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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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butterflygirl738 (1)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn't that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You rush off the bus, stumbling as your toe hits the curb. You stagger and right yourself, rushing by the other passengers as they shuffle along the pavement. You cut across the grass into the parking lot and hurry towards the front doors of the box store. You're just on time to punch in.

You sweep in through the front door and wave at Claudia as she stands at the front door welcoming in customers. You flit around the displays of seasonal candy and dip in between customers and aisles until you get to the back of the store. Before you can key in the code, the lounge door opens. You back up as Drew, the store manager, steps out.

He stops and checks his watch. He curls his lip. You're not late. Not yet. Not unless he doesn't let you through.

"On the floor in the next minute," he demands.

"Yes, sir," you agree.

He steps out and lets the door fall behind him. You barely catch it as you spin through and keep the door open with your foot. You punch in your employee code. The screen blinks green. It's right on the hour.

You toss your bag on the shelf above and hang your jacket from one of the many bent hangers. Lilian pull the door back from against your toe and huffs as she steps out. You follow her. She's worked there about two decades too long.

You go out to your zone; with the vases, candlesticks, and lamps.

You wander around, waiting on any customer to come by and distract you from the slow grind of time. You rove around for the fifth time and relent to your mindless urges. You take out your phone and check your notifications. A couple of hearts and shares. You smile. You don't have too much time for more than work and everything else piling up around you. Your little corner of social media is your one escape.

A shadow steps into the same aisle as you. You hide your phone, slipping it into your back pocket, and smile at Drew doing his rounds. He marches toward you. You turn to tidy the shelf.

"Name tag."

You look down. "I got it..." your voice fizzles as you see the logo. It's the wrong one. "I'm so sorry--"

"You're more than entitled to have another job but once it starts interfering with his one..."

"It's not, sir, I'm sorry." You reach into your pocket and find your other name tag. You switch them out. "It was a long night."

He doesn't smile. He doesn't care and you know it. You don't make excuses a lot but some things you just can't control, no matter how much you wish you could.

"This is work." He sniffs and saunters away.

You stare after him. Yeah, it sure is. You prefer your other job. It's always quiet in the small boutique. That's probably not a great omen for your employment but the vintage re-seller is much calmer than the corporate discount depot. Some days, you can't handle all the people.

When you're sure the coast is clear, you take out your cell again. You hide in the corner with the decorative bowls. You rewatch your reel of the chrysalis moving ever so slightly. You're really excited for that one. You hope you didn't leave your window closed. The air gets too hot in your room.

You flip over to your messages. You key in a quick 'how's it going?' and hit send as you hear voices. You tuck away your phone and push your shoulders back. You strut up the aisle and greet the pair of older ladies with a smile.

"Hi, how are you today? Can I help you find something?" You ask.

"I think we can find the discount shelf, thank you," the red-haired woman retorts flippantly and rolls her eyes at her companion. "As I was saying, Gia is coming back next month..."

"Let me know if you need anything," you call after them softly and retreat to the next aisle.

You give it a couple minutes before you go back to scrolling. The women chatter about their children and their husbands. They have so much going on. Happy things they couldn't be more miserable about.

A message blips up, a small envelope in the margin. You pull down the menu and click on it. It's your mom.

'Just woke up. Can't find my water bottle.'

You type; 'I left a note by your bed. It's in the fridge with your dinner. Sorry if I worried you. Love you.'

She replies with only a heart. If she just woke up, it's likely all she can manage. You return a heart of your own and put your phone away. It's no longer a doorway to distraction; it's a reminder.

You stop just at the edge of the clothing section. If Drew catches you, he'll write you up again. You look at the pink paisley scarves hanging beside the tan purses on sale. That would look nice on mom. She needs a new one. Her cap is getting ratty.

Well, only seven and a half more hours, a bus ride home, and you can check on her.

🦋

The apartment is quiet as you enter. It usually is regardless of the time of day. It wasn’t always like that, but you understand why it is now.

You sanitize your hands and turn on the living room light. Your mom is on the couch, hugging a pillow, eyes closed. She looks peaceful. Despite that, you can’t let her stay there.

You drop your bag on the chair and near her. You gently touch her shoulder. “Mom, hey, you gotta go to bed.”

She grumbles, “I’m fine...”

“Mom,” you squeeze her, feeling the bone through her skin. She feels fragile.

She hums and bats your hand away lazily. She yawns and sits up. As she does, she blinks and touches her bald head. Her eyes round and she feels around the cushions. She pulls on the floral skullcap.

“How was work?” She asks as he keeps the pillow in her lap. The shirt that once fit her snugly, hangs over her chest loosely.

“It was work, that’s for sure,” you say chipperly. “But I got through it.”

“Did you eat?” She asks.

“Did you?” You counter.

“Some,” she shrugs.

You nod. She’s always nauseous. The doctor said she would be.

“Finish it,” she says. “Please, I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Sure,” you agree and turn to the chair. You flip open your bag and dig inside. You pull out the pink scarf, the fabric cool and sleek. “Here. It’s getting hotter out.”

You hand her the scarf. She admires the fabric between her fingers. “It’s pretty.”

“It’ll look great on you,” you assure her.

“You’re too sweet, pie.”

You smile at the nickname. She always calls you that. Ever since you stole that slice of pie in grade one after bed time. You’ll never forget your first crime.

“I need to eat and sleep. Somewhere in there, I need to shower. Tomorrow morning, right?”

“I can go alone.” She says.

“No, you won’t,” you insist as you go to the kitchen.

You go to the fridge and take out the container of grilled chicken, rice, and green beans. She had a little rice and veg but none of the chicken. You put it in the microwave.

You go to the doorway and peer into the living room. She wraps the scarf around her naked head and ties it. She peeks over her shoulder.

“Well? Is it a good colour for me?”

“You always look good in pink,” you assure her. “You need anything?”

“Yes, I need my daughter to take care of herself.” She grunts as she pushes herself up. She throws the pillow on the couch and stiffly waddles around. “I’m going to bed, okay?”

“I’m not coddling you,” you cross your arms. “I just don’t want to hear you whining when you’re all out of joint tomorrow.”

She sticks her tongue out at you and kisses her palm, opening it to you as she shuffles by.

“Get some sleep. I mean it.”

“Take your own advice,” you throw back and grin crookedly.

She waves you off and heads for her bedroom. You watch until her door snaps shut. You look down at the floor. The silence slowly rises around you, like water it getting deeper and deeper, until you could drown in it.

You jerk out of your trance as the microwave beeps. You spin and hurry across the small kitchen. You take a fork from the drawer and grab the container as it steams. You drop it on the counter to cool.

You hurry into the living room and grab your phone from your bag. You return to the kitchen as you twirl the fork in your hand. That notification remains; the one that blipped in an hour from close. A familiar subject line: OVERDUE.

In the morning. You continue to ignore it as you open up your Insta. You put the phone on your counter, leaning on the edge, and eat bite by bite as your scroll. Someone liked a few older posts from last year. That beautiful monarch you hatched and the green caterpillar on the log in the park.

You have a red admiral. Or so you hope. It’s a particular sort of patience you need to have for the hobby. If you can call it that.

Waiting and waiting to watch the chrysalis crack and bloom with large wings. A butterfly born and released off to flutter. It’s so beautiful but sombre at the same time. The small changes, the subtle twitch of the cocoon, it reminds you of the passing of time. Of the inevitable.

You rinse out the container and wash the fork. You set it all away and shut off the kitchen and front room lights. You scoop up your bag in the shadows and slink to your bedroom.

The light in there is duller. Softened to keep from affecting metamorphosis. You stretch out your neck as you drop your bag and phone. You go to the mesh hamper in the corner, covered with a dish towel on top. Through the holes you can see the sticks you set up on and angle and the cocoons hanging within.

The curtains stir and draw you back. It’s getting cooler. You close the window and bounce onto your bed. Half of it is covered in your clutter. The crinkle of paper has you straining to fish out the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill. You’re trying. So hard.

You toss them to the corner of the bed and fall onto your back. What if it’s not enough. You don’t think it is. The invoices outpace your checks. Your hours at work can’t measure up to those at the clinic. The chemo is draining your bank account as quickly as your mother’s body.

You put your hands over your forehead and sigh. Your eyes sting and a wobble of tears brim along the edges. You inhale deeply and wipe away the moisture.

No. You're not giving up. It’s too early to grieve. You won’t be doing that any time soon. You promised your mom that.

You sit up and grab your phone. You swipe around and open the app. You have a camera inside the hamper, recording in the chrysalises. It’s tedious and dull. One of your followers suggested a stream but you worried about the cameras picking up conversations or even just running up the internet bill. Besides, what’s there to watch?

You scan through to find the most interesting bits when you can. If there are any. You edit them into shorts and put them up on your page. People love it, much to your surprise. And you like answering questions. Sometimes, they even teach you something.

Ten new followers that day. It’s nothing compared to the beauty influencers or the fashion bloggers; or those gamers and their cult-like fans. It’s your own little space where nothing else can touch you. Where all you have to worry about is misting the cocoons so they don’t dry out.

