yet. I'm sure you've heard that he's gotten dozens of other offers on the table. To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't nabbed him yet."

"Yeah, we don't need...wait sorry, let me rephrase that. We aren't ready for a new partner or merger yet."

You can read between the lines despite Jungkook's correction. His company is thriving more than yours in every way, so he doesn't need the help of a third-party endorser...like you. Well, you're not doing too shabby yourself and this isn't simply about fame and fortune you want to argue.

The head poking through your door stops you from following through on that last line.

"Mrs. Jeon—shit." Your secretary Kim Namjoon screws his eyes shut at his drastic misstep. "Ms. __, Kim Taehyung called and said he'll be a bit late due to unexpected delays during his filming today. He apologizes profusely but is on his way over now. Sajangnim," he bows at Jungkook respectively.

"That's fine, Namjoon, thank you. You can send him in whenever he gets here. Mr. Jeon was just about to leave and I had the rest of my day cleared."

"Of course. I'll let him know to come in." Your secretary nods and shuts the door. Jungkook shifts between his feet once Namjoon is out of sight, a habit he's picked up that tells you he has more to say.

"Was there anything else, Mr. Jeon?" You shuffle a few files on your desk, prepping for your meeting with Taehyung. At this point, you're not even looking at Jungkook.

"Mr. Jeon? I think I prefer when you call me Kook more," he mutters, allowing his line of sight to catch a glimpse of your lips. "Can I...kiss you? Before I go."

The question knocks the wind out of your lungs and you instantly lift your head up toward him. "Kiss me?" You gulp slowly, then shake your head. "No, I'd rather we not. Goodbye kisses aren't really my thing." You couldn't be a bigger liar, evident from the sudden churning in your gut. Having Jungkook's lips on yours was the best and worst moments of your entire relationship but you have to fight yourself....your innate desires that tell you to say yes.

"Okay, I understand. What about a hug?"

"Jungkook..."

"I'm sorry, I'm pushing. Thanks again for my stuff." He gestures at the box under his arm. "I hope your meeting with Kim Taehyung goes well. Maybe I'll see you both at the next Winter Gala." He makes a beeline for the door.

"Wait!"

Jungkook stills in his tracks as he watches you stride in front of him. He's unsure what you stopped him for until your hands reach out towards his shirt collar, smoothing the delicate material down. A light smile plays on his face as you do this, though he says nothing aside from a simple 'thanks'.

"It was bothering me the whole time." You finish fixing his collar and peer up into his Bambi eyes. Out of all the potential suitors, you wish Jeon Jungkook didn't become your husband. It's not like you got to keep him or anything.

Jungkook once again flickers his gaze toward your barely parted lips. And this time, you do the same for him. Before either of you have time to back out you lean forward and kiss him.

It's a hard kiss too. Painful but so inviting that neither of you pulls away.

With his free hand, Jungkook snakes a hand around your waist to hug you close. Having his fingers pressed against the small of your back is so familiar and all you can do is deepen the kiss.

You're obviously not the only one that gets a sense of pleasure from this because, in a matter of seconds, the box from under Jungkook's arm falls to the ground. He then places his second hand on the side of your neck and jawline which you lean into, exposing the other side of your neck.

"Jungkook," you gasp when his lips attach themself to the soft skin, sucking lightly. His teeth come out and nip too. "Wait, we can't do this, we shouldn't. Taehyung, he'll be here soon."

"That would have sounded so convincing if you didn't just moan the words, baby." He walks you backward until you're forced to sit atop your mahogany desk.

"Don't call me that." You allow him to push up your pencil skirt and spread your thighs until your panties are the only material he sees. You decided to go with black lace today, his favorite now that you think about it.

"Did you—"

"No, they weren't for you."

A brief growl leaves the man's rose-tinted lips. "In that case, we don't need them." He places both hands on your hips and brings you into another kiss, messier than before. His tongue shoves between the seam of your lips to lick every crevasse he can. He hasn't kissed you like this for months and to be brutally honest, he's missed it as much as you.

Jungkook hasn't been with anyone else since marrying you either, which means he's completely adjusted to your body, your preferences, and what turns you on. The same applies to you so while he's busy shoving his tongue down your throat, you palm his half-harden bulge through his trousers.