There’s nothing bad there. No managers, no crowded bus rides, no doctor’s appointments, or red numbers. It’s where you can forget. It’s where you can fly. Reborn just like the butterflies.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #butterflygirl738 #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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imnez-daydreams · 2 days ago

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yeah you wish that i was yours (so do i)

pairing : andrew “pope” cody x reader

warnings : fighting, manhandling, choking, blood, licking of said blood, injury, jealousy, pope makes j watch him and reader, pope calls reader “kid”, “baby” n "my girl".

summary : what happens when you keep pushing pope to play fight with you. (except they are both also yearning idiots in love).

w/c : 2.6k words (yes i may have gotten carried away)

a/n : im super² sick but i could. not. get my ask and this thought from @erwinsvow out of my head so i decided to try and churn my inspiration from lovely shea into this fic. i just finished s1 and this is my first time writing pope so i hope i got his character okay :”)). apologies if this isn't the best work, i'm literally curled up and still burning up as i'm writing this booo. dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics. hope you enjoy !! do like, comment or reblog (or send hot soup) if you did <33

The first strike is the day when Pope gets out of prison.

You’re standing dumbstruck with your bought meal still in hand when you spot him sitting in the middle of the couch. He’s so … real this time. You must look like an idiot to the rest of the family, still in shock. (Maybe Pope would let you in on this secret later on in your relationship, but when he saw you again, he felt that you were as beautiful as the day he lost you).

Pope’s eyes travel down your frame, soaking in every detail of you, memorising you as if he didn't have every pixel of every picture you mailed him ingrained in the hardwires of his brain. When his eyes flit back up to meet yours, you feel something start to unlock behind those walls.

Your eye twitches when you notice how close Smurf is next to him. You hate how she’s already sunken her venomous claws back into Pope, probably starting to scheme how she can puppeteer him again. You want to save Pope, get him away from the void that sinks its teeth in you and never leaves, not entirely, even when you think you’re free. So you do the thing all Cody’s are good at, starting a fight.

“Move, you’re in my spot.” You try to keep your voice even as possible, as if seeing Pope in person after all these years didn’t sweep the rug out from under your feet.

“Hey lay off, Pope’s only been back a couple hours. And since when is that spot y-” You cut off Baz by squeezing in the free space that separates Pope from the end of the couch.

You make yourself comfortable, well as comfortable as you can being so close to Pope again, and place your feet in his lap (despite having more than enough space). Pope glances down at how you've made yourself at home in his lap, then at you. You raise an eyebrow, trying to seem unbothered and rest your side against the back of the couch.

The family starts talking about their business again, making you begin to lose interest. Just as your eyelids start to drop though, you catch Smurf smoothing her hand over Pope’s curls. Something stirs in you. The part of your brain that makes you do stupid things.

You kick your foot in Pope’s lap, wanting to annoy him. (Wanting him to pay attention to you instead). It works slightly, with him gripping your ankle. But he’s still looking forward. Staring out into space, shielded, guarded, as if the two of you didn't share secrets as kids. As if he wasn't your guard dog the moment he laid eyes on your trembling frame, when Smurf introduced you to the family shortly after she found Catherine. It’s not enough. So you put on a show. Making crude jokes, poking and prodding at him, laying on the snarky attitude.

Pope thinks this is unlike you, unlike his childhood sweetheart friend. He puts together that you must want something, not him obviously but maybe just some attention. Pope doesn't mean to be that aggressive, a sentiment he reserves only for you. But this new kid is unnerving him. It unsettles him, how J quietly laughs at your bad attempts of mean jokes, how his eyes occasionally roam over you. It's why he's been staring straight instead of at you. If Pope gets lost in the sight of you, he wouldn't be able to stand guard. Except J’s gaze dips down, making Pope follow his eyeline. Realising the kid has the nerve to travel his eyes down to the small bit of exposed skin, when your kicking of him makes your shirt ride up.

Pope’s jaw clenches and you think you've finally gotten to him. But he pounces on you so fast that you almost get whiplash.

What the fuck?

Pope is hovering over you, your wrists pinned by one hand, his knees spreading your legs apart to accommodate his frame. You feel his free hand sliding down the front of your shirt, but your confusion is quickly brushed off when Baz cuts in,

“Fuckin’ cut it out you two! I don’t need another headache right now.”

That signature heavy stare remains on you for a couple more seconds, almost like Pope is trying to decipher you. Then, he grunts and lets go of your hands, moving off the couch completely.

The second strike is when you both get into a screaming match. Well, more like you’re shouting and Pope is Pope still. The job had gone wrong and he had refused to accept your care until you had finished stitching up Deran’s bullet wound. Even though Pope was very visibly concussed and in pain. The whole time you attended to Deran, you kept stealing glances at Pope, just to make sure he was still alive and kicking (it's what you tell yourself), only to find him already staring straight at you. Keeping your tongue tied, you busied yourself with patching up the boys. Until they all went off, leaving you and Pope alone. Giving you the empty space to berate Pope for his lack of self-importance when it comes to his family.

“Drop it, kid.” Pope grumbles out, passing by you to take a drink from the fridge.

“No, no. You’re not doing to me (to yourself).” You respond, putting all your might into pushing his back that's facing you.

Pope feels the force from your shove, his strong arm slamming against the cool fridge door to brace himself. His shoulders are hunched. His head hung low. You can feel the tension brewing inside of him. That barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface. He straightens up when he swivels around, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I don't think you really want to play this game with me kid.” Pope stalks towards you, his footsteps not making a sound.

You scoff, meeting him halfway and getting in his face.

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose? Think y-” You don't get to finish your sentence because Pope’s hand wraps around your throat.

It’s light, not enough to constrict your airflow too much. He’s holding back again. You hate it. You hate him. That’s a lie you repeat to yourself when Pope slams your back to the wall. You despise him because even now in his anger, he still places his free hand behind your skull. Cushioning your pretty little head leaving your back to feel most of the ache. But you want more. More pain that only Pope can give to you. (Or maybe you want Pope to give his pain to you).

Pope tilts his head down to make sure you’re looking right at him. Closing the gap between you two, he whispers against your lips,

“If you play that game with me kid, the only way it ends is with you face down on my bed. I won't stop giving it to you, even if you're begging so sweetly. You want that huh? You want me?” Pope tightens his hold on your throat, but you can sense the vulnerability spilling out at the last sentence.

“Say, I’m sorry Andrew, c’mon kid.” Pope breaks eye contact to give you this command, whispering in your ear.

“I’m s-sorry … Andrew.” You manage to gasp out.

Satisfied, Pope softens his hold on you, rubbing the sensitive skin on your neck. He plants a soft kiss at the top of your head, so gentle you almost think you imagined it.

“Good. There’s my baby again.”

The last strike is when most of the family is lounging by the pool.

You can feel Pope staring at you.

Sometimes you think he stares harder when he thinks you aren't looking. Smurf’s out somewhere on a task so all the brothers are playing their usual game in the pool, wrestling and fighting over the ball. You’re basking in the sun, leaning sideways on your elbow by the side of the pool. Frowning when you keep noticing Pope playing rough with J. He doesn't deserve that. What better way to lessen that burden on him by putting it on yourself right? (Of course that's the only reason why, not to stop Pope from feeling outshined by a new arrival, totally not). You splash water at Pope, complaining how you're so bored, stating confidently that you could score against him.

“Alright’ kid, c’mon show me what you got then yeah?” Pope relents as he enters the pool again.

You feel giddy with excitement even though you know he's just doing this to get you to shut up.

…

Pope is barely tightening his hold on you from behind, giving you a fair chance to back out and win easily. But you don't want that. You want Pope to get aggressive with you, put his face all up in yours, make you submit to him. Why can't he just give you what you want? Why is he always so gentle with you? You know why deep down, but that doesn’t stop your emotions from getting the better of you.

You swing your arm back, decking Pope with your elbow. The blow makes him release you completely, and you swim up, up, up and finally breathe when your face exits the water. Easily scoring and celebrating when you climb out the pool, meeting J’s small grin and bumping shoulders with him. You nearly make his shot topple over.

“How about that huh?” You boast despite knowing you played dirty, but your cocky smile falls when J’s expression changes before he downs the shot.

You frown, turning back. Oh, shit. Pope’s emerged from the pool too, but his nose is dripping an obscene amount of blood. It trickles down his chin, his chest and stomach.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Pope. You okay? Here come on, I’ll get you cleaned up”. Running over to Pope, reaching for his arms to lead him back into the house.

But his hand catches you first.

One hand bounding both of your wrists.

“You can clean me up here just fine, kid.” Pope says so calmly, not even a little bothered about the blood gushing out and down.

‘Yeah okay, let me just get the first aid kit alright?”

“Kid.” Pope pulls you closer by your hands and walks you backwards.

“I said you can do it here. You’ve had such a mouth on you lately baby, let’s put it to good use yeah?”

Oh, fuck he can’t just say things like that.

The back of your legs hits a lounge chair. The one beside where J’s sitting on, eyes darting between the two of you.

“I’ll get out of your wa-”

“No. You're staying there.” Pope’s tone leaves no room for arguing, guarded eyes locking onto J.

Though when Pope looks back at you, his gaze softens the tiniest bit. Unnoticeable to anyone else, but not to you.

“Pope I- I’m really sorry oka-”

“Shhh, it’s okay kid. M’not mad.” Pope brushes your back with his free hand as he maneuvers the two of you on the empty seat, you atop his lap.

“Just want you to take care of me.” Pope whispers into your ear, private from J.

You furrow your brows at his words.

Oh.

Now you understand.

Of course Pope would see through you, he’s always seen you. The only one who had.

Pope reels back, just enough to meet your eyes with his intense gaze. An unspoken connection. One asking if you want to stop, keep your bond a sacred secret. The other responding to let them see, see who I belong to, that I belong to you.

The red string that ties the both of you coils protectively around your shared hearts. A beat passes, and you feel the red string relaxing.

Pope lets your hands go as he leans back into the seat, letting you crawl slightly back. You brace your arms, and lean down. The taste of copper fills your senses as you slowly drag your tongue up Pope’s abs. He shudders beneath your contact, not used to a caring touch. You make your way up to his chest, noticing his erratic breathing. Finally, you make it to Pope’s face, where most of the blood is smeared all over from his initial attempt of cleaning it off.

You meet Pope’s eyes. He’s already watching you. He’s always watching you.

Cradling his jaw with your hand, you scoop up the remaining scattered blood on your thumb. You bring your finger past your lips, not breaking eye contact with Pope.

He doesn't blink.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you, not since he caught the glimpse of you being all close to J.

In a blink, Pope smashes your lips together, hand pushing at the back of your neck, strong arm wrapping possessively around your waist. He shoves his tongue past your lips, swallowing up your sweet moans and tasting his own blood.

It's intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

All you can sense is his bruising grip on you, the metallic taste of his blood, his heavy breathing.

The big splashes of water as the other brothers fight in the pool, the overlapping shouts and quarreling, the clinking of shot glasses. None of that even registers in your mind.

All you can think and feel is Pope. Him, him, only him.

When you both slowly part for air, Pope rests his forehead against yours. Still breathing heavily, his hungry eyes dart down to the red string of saliva connecting from your lips to his.

“Hey! If you two are done being fuckin’ freaks, we could really use Pope and J back in the game!” Baz’s voice cuts through the intimate moment.

“Dude c’mon they were just getting to the good part.” Craig butts in and you have to resist rolling your eyes as you scoot away from Pope.

“Shows over. You boys have fun, but I’m gonna take my girl inside.” Pope announces much to their disappointment, you can already hear them arguing over how to settle the remaining rounds.

“That goes for you too, you can go now.” He deadpans to J, who if you didn't know any better, was tomato red all over from the hot sun.

“Oh y-yeah, of course.” J stutters out as he gets up and away from the two of you.

You barely contain your amusement as you turn back to Pope.

“You didn't have to do that, you know.” You mutter as you stand up from the edge of the seat, reaching out your hand to him.

“He kept looking and smiling at you, as if you didn't already belong to me.” Pope raises himself, slowly holding your soft hand in his.

You grin, knowing he knows that he's dodging your actual question. No words are needed, not when the shared eye contact speaks for the two of you.

You didn't have to let me take care of you in front of an audience.

I know, but I wanted you to. Wanted them to see, see who I belonged to.

Pope hesitantly interlocks his hand with yours, making you crack a smile. Him being oh so shy as if he didn't just have his tongue down your throat a moment ago.

“Thank you.” You whisper as you lead him back into the house.

Pope doesn't respond, just keeps burning his eyes into your frame. You don’t elaborate either, choosing to walk in silence. But it's not an uncomfortable silence, no. Not when your intrinsic bond is weaved beyond words. A whole chapter said with just his eyes meeting yours.

Thank you for letting me take care of you.

Thank you for letting me love you, in our own messed way.

The understanding flows through the red string connecting your hearts.

a/n : rly scared that i got his characterisation off so im sorry if it is :((. LISTENN ok i'm sorry, when i sent that ask I was in a much more feral mood, but since i got sick (again) I wanted some comfort and softness sprinkled in. hey don't look at me like that. tagging @callsign-fangirl bcs we go feral over shawn hatosy in chat. anyways hope you enjoy !! pretty please like, comment and reblog with your rambles if you did muaks <3 !

#pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody #andrew pope cody #animal kingdom

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berrryparfait · 2 days ago

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amortentia ! ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

‪‪‬♥︎ featuring: slytherin! sylus x hufflepuff! fem!reader | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: oh, how marvelous your school days were—going to class, brewing potions, befriending magical creatures... and getting tormented by that awful (and infuriatingly handsome) slytherin boy! 「you never forget your first love...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: hogwarts au, some angst, brief depictions of bullying, enemies-to-lovers, first love, character development, implied hea

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 9k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: harry in winter, neville's waltz, potter waltz (from harry potter and the goblet of fire)

✧ a/n: just a cliche little fic for yall. combining two things i love from the bottom of my heart and turning it into a story of life and first love... i leave this in your hands now, so i hope you love it as much as i do. i’ve included a number of references and easter eggs in this fic—click here for bts! <3

You’ll never forget those glorious days of your youth—Hogwarts really is and will always be your home. The wonderful friends you made, the lifelong lessons you learned, all of it can be traced back to that school, that magical place.

Ah, but you mustn't skip over that part; the story of your very first love. How an arrogant, horrible young boy turned out to be your greatest, most everlasting love. Your only true love.

It all began in third year, the year you discovered your witch-hood and transferred from muggle school. Little did you know, at the time, that a particular white-haired boy from Slytherin house was about to uproot your life…

...

You’ve just been placed in Hufflepuff. The house of the kind, they said. To be completely honest, you’re...excited about your first day of school. You’ve always been an introvert, but there’ll be other introverts around—from each and every house, surely. You won’t have to worry about bumping into boisterous Gryffindors or snobbish Ravenclaws, or even those especially awful Slytherins you’ve heard tales about.

Clutching your textbooks, you round the corner and stop short. Just your luck. A small boy in Hufflepuff robes dangles in midair in front of you, his face streaked with tears. A first-year, perhaps? Cackling in the corner are a group of Slytherin boys who look like they’re having the time of their lives, clutching their bellies as if this is the best thing that’s happened to them all year. You can’t believe it— Such an evil act in broad daylight is...is abhorrent!

Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and shout, “Put him down at once!” The bullies turn to stare at you, the smiles on their face vanishing for a brief second before returning in full force. Your cheeks flush and you try your best to stop your knees from shaking.

One of the boys recovers from his fit and begins to approach you, a sardonic grin twisting his lips. He’s the tallest of the bunch, with a head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight. His eyes are a deep, crimson red, piercing and intense. “Is there a problem?” he drawls, a hidden edge to his otherwise snarky exterior.

“Put him down, now. I won’t ask again.” Though your chin trembles and your hands have gone numb, you stand your ground, refusing to avert your gaze.

His jaw ticks, annoyance written all over his face. “I’m going to remember you, Hufflepuff,” he sneers as he stalks past you and down the neighboring corridor, his shoulder brushing yours as he passes. The boy is abruptly released from the invisible force as the other Slytherins follow their leader into the shadows.

In a moment of shocking clarity, you feel those red eyes glance back at you as you flee the other way.

What a horrible boy, going around scaring people like that! You exhale in relief when they disappear, counting your lucky stars. Still, something tells you this is only the beginning of a terrible—and likely very irritating—string of encounters…

As a result of your rash righteousness, you spent the rest of the year avoiding him—and failing miserably. He seemed to trail you everywhere you went, finding new ways to torment you each week. Every few days or so, he’d either pull a stupid prank on you in front of a million (utterly useless) students or spread some nasty rumor about you that thankfully wasn’t likely to gain much traction.

Most teenagers grew tired of watching the same show over and over again, and soon enough this rivalry of yours became a personal thing. Of course, there was the added effect of him having significantly more friends than you, but that didn’t mean you were unable to defend yourself when it mattered…

…

Why hasn’t anyone been working to find a cure for werewolfism if it’s that deadly? Where’s the urgency—the compassion for those poor werewolves?! You frown at the textbook in front of you, the lack of justice for werewolves muddling your mind.

Something is crawling up the side of your face. “AHH—!” you shriek, swatting the hairy spider away from you. Your vision blurs as your heart pounds so fast you think you might collapse on the spot. You’ve always been deathly afraid of spiders; a fear you’d acquired back when you’d been left on a stranger’s doorstep with nothing but gangly arachnids to keep you company.

“Is something the matter, Miss <y/n>?” The professor appears unamused as he squints at you, mild confusion in his tone.

Pulse stammering, you look down at the floor where the spider should have been...and find nothing. “T-There was a spider, r-right there—” you stammer, a bad, sinking feeling settling deep in your stomach.

You swivel around at the sound of a group of boys giggling uncontrollably, the mirth in their eyes cruel. “There was a spider, she said! Well, where is it? Tell us now so we can kill it!” the purple-haired Rafayel whistles, before proceeding to imitate your piercing scream. The entire class erupts in laughter, and hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

Sitting next to him is his best friend Sylus, a look of pure, spiteful satisfaction on his face. An illusion charm. A blinding rage consumes you, pumping through your veins like lava as you rise, your seat toppling over behind you. The professor can’t stop you. Your deskmate can’t convince you to sit back down. In this moment, you’re invincible. You storm toward the smirking rat so fast that the students you pass flinch away from you like a sea of startled turtles.