"Mm," he groans and bucks his hips into your hand. You smile at how well you've managed to draw a response from him. With a little burst of confidence, you hastily move to unbuckle his pants. "What are you doing?" He mumbles between kisses.

You decide not to answer, preferring to reach inside his trousers to take his length out. You make sure to pump it a few times until he's fully hard. Jungkook has a gorgeous dick, and that takes a lot for you to admit.

"Fuck, that's it." He says with gritted teeth, now watching your hand as it moves up and down his cock. "Get me how you want me."

"We don't have much time." You slide your panties down your legs and spread your thighs wide apart, which makes Jungkook's eyes dilate about 10 meters. "Fuck me, please." One last time. Make love to me one last time.

"Are you sure? I don't have a condom."

"It's okay, I'm on birth control. As long as you're still clean then its fine."

"I am. I got tested recently. But are you sure you want this?"

You glance at his pulsating length, tip leaking with pre-cum, and swallow hard. "Hurry."

"Fuck, okay." Jungkook wastes not another second and guides you flat on your back, his hands resting on either side of your body. The coolness of your desk has you shiver slightly. He then urges you to raise your legs until they can wrap loosely around his slim waist. And as if second nature, you link your arms around his neck as he eases him into you. He's able to bottom out without much effort thanks to how wet you've become.

"Oh god." Your back arches off the surface of your desk as Jungkook thrusts into you. They're only practice thrusts at first to get you re-adjusted to his size, yet the pleasure zipping down your spine already has your eyes rolling up.

You shouldn't be doing this at all. Your conscious whispers to again to which you blindly dismiss. You'll enjoy it now and tomorrow, start a new—another lie you tell yourself.

"Fuckfuckfuck, you're so wonderful for me," he chants while pushing his cock in and out of you, the speed of his movements picking up to an insane rate. Jungkook never had an issue with quickies so he's likely in his element now. "You know what this reminds me of?" He cocks a smirk and kisses down your neck.

"Hm?"

"That time when we were abroad for a weekend conference. Remember when we stopped at my second office to pick up some files? You were so horny that day that you pushed me into my chair and demanded that I let you ride me. It took the wind right out of my sails to see you like that, so confident and in control." He prys apart the top button of your blouse until he can slide the material down your shoulders. He doesn't take it off completely, favoring the chance to place kisses on your newly exposed area instead.

"I was beyond stressed that day. It was the first time I had to speak at that conference and you looked so good with your freshly slicked back hair. I couldn't stop myself—oh fuck! Right there Kook, don't slow down. Please." Jungkook grunts at the use of his petname and fucks you rougher, sweat forming around his forehead as his dark hair dangles messily over his eyes.

You manage to sneak a glance at the time on your Snoopy clock between thrusts. "Shit, I need to come soon, or Kim Taehyung's never going to agree to do business with me." The man laughs and buries his head on your shoulder.

"You never know, he could be really into threesomes."

"Fuck! Don't joke about that." You claw at his back and surprise both of you with the unexpected clenching of your pussy.

"You're right, I take it back," he groans and continues to snap his hips. "Looks like he's not the one who wants a threesome after all, considering your body's response to the suggestion. You wanna ask him if he walks in?" He whispers in your ear and you're embarrassed that your cheeks burn at the thought.

Of course, Kim Taehyung was sexy and you've rehearsed to yourself dozens of times not to let yourself get any crazy ideas about him. Still, one unrequited love is enough for you; Taehyung wouldn't want a divorcee. You shake the train of thought before it has time to go any further. "Make me come, Kook. Need you to finish too. It's not just Taehyung who could walk in at any second."

Jungkook grunts and continues to thrust into you, bouncing you up and down his thick length as the desk shakes underneath you. He feels you getting closer and closer by the sporadic clenching of your walls squeezing him. A big part of him doesn't want this to end but it has to....he doesn't love you. He only wants to make you feel good before he has to say goodbye. Both of you come just before Namjoon calls your office phone, giving you a heads-up that Taehyung's about to enter your office.

Jungkook shoves his pants back on while you button up your blouse and fold over your skirt. You decided to shove your underwear in your bag with the lack of time. No one has any business digging in there anyway.

"How do I look?" You turn around to get a quick once-over from Jungkook but he's already out the door. Now the person standing in front of you is Kim Taehyung who has nothing but the most genuine smile.

"You look lovely as always Ms. __. I'm so sorry I'm late by the way. I feel terrible about it so I brought you these." Taehyung whips out a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. "Hope you don't mind that I did a little research on you ahead of time. I found out these have a special place in your heart."

You smile and accept the bouquet with thanks. As you set them on your desk, a messages comes through your phone. You manage to give a quick look.

Unknown Number: Sorry I had to duck so fast! I know it looked rude but Taehyung was already opening the door and you were dressed so I thought it'd be better if I left. Hope you're meeting goes well! And thanks for everything today ;) if you need anything, you have my number.

You flip your phone over and invite Taehyung to have a seat. Business is business, and you have to carry on even if your heart has completely sunk to the ground. Kim Taehyung is sweet anyway, so you'll enjoy his company.

Too bad you don't realize how much he enjoys yours as well.

a/n: so, yeah... there's a potential for our Jk to actually love oc and not realize it but either way he does care about her (despite the impulsive sex). And yes, taehyung likes oc... it's like a double unrequited love 😔 okay bye lmk what you think, thank you! 😘

Also, lmk what you think about jk in this poll!

masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook imagines #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts au #bts imagines #bts fanfics #bts x reader #fic:guiltypleasures #kookslastbutton

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ssahotchnerr · 7 months

Note

no but imagine pre-relationship aaron with fem!reader who can fall asleep anywhere & in the most uncomfortable positions known to mankind 💀 aaron is both terrified and amazed bcs how do you keep doing that 😧 but then every time he sees you like that he slowly & carefully arranges you in a more comfortable position 🥹🫶🏻 & the team gives him shit for it 💀

(luvie can I be 🪷 anon 🥹🫶🏻)

makeshift

omg stop i love that cw; fem!reader, bau family banter, pining aaron <333

falling asleep in a federal prison, may seem like a hard thing to do. surrounded by the worst of the worst, distant yells from the inmates floating down the hall, the mere location itself. but apparently, not for you.

the facility was currently on lockdown, meaning no one was going in or out, and therefore you were stuck overnight. as a result, the warden offered one of the locker rooms to be strictly the bau's 'break room', so to speak.

after his last, rather unpleasant interview of the evening, aaron was hellbent on a fresh, but not very good, cup of coffee. as he pushed the door open and entered, his focus diverted straight to you.

you were laid across a steel bench - eyes closed, hands clasped over your stomach, absolutely gone to the world. however, if you moved an inch - or probably less - would you completely topple onto the hard floor.

"you're kidding." aaron deadpanned as he looked at you in pure astonishment, coffee long forgotten.

"she's been like that for thirty minutes now." jj commented from where she was leant against one of the sets of lockers, head bent down as she scrolled through her phone. "but are we surprised?"

"nah," derek snorted lightly. "but hey, better than the floor."

"tell me about it." a low grumble came from reid, somewhere.

aaron's face pulled into one of discomfort, his brows drawing into a line above his eyes. the surface you were asleep on, had to be cold, for starters, by nature of the material and the a/c was still kicking in high gear despite the cooler temperature outside. the flat metal had to be highly uncomfortable, no cushion underneath you at all, most likely digging into your shoulder blades. you'd inevitably be waking up to an angry back, which aaron knew from experience - from past events where you miraculously drifted off in questionable positions.

eager to lessen the outcome, aaron shrugged his suit jacket off his shoulders. he balled it up, situating it snug under his arm.

next, he crouched beside you, cradling your head in his hand as he lifted it gently. at the movement, you stirred, a small noise escaping you and aaron froze, waiting for you to settle back down before resuming his actions. part of him feared his current, drumming heart would somehow rouse you more.

but once you had, he slid his jacket underneath your head - a makeshift pillow. it wasn't much, but it would at least alleviate some of the pressure collecting in your neck, and you wouldn't be as sore when you awoke. the next thing he had to figure out, something to lay on the ground, on either side of you, to soften the fall in case you were to-

"that's real cute hotch." derek grinned, grabbing aaron from his thoughts. "when you make up my bed next, can you add one of those pillow chocolates? thanks."

"funny."

aaron stole a glance at you, a calmness brushing over him and the ends of his lips daring to tug upwards into a smile. he couldn't help himself - sure, he wished you weren't fast asleep on a bench that could cause potential harm if you budged, but it didn't hide the fact that you were, well, you.

his hopeful, hidden attempt didn't go unnoticed by one person though, who naturally had to open their big mouth.