Time freezes as you deliver the hardest, most powerful punch you’d ever thought possible, your knuckles bruising from the impact. He’s nearly flung out of his seat, the shock in his eyes tangible. That stupid grin wiped off his perfect face. “What the—”

Your voice, surprisingly steady, cuts him off. “Don’t you ever bother me again. You hear me?! I swear on your bloodline that you will regret it. Leave. Me. Alone.” His friends have gone silent, their mouths hanging agape. The professor is too stunned to speak.

Sylus simply stares at you, a glaring red mark blooming on his cheekbone. His gaze never leaves yours, half-dumbfounded and half-…something else. You sashay out of the classroom, fully aware that your very condemning display just cost Hufflepuff ten points—possibly more. But you couldn’t care less. Today, you stood up for yourself, and it felt amazing.

What felt more amazing, however, was the way his scarlet eyes followed you all the way out the door.

…

On the very last day of school that year, right before summer break, Sylus came up to you in the Great Hall. He was alone, a rare sight considering (you believed, at least) he had an odd fear of being seen by himself.

He sauntered over with ease, a lazy grin playing on his lips. And though you hated to admit it, he truly was gorgeous. All sharp edges and hard lines. Yet there was a boyish sort of charm to him—one he would soon outgrow and trade for a more masculine allure, as you’d come to discover in the years ahead.

You drop your eyes to his hand in his pocket, not wanting to cause a scene on your last day. “What do you want, Sylus…” Exasperation saturates your words.

He appears almost wounded. “Do I have to want something to come and talk to you?”

“Stop playing around. You won’t be seeing me for the next couple months, alright? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Since you seem to dislike me or something…” You gather your books and begin to walk away from him.

“Dislike you? Whoever said that?” He’s as unbothered as ever, sharp canines visible from behind that lopsided smile of his. God, he’s annoying. Why does he have to look like that?

“You’ve spent the past year making my life a living hell!” Sure, life in the castle wouldn’t have been half as interesting without him testing your patience every other day, but you aren’t children anymore.

“Please. Even you have to admit that trick with the spider was a new level of genius, even for me.” Smooth as honey, evil as sin. It isn’t unbelievable in the slightest that he comes from one of the wealthiest pure-blood families in the country.

You huff at his ignorance. A part of you wants him to know just how sore of a spot he’d touched that day. Would it diminish your power act? Maybe. But you want him to feel guilty for what he did. To hurt, if only a little. “I don’t do well with spiders. My parents left me on a stranger’s doorstep when I was a child. It was riddled with them. I’ve been terrified of the creatures ever since.” You say it with confidence, as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. What if it doesn’t anymore? Distantly, a part of you wonders if you’re baring your vulnerabilities to him in an act of stupidity. But you’ve also made peace with the fact that this boy’s opinion matters less to you than that of an ant’s.

His lips part ever so slightly at your revelation, and he hesitates. What a foreign display, Sylus hesitating. “I apologize. I was unaware.” He only sounds partially apologetic. Forty percent, at best. But you don’t have time for his antics right now. He can miss the train, for all you care—you’re getting on that carriage if it’s the last damn thing you do.

“Okay. Bye.” You scurry past him as that tiny smirk returns to his face, so quickly it’s as if it had been begging to be set free.

“Don’t miss me too much, Hufflepuff,” he calls from behind you, a lightheartedness in his tone that has you questioning things.

Naturally, you roll your eyes instead of dealing with those things, and your third year ends there; with you running to board the Hogwarts Express, and Sylus left watching you leave, just as he had a million times before.

Your fourth year was as irritating as you’d expected. However much Sylus had bothered you the year before couldn’t compare to the endless teasing and dreadful clinging you had to deal with this time—for instead of pulling pranks on you, he’d started to talk to you.

He trailed you in hallways and whispered to you in classrooms, asking you stupid questions like, “Do you think I should start charging a fee every time I catch you staring at me?” and “I believe there’s a ball of lint somewhere on my robe. Care to remove it for me?”

God, he was a pesky one. Your interactions with him lacked hostility, but were somehow more difficult to deal with. How on earth were you supposed to respond to those questions? What is he trying to achieve here? It all puzzled you to no end. You tried your best to ignore him, but he was like a bad omen stuck to your clothes—permanent and a pain in your ass.

It goes without saying that he wasn’t above making fun of you from time to time. Him and his Slytherin buddies loved a good joke, but it was…different, that year. While his goal last semester had been to humiliate you, now it seemed he was merely after a reaction—any kind at all.

You’ll always remember that small corner of the library; books piled high on your desk, tears streaming down your face, and that insolent white-haired boy finding you at the worst possible time…

…

Again. You failed your Transfiguration test again. You just can’t seem to get it right! How embarrassing to be sitting here bawling my eyes out while all the other students are feasting away on their stupid treacle tarts and cauldron cakes and—

Someone’s coming towards you. You wipe your eyes on your sleeves and hastily sit up in your chair, suddenly acutely aware of how much of a mess you are right now.

Inquisitive red eyes meet yours. “Oh. It’s you,” you say between sniffles, the repulsion in your voice clear as day.

He grabs the chair beside you, spins it around, and plops down, resting his arms across the back like he owns the place. Your tears don’t seem to faze him, nor do they earn you any form of tact. “Looks like Hufflepuff here is missing out on the festivities. Displeased to see me, Myrtle?”

You know he meant it jokingly, but it stings more than it should. Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now? “Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now?”

He chokes out a laugh before reeling it in, pretending to be mindful of your current state. “A little. What’s wrong? Run-in with a spider, perchance?”

“Not funny, Sylus. I failed Transfiguration, okay? Now leave me alone… I don’t need to hear your weak attempts at rubbing it in…” You don’t know why you chose to be honest with him. The words just rolled off your tongue before you could stop yourself.

“If it makes you feel any better, I failed too.” You stare at him, surprised. Such sensitivity feels strange coming from the likes of him.

“Really?”

“No.” He laughs so hard he’s driven to tears, and though every inch of you wants to be mad, you end up fighting a smile of your own. This boy and his stupid, contagious laugh.

Maybe you feel a little better. It’s impossible to tell—all you want to do right now is smack him on the shoulder. So you do, lightly.

His laughter fades and your sniffles slow to a halt, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. Suspend your disbelief, and this almost feels like a comfortable moment between…friends.

Friends? No, that doesn’t seem right. He still pisses you off to no end.

Noticing the awkward silence, he jolts back into annoying mode and coos, “Gullible as ever, Hufflepuff. Good to know that’s a constant.”

It rubs you the wrong way. Instantly, your mood is soured and you no longer want to sit here and play-fight with him. “Great. I’m so glad to hear I’ll always be the same old, gullible me. Always the one getting taken advantage of, right, Sylus?” No response. “I hope you got what you came here for.”

He’s no longer laughing. “That’s not what I—” You don’t hear his feeble protests. You’re already rushing out of the booth.

You know you’re overreacting, but something about him makes it so hard to react…normally. Don’t turn around, you tell yourself. Because even though you can’t see him, you know he’s tracking your every movement.

Fifth year was a tumultuous whirlwind of mess, feelings and blurred lines. You were to sit for your O.W.L.s that year, and you were hell-bent on besting Sylus this time around. How you loathed the way he always managed to achieve top scores while barely paying attention in class. It wasn’t fair.

However, most students seemed far more concerned with another event set to take place on school grounds: the Triwizard Tournament…

…

The tournament has been nothing short of exhilarating. You have to admit, despite your insistence on focusing on your studies this year, you too have been swept up in the heat of competition. Everywhere you go, excitement buzzes in the air, the entire school in silent support of their champion.

Caleb Xia—the charming Gryffindor boy whose name had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire—happens to be one of Hogwarts’ most popular students, and you find yourself rooting for him, too. He’s easy on the eyes and a menace on the Quidditch pitch—a deadly combination.

He’s looked at you once, from across the main courtyard, and you’d blushed so hard your friends teased you for days.

The first task concluded a week ago, with Caleb emerging victorious. Everyone went positively out of their minds, plastering his handsome face on every wall and cheering wherever he went. You cheered too, naturally, though you’d never really expected him to notice a wallflower like you.

You were wrong.

Caleb Xia began to say hello to you. You. It started with simple waves from a few feet away and eventually progressed to him coming up to you and asking what you were up to after class. It still baffles you, the fact that a high-flyer like him would be romantically interested in you, but it feels…nice, to be noticed in that way. He’s sweet, polite, and genuinely compassionate—all traits you hold in the highest regard.

It goes without saying that Sylus has been observing you and your new suitor. He’s mellowed down a little since last year, but a dark presence still trails him like a cloak, the intensity in his gaze grounding.

“How’s loverboy?” he hums, low and calculating.

You bumped into him at The Three Broomsticks and decided to sit down for a drink. Butterbeer, of course. Sylus and his underage drinking have nothing to do with you. “We’re just friends.” It’s the truth—for now, at least.

“Right. And you’re the Triwizard champion.” He takes a slow sip of beer from his cup. Amusement plays at his lips, but his words carry a blade barely sheathed. “I saw you making goo-goo eyes at him earlier.”

“Happy to hear you’re looking out for me,” you chirp in response.

He rolls his eyes, a not-quite-smile tugging at his lips. “Please. As if you’d ever get yourself into any kind of situation.”

A primary gear in you shifts, dangerously, and you feel a sudden urge to do something rash. To prove him wrong. You snatch his mug and chug the remnants of the beer, gulping it down as it drips past your chin.

He raises his eyebrows, mildly amused and probably a little concerned. You've got that lightweight quality to you, and it doesn’t take an expert to notice. “I’m impressed, Hufflepuff. Now, can you hold it?”

Your face grows warm as you struggle to think of a coherent response. I’m not drunk I’m not drunk I’m not drunk— ��D’uh…” Damn it, you’re drunk. Buzzed, maybe? You don’t know the difference. Whatever it is, you’re sober enough to make out his next words.

“One pint. You humor me, you know.”

Your mind clears a little—it was only beer, after all. “I told you, I’m not drunk. You’re getting on my nerves now. Bye.”

He puts a hand on your elbow, steadying you as you hop off the barstool. “Not so fast, Puff. You’re tipsy. Let me take you back to the castle.”

You swat his arm away. “Stop pretending to care! It won’t work on me! Oh, look, she’s here—” Your friend walks into the tavern and spots you, in your wobbly state, making your way toward the door. She sighs and grabs you by the waist, steering you in the right direction.

“To the castle!” you shout, throwing one last glare at Sylus.

He sits in silence, your cup of butterbeer in hand, watching you leave.

…

Utter chaos.

The Yule Ball is fast approaching, and the student body couldn't be more ready for a night of dancing and fancy dresses. The air hums with electricity, alive with the prospect of flirting and courtship and mysterious suitors—none of which you had much interest in before, but…things change. Hope fills you at the thought of him asking you to the ball, a feeling you welcome with open arms.

Caleb Xia is a dream come true. And the best part? He’s interested in you. So interested he goes out of his way to sit next to you in the Great Hall, offering you his potatoes after you’ve finished yours.

So why hasn’t he asked you yet? The ball is taking place in two days.

Surprisingly, Sylus doesn’t have a date yet either. It doesn't make any sense—everyone practically throws themselves at him every chance they get. How is he having trouble finding a dance partner? To think he had the nerve to comment on your dire lack of a date when he clearly isn’t any better off…

“Still no date, Hufflepuff? Huh. That’s unexpected.” He said it sarcastically (as usual), which ticked you off.

“I could say the same about you, prick. Relieved to know your fanclub has finally come to its senses.”

He sneered at you then, but was there something else he wanted to say to you at the time? Now that you’re thinking about it, he did linger a little more than usual that day…

Whatever. Who cares what Sylus had to say? Besides, there’s still a chance Caleb might ask you to the ball. Patience, patience…

Speak of the angel.

Caleb walks up to you, drenched in sweat after what you can only assume was an intense Quidditch practice. “Sorry I’m late. I have something to ask you.”

Your heart leaps. You dreamed of this moment. Literally. “What is it?”

“Will you be my date to the ball? I know this is short notice, but I think we’ll have a great time together.” A shy smile. Earnest, sincere eyes. How could anyone possibly decline such an invitation?

“I think we will!”

…

Snowflakes glisten like crystals midair, winking at you playfully as you make your way down the grand staircase. They’ve really outdone themselves with the festive decorations—pearly white snow covers the ground, and powdered Christmas trees stand around every corner.

And of course, you’re dressed for the occasion. You picked out a gorgeous off-shoulder gown just yesterday, the dark red fabric cascading around you in majestic waves bound to draw plenty of second glances. Your bosom is tightly secured by an off-shoulder lace corset, and your pointed heels are just an inch too high.

You feel beautiful.

Caleb waits at the foot of the staircase, his mouth slightly agape in awe of your appearance. Standing further behind him, in the shadows, is none other than your nemesis, You-Know-Who. His gaze rakes over you as you glide down the stone steps, dark and dreadful.

You take Caleb’s outstretched hand, and he smirks at the scene before him.

Take that, Sylus. I’m here with a Triwizard champion. Who are you with? Oh, no one? What a shame…

Your inflated thoughts are brutally popped by the sight of a stunning young woman in pastel blue looping her arm through his. It doesn’t take you long to identify her—you’ve been watching her all year, in the crowd. The Beauxbatons champion. The Beauxbatons champion is Sylus’ date.

It’s like the wind has been knocked out of your lungs. “Are you…alright?” Caleb sounds concerned.

"I’m fine. Just a little hard to breathe in this corset," you reply casually, with a hint of humor.

The rest of the night involves a lot of dancing, during which you cast hesitant glances in Sylus’ direction. Really?! The Beauxbatons champion?! She’s ethereal! And so out of his league! They look like the perfect couple, gracefully waltzing to the music while getting lost in each other’s eyes…

It sickens you.

The crowd dies down towards the end of the night, most students trading their cheering and elaborate waltzes for slow dancing and mocktails. Caleb went to the washroom and hasn’t returned since. So here you are, sipping your glass in silence with no one to socialize with.

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps and are greeted by a crisp, very expensive-looking set of robes. He’s dressed head to toe in jet black, silver embroidery decorating his cuffs and collar with meticulous detail. Devastatingly handsome, deathly irritating. You roll your eyes.

“Lost your date?” Though his voice drips with honey, for the first time ever, he doesn’t look so disgustingly pleased with himself.

You decide to humor him. “Lost yours?”

“It seems my dance partner has fled to the toilet with yours.” He says it with disdain, as if the word “toilet” insults his dignity.

An unexpected anger rises to the surface then—and it has nothing to do with Caleb. You realize you couldn’t care less if he were making out with another girl or stealing a Mandrake from the Herbology greenhouses.

You’re furious at Sylus for trying to make you feel less than. What exactly did he hope to achieve by feeding you this information? Did he get some kind of sick kick out of your reaction?

No, that’s not it… You’re missing something. There’s a gaping hole in your emotions, one you can’t explain. It’s like he’s complicating things. Muddying them. The words fly out of your mouth in a failed attempt to untangle your mess of feelings.

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t working on me.”

He crinkles his brows, taken aback. “What are you talking about?” There’s no more sarcasm. No more mockery.

“This. You’re trying to-to trick me or deceive me or—play with my—” You pause, frustrated by your inability to put your feelings into words. “It’s not going to work. You can’t use this against me.”

A shadow passes over Sylus’ face, and—for a split second—he looks like one of those Death Eaters you learned about last year. He curls his lip into a sneer. “All you had to do was ask.”

You’re stunned into silence. What on earth does that mean? “Huh?”

He seems even more offended by your ignorance. “Don’t pretend. I waited until yesterday to ask her, and she said yes. It’s not my fault.”

Understanding clicks, and it does nothing to tame your indignation. You don’t want to address it—not even in your head. You’d rather shove it down deep and ignore it for all eternity. A whole minute passes before you decide that this is too much to deal with tonight.

“You’re an asshole. I never want to speak to you again.”

You turn around and make a run for the exit, nearly tripping over the elaborate skirt of your dress in the process. Suddenly, it’s as if your corset is squeezing the life out of your lungs.

Your heart feels almost as heavy as his gaze on your back, weighing you down with every desperate step you take. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you’re determined not to let them fall.

Everything is a mess right now. Your night has been effectively ruined, and you still can’t quite figure out why your body feels like a ticking time bomb and your pride has shattered into a million pieces.

But just like how no one’s discovered a cure for werewolfism, it isn’t that simple.

Soon after, your fifth year came to an end. You aced your O.W.L.s and celebrated Caleb Xia’s victory—toward whom you held no ill will, truly. It turned out he’d been in love with the Beauxbatons champion all along and was only trying to make her jealous at the ball. Maybe you should’ve felt vexed at being blindsided, but you mostly felt… indifferent. All power to him.

You figured this was the innocent kind of infatuation they talked about—the kind you quickly forgot once bigger things came along.

As for Sylus… you avoided him for the rest of the year, neither of you making any attempt to reach out after that night. Part of you felt a little embarrassed by your harshness, but another part insisted he deserved it. How dare he complain about not being asked, when he could’ve asked you himself?

Regardless, none of that mattered anymore—your sixth year was about to begin…

…

“Alright, class. Today, you’ll be learning about Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what Amortentia is?”

Someone answers, “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world, Professor. A single drop can stir a powerful obsession with the maker, and it’s said to smell like the things a person desires most.”

You stare at the swirling potion on the professor’s desk, its enchanting white sheen inviting. The first thought that occurs to you is how dangerous this potion could be in the wrong hands. Love is the strongest force in the world—and the evil this concoction could unleash is unspeakable.

“As part of today’s lesson, you’ll each be making a vial of Amortentia. However, I must caution you all that the use of any amount of this potion on other students is strictly prohibited. Take this as a learning experience and a learning experience alone.”

After setting up your cauldron and gathering the required ingredients, it’s time to get to work. You hear Rafayel whisper something to Sylus somewhere behind you and try your best to drown out their conversation.

You and Sylus haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. Ever since the ball, it’s as if he’s been avoiding you just as much as you’ve been avoiding him. I don’t care. It’s not like I want him anywhere near me anyway.

"The potion bubbles and glows in the cauldron before you, and it’s as if you can feel its magic brewing beneath your fingertips. All at once, you’re hit with a wave of potent aromas and heady emotion.

Freshly-picked flowers. The pages of old books. Warm loaves of bread…

A final scent hits you then, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s strong. Pleasant. Familiar—too familiar.