"that's nothing compared to that case in montana," aaron shot dave a pointed look to quit it, but only got a wink in return. "hotch practically carried-"

"dave."

"aaron." dave quipped back, an eyebrow quirked high in amusement, but fell silent. although, his witty expression didn't falter, as if he were noting to aaron that it wouldn't be difficult at all to be persuaded to continue.

"whoa whoa there, rossi," morgan straightened his posture, a hand out. "go on."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #🪷anon

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sinsofsummers · 11 months

Text

sensational

6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two

this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!

summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)

You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.

You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.

It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.

The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.

"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"

Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.

"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."

It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.

The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.

If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.

It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.

Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.

It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.

"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.

All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."

Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.

Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.

And this worked. Until it didn't.

-- -- --

It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.

More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.

Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.

His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.

You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.

"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"

You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"

Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"

The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.

When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.

Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"

"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."

His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"

Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."

He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."

"A rise?"

Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."

"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"

"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.

There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."

He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.

Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.

So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?

"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.

"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"

"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.

He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.

You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."

"I know."

Again, the silence. Infuriating.

Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"

Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.

The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.

Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."

He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."

The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.

When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.

"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.

He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."

"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.

He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.

"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."

"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."

You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"

He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."

-- -- --

Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.

That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.

He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.

The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.

Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"

"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."

This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.

The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.

But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.

He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.

But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.

He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.

-- -- --

"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.

"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.

One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.

And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.

You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.

"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."

The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.

"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.

I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.

He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.

As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:

"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."

It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.

"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."

He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.

"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."

Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."

Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"

If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.

The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"

"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.

He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."

"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."

Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."

"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."

He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"

Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."

Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."

By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.

When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.

He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."

"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."

"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.

Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.

"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."

The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."

"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"

He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."

Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.

"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.

You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"

-- -- --

If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.

If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.

"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"

-- -- --

You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."

He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."

He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.

Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.

"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.

But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.

You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."

He sighed. "You're right."

"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.

He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.

And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.

He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...

You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.

With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.

"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."

You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."

He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"

"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."

His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.

"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."

"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...

"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.

You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.

There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."

Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"

You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."

-- -- --

The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.

Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.

It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.

Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.

Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?

Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.

"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"

It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.

Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.

He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."

Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.

Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.

With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.

"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.

"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"

He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.

"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.

"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"

He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."

"Which is?"

Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.

It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.

"Joel—"

"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."

"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.

"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."

When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"

He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.

The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.

"Joel—"

"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"

You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.

Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.

You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.

If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.

Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.

Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.

"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.

Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.

You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"

"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."

Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."

You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—

Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.

"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."

His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.

"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"

Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.

Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.

"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."

tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!

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risuola · 9 months

Text

TOO MUCH — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Lately, it felt like not a second pass by without some new curse appearing somewhere in Japan and both you and Satoru had your hands full of work for few weeks, but when he comes back home, exhausted to the bone, his composure snaps and he unloads his frustration on you.

cw: angst, verbal abuse, hurt/little comfort, mentions of blood and hurt, reader is injured, mental exhaustion — 2,5k words

Too much. Too much of everything that piled up on Satoru's shoulders, weighing him down so heavily that he almost couldn't breathe. It felt like the world was on fire, curses crawling out of every shithole in Japan, most of them first or special grade, spreading nothing but death and chaos. So many people killed, so much blood and pain he had witnessed in the last few weeks, it drowned him in exhaustion and helplessness. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, and yet he felt so helpless in the current situation. He traveled from town to town, fighting these terrors, but the lives that had been taken away, he couldn't bring back, and he used to think that he was immune to it already. Turns out, one can never be immune enough.

You had your hands full with work as well, but you stayed in Tokyo. The situation drained your energy too, the cascading waves of sadness and sorrow made you feel like you couldn't think straight, but you pushed through. You felt so weak, but had to be strong, everyone had to be. All of your sorcerer friends were just as engaged in the fight as you were, just as tired and distressed, but the show must go on, as they say.

You and Gojo weren't officially a couple, though everyone knew you were together. You were friends, yes, the kind of friends who kiss and have sex. The kind of friends that use pet-names and fall asleep while cuddling naked. Shit, you lived together for a few months, you know everything about him and he knows just as much about you. And you were happy, sharing every moment. He always said that you bring him so much comfort, that he feels like he can be openly himself when he's with you and be accepted for it. Nothing could ever bring you more joy than the man you love feeling comfortable with you.