You spin around to see Sylus at the back of the classroom, silently cracking up at something Rafayel said. They both look positively unhinged.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

…

The Potions professor asked you to speak with him after class, so you ended up being the last student to transfer your potion into a vial. By then, the transparent vials had run out, and an opaque one had to be fished out of the storage room for you. A small matter.

Now, you’re running to the edge of the forest for your next class: Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve always rather enjoyed this class; animals have always been drawn to you—and you to them.

“This is a hippogriff.” The professor gestures toward a feathered, winged beast, though it isn’t quite a bird. It caws softly at its introduction. “You were supposed to meet this fellow in your third year. However, with the old professor going missing and turning up dead and all—” You wince at the memory of Professor Beans’ death.

As she goes on about the origins of the hippogriff, you reach into your bag for a sip of water—and realize your tiny vial of Amortentia has vanished. No. No no no—

A movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s Sylus, in his haphazard Slytherin robes, taking a sip from your opaque potion vial. The very same one—

Oh no.

“Now, are there any volunteers?”

You startle at the question, every inch of you tensing in panic. Far too soon. Everything is happening all at once—

“No volunteers? Alright then. Miss <y/n>, Sylus, come up to the front.”

Oh no.

Slowly, you inch toward the hippogriff, unsure whether to be more wary of it or the fidgeting boy beside you. You glance at him suspiciously, anticipating any…strange behavior. His expression is unreadable, but you get the distinct feeling he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“With my help, you’re both going to mount him. You should be back in no time.”

You still. “What?”

No time is wasted. She guides you to the creature’s side and helps you onto its back. Its feathers bristle slightly at the added weight, but it generally responds warmly to your presence. The same can’t be said for Sylus. It resists his touch, crying out once or twice as if distrustful of him. Sylus flinches in kind. Is he… scared?

It’s an amusing thought—but his chest brushing against your back abruptly pulls your thoughts back to his ingestion of your love potion, and once again, your pulse picks up speed. You have no idea what to think, what to feel— Does he hate you? Is he thinking unsavory thoughts at this very moment? Will the effects of the potion last forever—

“Hold tight, Hufflepuff,” he whispers in your ear—and the world disappears beneath you.

Cool wind breezes through your hair as you soar over the forest grounds, large wings flapping on either side of you and a grounding warmth around your waist.

It’s magical. You wish you could bottle this moment and save it for your darkest days.

You’ve never seen sights quite like this: the sprawling castle with its many towers, winding pathways leading to Hogsmeade, huts and fires set up for travelers far below. Breathtaking.

“Wait, why isn’t he going back down?!” you shout over the roaring in your ears. It’s been about ten minutes, and the hippogriff shows no sign of returning to class.

“I don’t know! Look, he’s headed for the mountain pass—” Sylus yells back, pointing towards the giant row of mountains south of Hogwarts.

He lands smoothly, a gust of wind kicking up the loose dirt at the cliff’s edge. You slide off his back with a “thud”, and he nuzzles his beak against your hand. Sylus is practically thrown off and poked at disdainfully, to which he scoffs, glaring daggers at the winged beast.

It makes you laugh, and he turns to look at you—really look at you—for the first time in months.

“This isn’t quite how I’d expected to spend my evening, but here we are.”

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, gazing out at the shimmering lake below. The sky is awash in hues of orange, pink, and gold, bathing you both in an almost ethereal light. Sunset.

His eyes are on you as he says, “It’s…alright.”

Together, you move to sit at the cliff’s edge, your feet dangling over. The silence is comfortable, peaceful. He isn’t acting strange, so the Amortentia must not have affected him—thank god.

You feel the sudden urge to say something.

“Why haven’t you—” “I’ve been wanting to—” you both start at the same time. Ugh. So much for “not awkward”.

He recovers first. “Wait.” A faint note of desperation laces his otherwise steady voice. “I have no interest in playing any more of these games.” His steely gaze is locked on yours, intense and sincere.

“What games? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all year.”

He squints. “I assumed you hated me.”

A ball of guilt lodges itself between your ribs, cold and selfish. To this day, his formal way of speaking still endears him to you. “…I don’t hate you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve—a puzzle he’s desperate to unravel, so achingly it might kill him if he can’t. “I wanted to ask you. To the ball.”

It stings. “I figured.”

“He had a habit of getting in the way,” he chuckles wryly, that familiar darkness flickering across his face. “Did you love him?”

You shake your head without pausing to think. “Nope. Never did.” You feel lighter. This genuine conversation with him is…nice. “What about you? You ever like her?”

He shakes his head. “I had my reasons for asking, and she had her reasons for saying yes.” You can’t explain the rush of relief that floods you then.

Minutes pass as you talk about dreams, family, and the past—learning things about each other you never thought to ask. You lose yourself in his company, a fragile, delicate thread pulling you closer, twisting your lips into a smile. You learn about his desire to become an Auror, his complicated relationship with his pure-blooded parents, and his particular fondness for sweet treats. You tell him about your experience in foster homes—both good and bad—and what it was like discovering you were a witch.

The exchange is light, yet a tinge of regret punctuates your mood. You’re halfway through your sixth year. If only you’d gotten to know him sooner…

“What, disappointed you never got to date me, Hufflepuff?” He sees right through you, and the mood shifts. Static electricity crackles in the space between your bodies, and that bittersweet feeling somehow intensifies. You roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile.

No. Your stomach drops, the fuzzy bliss fading from your head. The love potion.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re a horrible person. You have to come clean. “The vial you drank from earlier—it was mine. You drank my love potion and now you’re in love with me but it isn’t real so you have to snap out of it, okay? God, I’m so sorry—”

You would’ve kept rambling if it weren’t for the fit of laughter he suddenly bursts into. He’s clutching his belly, wheezing as tears form in the corners of his eyes.

“What’s…so funny?”

“That wasn’t your love potion. How would I even have gotten my hands on it? Use that brain of yours, silly.”

Okay, now you’re really lost. “Huh? I swear I couldn’t find it…” You dig around in your satchel and gasp when your fingers close around a familiar vial—opaque and very much there. “Oh my god.”

He grins that snarky, boyish grin at you, and your stomach flips.

Your cheeks flush pink as you half-heartedly jab at his arm, the most flustered you’ve ever been in your life. As usual, your first instinct is to lash out at him. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?! I thought I was taking advantage of you! I thought I was being a complete idiot!”

Sylus simply stares at you, a dreamy, enraptured look on his slightly rosy face. He looks positively bewitched. “I like it when you yell at me.”

You stutter, at a loss for words. How…infuriating! You huff at him defiantly, but your heart feels full and warm.

Something still pokes at your conscience. “Wait… We have the exact same vial. If you didn’t drink Amortentia earlier, what did you drink?”

He beams at you impishly. Victoriously.

“Liquid Luck.”

…

You stand by the open doors of the Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, bidding your friends goodbye and wishing them a happy summer holiday.

A tall, lean figure appears behind you. “Leaving so soon?”

Your face warms at his voice, and you try your best to hide it—though something tells you you can’t hide from him, not anymore. “My family’s waiting outside. We’re travelling this summer.”

He nods, a hint of disappointment crossing his features. “Will you write back?” Knowing him, he tries to act nonchalant, but you hear the subtle fear in his voice.

“I will,” you say, and you mean it. “I’ve really got to go… Bye.” You smile sweetly at him and wave, and he returns the gesture. See you next semester, Sylus.

You turn to leave for King’s Cross, your sixth year at Hogwarts now behind you.

Summer came and went, a dizzying rush of new beginnings and many, many letters. You kept your word, writing back almost instantly each time a new package arrived in the mail, your fingertips tracing the cursive letters that spelled out your name. His script. His scent.

You felt close to him, even though you were away for most of the holiday. So many times, you wished you could be near him. He told you about his new kitten and his strange difficulty casting a Patronus charm. You replied with a few possible solutions, but he’d struggled to think of many happy memories growing up—Something to work on later, you made a mental note.

Subconsciously, you counted down the days until you could see him again. Of course, there were your N.E.W.T.s to focus on—you placed great importance on pursuing your dream career as a magizoologist—but spending your final year at Hogwarts with Sylus felt like a dream in itself. One you desperately didn’t want to end…

…

“Never thought to visit Hogsmeade at this hour.” Your breath fogs as you take in your surroundings.

The village is quiet—fast asleep. A few windows still flicker with candlelight, but not a soul stirs on the streets. The streetlamps cast a soft, hazy glow, their light barely cutting through the mist, shadows dancing along your profile.

It’s enchanting, strolling with Sylus like this. Just the two of you tonight.

His plush Slytherin scarf sits snug around his neck. “Naturally. Ever the follower of rules,” he teases. You punch him in the arm and he sniggers.

It’s still surreal to you, the fact that you’re going out with Sylus, of all people. Your mind flashes back to the days he used to tug on your robes and laugh at your walk, the pesky little scoundrel who went out of his way to make your life miserable. Somewhere along the way, that boy grew up, and now you spend most of your time exchanging flirtatious glances and wishing he would just hold your hand.

As if reading your mind (again) he slips his hand from his pocket and wraps it around yours. It’s large in comparison, warm. Your skin prickles with nerves—the delicious kind—and an uncontrollable urge to kiss him compels you.

You stop in your tracks, and he does too. A single snowflake lands on his lashes. You reach up with your free hand to brush it away. Rising onto your tiptoes, you lean in, and he doesn’t pull away…

“STUDENTS SNEAKING OUT! THERE’S STUDENTS IN THE VILLAGE!” someone howls, and you’re startled away from him.