That being said, it wasn't the best time for your relationship slash situationship. He was more out of the house than in it, and you were just sleeping there, barely. It's been going on for a few weeks already, and it's just now it’s beginning to finally calm down. Few weeks of constant fighting for everyone involved in the jujutsu world, but it started to slow down. So you knew that Satoru would finally return home.

It's when you showered and put on your pajamas that you heard the keys twisting in the lock and the doors opening. Putting on a smile, you rushed to welcome Gojo home, but the moment you saw him, you knew he's extremely exhausted.

Satoru entered the house already annoyed by the conversation he had with Gakuganji a few moments before. That old fart had the audacity to nag him about his methods while he himself was sitting in his cave sipping green tea, not caring one bit that the world was drowning in curses and blood. He threw the keys on the shelf, kicked off his shoes and took off the blindfold, then looked at you, all clean and comfortable in your pajamas. He scoffed quietly.

He felt like his own body was falling apart, everything hurt, his head was pounding, his eyes were burning. Even though he was actively healing himself, the side effects of everything were getting to him. A few weeks of nonstop fighting, of domains, of reds, blues, and purples, and so much physical combat had left him hanging on the last thread of his composure. The usual mask of cheerful carelessness long gone.

Suddenly he wished he could enter the empty house, throw away his clothes, collapse on the bed dirty and just fall asleep, but he couldn't. You were there. And there was never a time in the past when he wouldn't be absolutely overjoyed to come home to you. Even when tired, he wanted nothing more than your arms around him. But not right now.

"Satoru, hey," you greeted him, keeping your voice soft and on the quiet side. You knew him so well, you could see how fatigued he was and frankly, you couldn't blame him. Being the strongest had its downsides, one of which was being very much in demand, and sadly, no one could take his place. "You're exhausted, huh?"

"Look at you, so damn perceptive," he snapped harshly, his eyes cold and empty as he looked down at you. He walked past you to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Are you hungry? I can make you someth-“

"No, just shut up, you cannot make me fucking anything," once again, his tone was cold as he snarled at you. It was the first time so much cyanide spilled out of his mouth and he just barely opened it. At first you tried to understand it. Things had been really draining lately and you knew he was angry because he was tired, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Alright," you sighed, deciding it's best not to get deeper into the conversation when he's so argumentative. "Do as you wish, get some rest, Satoru."

"You know, why instead of telling me what the hell to do, you just don't leave my house, huh?", Shut up Gojo, he screamed at himself subconsciously. "Why are you even here anyway?" Shut. Up. " All comfy when I'm constantly on the job?"

"I know you're tired, Satoru, but I've been on missions too. I'm tired too," you looked at him in defeat, unable to keep the smiley mask on. There was so much wrong in this situation, so much anger being thrown at you for no reason whatsoever, and you had every right in the world to be just as angry as he was, but you just chose not to. You wanted to welcome him home with warmth, comfort him, and keep him up even if you felt down. You wanted to soothe his aching body when yours hurt just as much. Or worse. You were badly injured during the last few battles, but Shoko had her hands so full, you told her you could wait, and you hid all those wounds from Gojo's eyes so as not to worry him.

"'Yeah, your little missions,'" he bit, and your brows furrowed at the sound of his words.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, slowly feeling the heat of anger coursing through your veins. "I'm first gra-"

"I don't care what you are. You're still nothing to me. I deal with real shit, not those..."

You slapped him. Or at least you tried, your hand stopping just short of his face, and it surprised you to realize his limitless was still on, even though he was home already. He was still in fight-or-flight mode, still feeling threatened enough to keep his defensive techniques activated.

"Just what do you think you're fucking doing?" he growled, taking your wrist into his grip, the squeeze shooting shockwaves of pain through your nervous system. "Did my words hurt you? Did the truth hurt you so badly that you thought you could actually hit me?", his tone had a taunting undertone, and when you looked into his blue eyes, you saw nothing but cold. "Funny little thing."

"Let go, Satoru."

"Oh, I will. And when I do, you'll get your useless ass out of here. I'm not your boyfriend, we just fuck, we're not in a goddamn relationship for you to be here all the time. I need my space."

Gojo hated every word that fell out of his mouth, but now he couldn't take them back or erase them, and he didn't exactly know how to act now that he had said them. Immediately, he let his limitless inactivate, hoping you'd want to slap him again. Shit, he'd even accept a kick in the balls, but you remained silent, just looking at him. He could tell by the way your eyes glistened in the sharp artificial light of his kitchen that there were tears threatening to come out, but you didn't cry. Your jaw clenched for a moment and you lowered your hand.

"Right," you exhaled deeply, feeling the hurt burn your heart and soul. The smoke of sadness already flowing through your veins, your cells, your mind. "You're right, we're not. Here," you performed a theatrical swing of your arm, displaying the interiors to him, "your fucking space. I'll let myself out."

"Y/n..." he tried, but you were already in the room, changing from your pj's to sweatpants. He stayed in the kitchen, hoping you'd just jump into bed and maybe cry about it all, and he'd just come back later and comfort you when he wasn't mad anymore, but it didn't go that way.

Once he saw you again, you were heading towards the door.

"Y/n stay, don't be silly, stop," he tried to grab you, but you slapped his hands away.

"What, does the almighty, fucking honored one wish to add something to his oh-so-wonderful speech?"

"No, I'm sorry, stay," he took your hand forcefully, pulling you into his chest, but you fought back, not wanting anything to do with him right now. He had said too much. You knew it was all driven by his exhaustion, but it was far too much.

"No, Gojo, I don't want to stay here. I'm more than pleased to leave you in your space. There's no damn reason for you to share your precious air with such a useless nothing."

"No, no, please," he begged, his anger slowly being overtaken by panic. The sound of his last name felt cold and unfamiliar as it rolled off your tongue. "I'm sorry, please stay. I didn't mean it. Fuck, I didn't mean any of it."

"Please, take your hands off me," you told him more quietly. You were tired and now emotionally drained as well. All you wanted from this evening was to cuddle up with him to sleep. To bask in his warmth, knowing he's safe and home, to feel his skin against yours, to breathe him in. But no.

"No, I won't," he lowered his head and buried his face in your neck. "Please, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm just so tired. I feel dead, there has been so much fighting and pain and suffering and death all around me these past few weeks. I'm sorry, y/n," his voice faded to whisper as he rambled against your pulse.

"Gojo..."

"I don't think you're useless or nothing. Fuck, what have I done" he was spiraling slowly into a panic attack. You could feel his heartbeat getting hectic, his breathing uneven, and his grip on you so tight it hurt. "I am nothing without you. Please stay."

"Gojo."

"I love you," he whispered, his tone breathless, and at first you thought you had heard him wrong. He had never told you that. Not even once. "I love you so fucking much, please. Slap me, kick me, punch me in the dick, I don't care. Just don't leave me. I'm so sorry."

"Satoru, please, it hurts..."

"Hurts?", he froze. What hurts? Did he hurt you? The thought frightened him, not only did he insult you for no damn reason and now he caused you pain? As if burned, he let go of you completely, raising his hands as if he wanted to keep them in sight so you knew he wouldn't hurt you anymore. "I'm sorry."

"I've been fighting for these weeks, too. I'm tired too. I would never compare myself to you, but I gave it my all, too," you exhaled deeply. "And I know you're exhausted, Satoru. So please go to bed and get some sleep. I'll just go home."

"Here is your home, with me."

"Here?", you briefly looked around. It was a place you loved because it was filled with him. It was where your heart wanted to be when you felt safest and happiest, but now... "Suddenly I feel like an intruder here. I feel like I shouldn't be here."

"No, please don't say that. Listen, y/n, love," he dropped to his knees, took your hands in his and kissed the tops of them gently and tenderly. "Please, stay with me. I'm an idiot. But I love you. And I need you here, I need you in my life. I want you by my side."

"So, what do you want us to be? You said we're just fucking. God, I thought we were at least friends, if not a couple, but..."

"I want us to be everything. I want you to be my friend, my partner, my lover, my wife and my entire world."

You sighed. Deep and slow, pushing the air out of your lungs, letting your whole body deflate as you took his hands and pulled him up.

"Go take a shower and come to bed. You need to sleep it off. I need to rest too."

Obeying, Satoru rushed to the bathroom and you made sure to lock the doors, turn off the lights and took the time to change back into your pajamas. Sitting on the bed, you finally felt the tears running down your face. They brought you some relief and you let them flow freely, desperate to get it out of you before Gojo came back. It pained you how wrong the evening went and you wondered if there was anything you did to cause it, but no. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve it. And you should leave him there alone, just as he wished for. Then why were you still here?