A devastating smile curls his mouth, and for a second, your need to kiss him senseless only multiplies. He tightens his grip around your hand. “Run?”

You nod and race off into the night with him, laughter bubbling up your throat.

…

For eight whole months, you and Sylus were inseparable. You studied together, went to parties together, snuck into the forest together… You even supported him at his Quidditch games, biting your lip as your eyes searched for the white-haired Beater in the opponent’s robes.

For eight whole months, you were completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.

But good things, as you’d soon come to learn, were never meant to last forever.

…

Your N.E.W.T.s went well, and now all that remains is to make a strong impression on the Ministry officials visiting the school this week. If you're lucky, you'll be earmarked as a potential hire in the Beast Division—and finally, you'll have reason to celebrate a successful final year.

It’s a grand affair, with students and Ministry employees swarming the place. Pleasantries are exchanged, hands shaken, introductions made, and though your capacity for socializing is wearing thin, the noble art of “networking” must be seen through.

The head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a stern-looking elderly woman, approaches you, having heard of your active involvement in the conservation of magical beasts. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is actually happening— A wave of anxious nausea threatens to seize you, but then you glance across the room. Sylus catches your eye and winks. Reassuring. Confident in your abilities.

You take a deep breath and introduce yourself. After that, everything flows naturally. You talk about your passions, your journey, and what led you to fall in love with magizoology. She listens—captivated—and your confidence builds with each word. By the end of it, you're left with a glowing sense of pride. I deserve this.

"I have to say, Miss <y/n>, I’m impressed by your knowledge of the subject and your conviction to expand the realm of magical research. It’s rare for someone your age to show such unwavering compassion, and I must applaud that to the highest degree.” Her voice is frail, yet her gaze is ironclad. “I’d like to offer you a rare opportunity: an internship at the Beast Division, where you’ll be working directly under me.”

The smile that stretches across your face is so wide it hurts. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the sun’s rays warm against your back. Years of determination have led up to this. I can’t wait to tell him.

After profusely thanking the lady for her generous offer, you reconvene with Sylus outside the hall. From the way you’re beaming like a psychopath, it’s not hard to tell things went well.

He smirks at your squealing, pride glinting in the crimson pools of his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you you had it in the bag?”

Bursting with untapped glee, you wrap your arms around his middle and pull him into a suffocatingly tight embrace. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He places a hand on your head as he returns your squeeze, his breaths coming out short and uneven.

Oops. You almost forgot to ask how it went for him. “And…you?”

He hesitates for a second, a shadow of doubt passing over his face. “…It’s hardly anything to celebrate. Don’t worry about me. I want to hear everything about your interview with the beast lady.” A small smile touches his lips, but it’s false—you can tell right away.

“Hey! You’re evading my question. How did it go? You know you can tell me.”

Sylus shrugs, as if what he’s about to say holds little importance, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’ve been offered a spot as a Junior Auror. It’s no big deal.”

Your mouth falls open. “Sylus, this is amazing. It takes years to become an Auror, and they’ve just handed it to you—! They must know how brilliant you are at Defence Against the Dark Arts. You have to accept it immediately—”

“MACUSA. Junior Auror at MACUSA,” he interrupts, staring at the ground.

MACUSA? America? The realization dawns, and you nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Oh.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s no matter. I don’t plan on leaving, so it doesn’t concern me.”

“Why not? Sylus, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m perfectly capable of working my way up here. The British Ministry needs Aurors. I’ll do just fine taking the regular route.”

The unspoken truth hangs in the air, but you understand it immediately. He doesn’t want to leave you. He’s willing to pass up a lightning-strike chance just to stay by your side.

No. You won’t allow it.

…

Your last week of school was the worst week of your life.

You tried to act distant, as if you had no interest in spending time with him, when in truth, all you really wanted was to nuzzle up next to him and tell him how sorry you were. Sorry you had to put up this act for his own good. Sorry for disrespecting his decisions.

Sorry for loving him so much that you couldn’t bear to watch him sacrifice his dreams for you.

You hadn’t told him you loved him—not yet. And now you never will.

It tears you apart each time you brush him off, leaving him looking wounded and confused. You feel like a villain, when all you’re trying to do is give him the one thing you possibly can.

So here you are, brisk walking in the rain towards the Hogwarts Express. The train doors should be closing any minute now.

A MACUSA carriage had been sent to the castle to escort students of interest to New York. You need him to get on that carriage.

You need him away from the train.

“Wait—” he calls from behind you. He’s caught up to you. Shit. The harsh pitter-patter of raindrops fills your ears, cold rainwater drenching you, soaking you to the bone. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The quaver in his voice is like a stab to your gut. You spin around so violently he flinches.

Everyone else has boarded—you’re the only students left. Bracing yourself, you bite out the most painful words you’ve ever had to say. “Stop bothering me! Haven’t you taken the hint?!”

The hurt in his eyes is palpable. Somewhere, deep inside, he refuses to believe you’d toss him aside like this. There has to be another reason—something he hasn’t accounted for, a past grievance he never addressed— “I’m sorry for tormenting you when we were children,” he says quietly.

He’s desperate, lost.

“This has nothing to do with that!” you spit, bitterness coating your tongue. “I. Don’t. Want. To be with you. You’re holding me back.”

A flash of unresolved rage fills him then, bursting to the surface like his head’s been held underwater. “Is that all this was, then? Just—some kind of distraction?”

You nod, hoping it stings.

And, oh god, it stings. It hurts. It hurts so much you want to crumple up and disappear. Sylus, the boy who’s always waited for you, always stayed behind and silently looked after you while you conquered your battles and chased after your dreams. Sylus, who never asked for anything in return.

Your Sylus. Devastated beyond repair because of you.

You glance up at him, and his anger is gone. Just like that. Like he can no longer bear to be mad at you.

Like you’re on borrowed time, and all he can do now is beg.

“Please don’t do this…” he whispers, taking half a step closer. “I love you.”

Your entire world crumbles. Tears well in your eyes, and you tilt your head up to keep them from falling; because if they do, you don’t think they’ll ever stop. You imagine running to him, closing the distance, kissing him then and there—his hands on your waist, yours in his hair—as if you were the only two people on earth.

Telling him you love him too.

But some dreams just aren’t meant to come true.

So you turn your back to him. “I don’t love you.”

It’s such a blatant lie you fear he might see right through it.

But you don’t give him the chance. You step onto the train just as the doors hiss shut, eyes fixed on your feet. If you looked back... you might not survive it.

I’m sorry, Sylus. I’m so, so sorry…

You watch, blurry-eyed, as the castle shrinks in the window, bidding your time at Hogwarts—and a very special boy—farewell.

Ten years later…

…

Applications: check. Research paper: check. Sampling session with Tabitha… Need to reschedule that one.

You tap your quill against the table as you try to sort out your schedule, possibly your most daunting task as Head of the Beast Division. It’s been rather busy at the Ministry lately, with reports of magical creatures running wild and escaping into the Muggle world.

Not to mention that creepy coworker of yours who won’t take no for an answer.

Everything’s piling up, and you’re in desperate need of someone to share it all with.

It’s moments like these when your mind flits back to your school years. How you long to return to Hogwarts one day—perhaps as a professor, or maybe even as a tourist. There are so many places you’d love to revisit: Hogsmeade village, the Great Hall, the Hufflepuff common room... Every nook and cranny of that place brims with memories you’ll hold dear forever.

Then, of course, there’s your first love—the boy with the startling snowy hair and striking scarlet eyes.

Your heart pangs, a small piece of you breaking all over again. You wonder how he’s doing now. Is he still in New York? Does he have a partner? Kids?

Great, now your mood’s soured all over again.

Though love is like this—no matter how selfish it makes you feel, no matter how scorned, you wish nothing but the best for them. From the bottom of your barely beating heart.

Your coworker bursts through the door, a glass of champagne in one hand and a half-eaten cauldron cake in the other. "Sorry to interrupt— There’s a party downstairs to welcome the newest members of the Ministry. Care to join us, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second.”

…

Your heels click sharply against the polished floors as you weave through the crowd, eyeing the dessert trays while trying not to knock anyone over.

The headquarters of the Ministry is a sprawling place, all moody colors and serious faces. Maybe you should go on that expedition in Brazil after all.

A hand touches your elbow, and you turn to see your coworker smiling almost psychotically at you. “Miss <y/n>, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Again with the sucking up. You’re fed up with it. How important could this person possibly be that they needed to be greeted with a shiny smile crafted just for them? How entitled—

Tall, built, handsome. A sharp glint in his ruby eyes, matching the equally sharp angles of his features.

A head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight.

You freeze, not sure what to think, what to say—a million questions swarming your head— How many years has it been? Why is he here? Does he even remember me?

The past decade of hurt and regret and longing crashes into you, all at once. I can’t breathe.

“Hi,” you blurt out, self-conscious and fidgety.

He stares at you with those bright, intense eyes, a familiar feeling you can’t quite pinpoint written all over his face. “Hey.”

The crowd fades to dust, and suddenly, it’s like you’re standing face to face on the platform all over again. “How are you?”

“Good. You?” He’s still the same boy you remember from your childhood. Yet…he’s changed. He’s grown, matured—just as you have.