"Please don't cry," his long arms wrapped around you from behind, enveloping you in his warmth. The light sweet scent of his body wash pleasantly filled your airways and it's out of habit that you leaned into him. "Will you ever forgive me?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. Slowly, he laid you down on the pillows and took his usual place beside you.

"I will," you sighed, already feeling the discomfort. "But please, let's change sides."

Satoru didn't understand at first, but he did what you asked anyway. When he saw you exhale in relief as you turned to the other side, his brain clicked. Moving his hands in the most delicate way possible, he lifted your shirt a little, revealing the many layers of bandages, already tinged with red that was seeping through them slowly.

"God, you're wounded. That's what was hurting you when I held you... I had no idea why you didn't tel-, ah, because I was being an asshole, right," he sighed.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to tell you anyway. I'm fine, just Shoko had her hands full, so I told her I'd wait a day or two. It's just a scratch, really," you told him, fixing your shirt. "Please, let's get some sleep, okay? We'll talk about it all later."

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you to his chest and planting a kiss on the top of your head. It was only now that he could feel his body relax, with you right next to him, your heartbeat syncing with his own, and all of your loving aura filling his body. And he realized that the words he never had the balls to say out loud to you now felt natural, rolling off his tongue. "I love you so much."

"You idiot," you sighed, closing your eyes and slowly melting into his form. "I love you too."

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inupibaldspot · 3 months

Text

Even 12 years laters,your soul was in a color of kindness.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : purely self indulgent which I wrote when I was drunk so— some stuffs are funky

Gojo first met you when you where four.

He was five years old at that time too and was being escorted by a maid to go to the clan head meeting; he assumes you were also part of a clan brought by elders.

Normally, the white haired boy never really cared for other people. Why should he? He is the chosen one. He has the limitless technique plus the six eyes of the Gojo clan. He was the closest thing to God at this age. But today it was different.

He watched you turn your head around and stare at him, he could vividly remember the way your eyes shone with amazement either for something as superficial like his white hair or the fact he was recognized as The ‘Gojo Satoru.’

But after that amazement, you smiled. You smiled at him so bright, with the evening glow of sunlights made you so—so ethereal. Your smile was childish and that’s why it was simply pure; the white haired kid’s eyes silhouetted with the sunlight shone with surprise for he found you beautiful in ways he couldn’t describe.

Gojo looks away— he beat himself for looking away as that made him look standoffish. When he looks back, you were staring at him confused for why he didn’t greet you back.

The maid beside you turns and says something, as you nod and then walk away. Was it weird for Gojo to wish you would simply turn to him and introduce yourself? For years to come, he prayed that he’d love to hear your name; for your soul was in a color of kindness.

That chance came in twelve years later when he was a second year of his Jujutsu Tech. Him and his friends, Geto and Shoko wanted to meet the new first years. There is Nanami Kento, had a huge stick up his ass but that it self made him to be forever victim to Gojo’s pranks. Next was Haibara Yū, a bright eyed kid but Gojo found him to be a bit too— energetic for his taste.

And then you. I didn’t really need to describe Nanami and Haibara first because the first and only person he saw ever since he entered the first year’s classroom was you. Simply you. You sitting on the chair smiling bashfully at them. At him.

Ever since, every day. Without fail would rush to your side. At first you were confused as that is not the Gojo you remembered l; the one you saw and described to you by others were not this.

Nevertheless it warmed you up like a cool evening sun.

Gojo released quite early was you were kind, the type that would help others despite of her time , the type who would help every elderly by the street, the type who would feed strays and yada-yada-flowers and rainbows.

But that led to another realization. Had you truly different been treated differently?

Gojo's body tensed up. Any comfortable vibe he had felt before vanishing in an instant. He had known very well that you were a kind-hearted human being. Welcoming and warm. That made you so interesting. Your soul was so calm and simple and nice.

And even though he had observed you so closely before he wasn't able to recall any moment anymore where your own feelings had been obvious. You didn't stutter around boys.

You didn't blush. You didn't hesitate in a way which could be trailed back to her personal feelings.

Were you treating him like everyone else after all?

“Gojo?”

Your voice brought him back to sense, you were blinking curious, leaned close—so close.”what’s wrong?”

“Bring out your hand.” He smiles, as you did without question. “Guess the word I’m writing on your hand.” He smiles when the warmth from your hand soothe his nervous heartbeat.

“Eh—I’m not good at kanji!”

“That’s just too bad—!”

From then when ever Gojo feels anxious of everything—everything in this world he would play this game, with your fingers and her palm because his focus on you was more gravitating rather than that as you were simply too calming.

Geto felt slightly hesitant when he saw the type of Gojo he would become when he was by your side, he was a tad abit careless as if all of his six eyes were simply focused on you, he would be a tad bit kinder to the point Nanami gets the ick.

Where as Shoko had a blast!

She would make way towards you, give kisses on your cheeks gushing on how cute you were, wrapping her arms around you as she then sends a condescending look towards Gojo who was literally drowning in jealousy.

Shoko and you got close early on and more so because you two were the only two girls in those years. To the point where even a shy person like you was influenced to sneaking into a party with Shoko.

“Please don’t mess with my hair curler, Gojo.” You say as you look into the mirror, fixing your earring and from the corner of your eyes you could see Gojo holding up a lick of his hair into the hot iron.

Gojo peers over and immediately regrets it, you were in a short dress and high heel, hair curled so—cutely and boy, your face.

He looks away.

No, too cute.

He thought as he lets down the curling iron. Shoko peers out as she lets out a puff of smoke before passing it to Geto, who takes the cigarette in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want to come Gojo.” Shoko says. “I want a girls night.”

Gojo remember almost comically crying into his pillows as Geto nags him on ‘how woman don’t like clingy guys.’ He decides to forget Shoko and join you guys anyways.

He remembers being strangled by Shoko while you him a nervous smile trying to diffuse the situation.

Your nervous smile which made the world freeze to him, Geto sighs at the love sick look his white haired friend was giving you, who seemed so obvious to.

But don’t you remember when I said you were kind. You were kind like to help the cornered kid, the type who would volunteer to be with the loner kid, the type that picked Geto Suguru’s side.

Gojo sighs when when remembers Shoko saying you said something along the lines of ‘I don’t want Geto to be lonely along the path he takes…’

How stupid!

Gojo Satoru where ever he went would go around town mentally keeping sense of any cursed energy which could relay you back to him.

He meets you again though.

12 years later, while him and now—principle Yaga were walking along the hallways they sense a breach in security. He rushes over to first, see his once best-friend Geto Suguru by his current first year Okkotsu Yuta and secondly, you. Your eyes we’re nervously flying around before it lands on him and once again he was yours; Geto scoffs at the sight of Gojo’s expression when he was looking at you. He was almost worried that if you said ‘let’s join Geto’ with a plea—se, he just might. You just had that effect on Gojo.

But too bad, Geto was here to request war upon the Jujutsu Tech. On the 24 December, Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Gojo rushes through curses as he makes his way towards you; and when he does, he feels as if he can’t breath. “Can you come back…?” He takes a step closer.

You smile nervously,shaking your head as you watch him take another step closer to you, you felt his hands reach out and cup your face. His face was so close to yours, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the cold winter air. “Don’t kill me for doing this.” You we’re reminded that you guys were enemies and in a battlefield.

His face was closer now, his blue—beautiful blue eyes were slightly closed. You breath out. “I can’t kill you through your ‘Limitless’ Satoru…”

“Say it again.”

“Huh…?”

“My name. Satoru…”

You breath out. “Satoru…” The name you accidentally let out, felt so right.

“Fuck… say it a million time more, love.” Gojo laughs, slightly hoarse. “My limitless is never activated when I’m with you…”

before you realize his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, as you hands were tentatively placed on his chest, as his hand trails along to your waist you parts your lips for him, sighs in his mouth, and that small sound of pleasure drives him crazy, floods his body with heat and desire so intense the strongest sorcerer can hardly stand.

Your are pulled away from him, when a darker and tall man goes by. “Miguel!” Gojo listened to you say.

“I need you to focus.” The man says smiling, before he takes a stance to fight Gojo. And to Miguel credit, he does fend off Gojo well, so— well that he was ‘recruited’ by him.

The day ends with Gojo losing two of his best friends in different ways. Geto would be gone, into the afterlife ended by his own hands.

But you?

Where were you? Would he meet you again 12 years later? Love?

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