“I have so much to say to you,” you breathe, thick, raw emotion rising in your throat, choking you. “So much to explain.”

He shakes his head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to. I’m not an idiot, however much you think me one. And by the way, I finally managed to conjure a Patronus, in case you were wondering.”

A laugh escapes your lips despite yourself, and for the first time in a decade, you let your tears slip.

He’s here. He’s the same, but different. He’s working for the Ministry.

He’s here.

And though you’re both young, and stupid, and very well may always be, there’s one thing you know for certain:

No more running away. No more leaving.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Hufflepuff.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

#yes i tried to make this as cliche as possible #i was feeling sappy okay leave me alone #‧˚˖✩ bp works #‧˚˖✩ bp reqs #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #sylus #sylus x reader #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus lads #sylus lnds

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jaesvelvet · 2 days ago

Text

reconnection

SUMMARY ➤ You've been longing for Robert Reynolds for seven years now. No matter how hard you try to let him go, your heart refuse to do so but after a weird moment of being trapped in your own nightmare, you finally found Robert. On a local news along side with the new Avengers.

PAIRING ➤ Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem! reader

GENRES ➤ Angsty with happy ending

WARNINGS ➤ THUNDERBOLTS* spoiler ahead A tiny part of suicidal scene, reader is in deression but no one's helping, and mention of drugs

WORDS COUNT ➤ 4k words

NOTES ➤ it took so long for one fic and i'm sorry about it!!! i thought i was ready to be back but i was so insecure of my writing to the point i've had to disregard my two enha's fic )): also it's so obvious that i already watched thunderbolts* ^^ the movie was so good i had to write for bob's character.

Soon after Robert announced that he is going somewhere to get himself on a track– nobody would even guess he would volunteer himself to an untrusted medical research. Presumming the naive man would surrender himself as soon as the doctor said it would turn him into a better man– he must have signed whatever papers given without having second thoughts.

While the blip was happening at the moment of his disappearance didn’t help much for your emotional strength. You always knew he was struggling. He tries to be better but at the end of the day, he cannot escape the household he’d been living in. You’re the only one who can truly see how hard it is to avoid all the drugs, leaning into a healthy life, to live a life without any disturbing surroundings. But he keeps coming back to square one.

He always asked you to leave him once he relapsed, but you stood there, firmly. He was so sure you’re here because of sympathy and not because of him. He wants to believe in you but it’s not that easy because at the end of the day, he always ended up alone.

In late 2020– three years before The Avengers found a way to bring back half of the population, he had enough of this shit. He slowly began to realize that you’re here because you want to. The hopeful feeling slowly began to rise inside of him after so long. With his parents having been blipped, he finally can breathe. No more fights, screaming and sounds of hitting. He is lowkey on Thanos’s side in this war but keeps his mouth shut, you lost half of your family in the blip and he simply does not want to hurt you; the person whom he cares most about.

He landed in Malaysia after hours on the air, his smiles wide, thinking of how he can be a better person after this project and how he can finally prove to everyone that he isn’t just a useless human being. Ah. the thoughts of your ‘I’m so proud of you, Robert” lingers in his mind. He would text you if his phone wasn't confiscated by the researcher, he assumes it would be hours of research and everything will change after that.

Robert soon curses at himself as soon as he hears that he is not the only volunteer they had, they all died during the trial but it is too late for him. He is trapped in the metal coffin that they put him in. He tried to scream and punch everything but it was all useless. Soon he feels the temperature slowly rising up and his body feels tense all of sudden scares him. At this moment he thought that staying alive would be the ideal prayer he can utter right now. He couldn’t die now, not with your face still haunting his thoughts.

His whole body started to ache, his energy slowed down and his scream got slower. His body can’t take whatever they gave him right now, but it looks like the thing is being forced down inside of his body. He cannot even wriggle in pain due to limited space, the only words he could utter at that moment was “Stop…”

It's been seven years since Tony Stark sacrificed himself for the universe, and while you are grateful for him and the other Avengers, the void left by Robert’s absence weighs heavily on you as you grapple with uncertainty of his fate.

“You’re wasting yourself waiting for him”

You try your best to move on. Your friends told you that a meth addict was better off without you anyway, you tried to ignore them but the pain of longing is much worse than you think. For seven years you couldn’t meet anyone to replace Robert, you can’t understand the exact reasons why your heart still longing for him, the probability of him died in some foreign country is high and you are ready to accept the fact that Robert is gone but your heart still couldn't fathom this ‘statement’.

“Maybe he was there somewhere…” is the only excuse you can give to your friends although deep down, you don’t even know what to expect anymore.

Your high hope of Robert make you all alone, your friends start to keep of their distances on you, your siblings seems to give up to support your stance of ‘Robert is there somewhere’ and your parents seems to accept that their daughter might suffers from some mental health problem but do nothing to help– they thought paying for psychiatrist and medications are waste of money if you still hoping for the man.

And that’s when you decided you are better alone anyways. Starting your day in your rented apartment with leftover food from last night, settling into the couch that your sister handed down to you when she’s decided to move from New York and suddenly your surroundings turning black all of sudden.

Your breathing unsteady at first, thinking that this is a dream– or did you depress enough to start hallucinating things? You gulped down your saliva, nonetheless you start walking– very slowly, searching for a starting point but all of the sudden the black scenery quickly turns into an airport. The day was sunny and there’s a lot of cars parked at the waiting area; it felt like a deja vu for a moment before you spotted two familiar figures hugging outside of your parents car.

It was you and Robert.

You walk closely with the two of you hugging. You tried to hold your tears but failed when you saw Robert’s face when he broke the hug.

“I’ll be back better than before, then we can talk about us. I promise you this time” Robert said with a gentle touch to your cheek before you both parted ways.

“Please don’t go…” you sobbed. Your voice trembling with desperation. But it was clear– you were invisible to them. As Robert’s figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the scene suddenly reset. Again, he turned to leave and once again your tears went unheard. You shook your head, whatever this was, it seems like you’re trapped in your own nightmare.

The repeated scene in front of you causes you to feel light headed, you walk away from the scene, hoping for a way out and suddenly you’re in your own bedroom. You sigh in relief, your heart still pounding fast from the strange experience you felt. You’re about to land on your bed before a sound of cries could be heard. You brows furrowed, searching for the source of the sound around the bedroom.

You gasped in silence when you saw yourself on the floor, on the other side of the bed. Staring blankly at the pills on your palm.

You remember this moment, it was months after everyone returns from being a dust but not your Robert. It was tough for a few weeks, you can’t accept fate. There’s no news or phone call from him. You are tired of waiting for him after years of praying for him to come back in one piece. The pills on your palm was the answer, your soul is nowhere to be found, and maybe taking your own life would be ideal.

“This is not the way…” you sobbed.

The old version of yourself slowly turned to face you. A faint, almost bittersweet smile played on her lips as she raised the pills to her mouth and swallowed them in one gulp

“We are always alone” she whispered, the words echoing through the room like a curse carved into time.

You stood frozen, powerless. Watching yourself spiral, watching the weight of silent suffering crush someone who was—still is—you. It was unbearable. The isolation, the desperation, the quiet resignation etched in her face—it made you feel small, fragile. Pathetic.

You screamed every name you could think of, mom, dad, your sister and even Robert. Hoping if anyone could hear your desperate hoarse voice even if it is a faint sound but to your dismay, there’s no answer. You ran through the endless corridors, searching, pleading for a way out just to find every door you opened led to another nightmares of your past.

All of the painful memories greet you at every turn– echoes of moments you tried so hard to bury deep down in your head. It felt like you’d been running for hours, maybe even longer, your legs seemed to give out but you can’t give up just yet. The last thing you want is to die in the maze of your own sorrow and regret.

Then without warning, the darkness began to dissolve, the screams faded, the air lightened and the oppressive weight lifted.

And suddenly– you were back. Sitting on your couch, in your living room. Silence.

Everything looks the same… but you weren’t.

It wasn’t long enough for the news of the New Avengers broke, soon after the chaos of ‘the Void’ (according to the news) ended, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine; the director of CIA immediately announce of the new Avengers including Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and John Walker, the second Captain America that killed a civilian in public eyes. You don’t even trust the new group she formed, hell you couldn't care less at this point. You almost choked on your water as your eyes glued on the man on the right side of the group. A man who wears a blue crewneck sweater with light brown corduroy pants with curly hair that goes unnoticed.

The glass slipped from your hand and shattered the moment it hit the floor. You instinctively covered your mouth, eyes wide. Your breathing grew unsteady again. You froze in front of the television for a moment before a sudden phone call jolted you into reality.

Still shaken from the shock, you answered the call from your sister. A shaky hello is all you could manage at the moment.

“Am I seeing this right? Bob is on the television? Bob joining the Avengers?” she asked. Her voice was laced with impatience and disbelief.

“I- I don’t know… You see him too?” you asked her. It’s hard to confirm what you’ve been seeing after the ‘episode’ you had earlier.

“Duh! Everyone can see it! He disappeared for seven years just to be an Avengers? He looks so uncool with that ordinary outfit. Maybe I can help with his out–”

You ended the call, her ranting was more than enough to prove that you’re not hallucinating. The person on the television was Robert. Your Robert.

If you followed your instincts you'd drive to the Watchtower right now to confront him. But you stopped yourself. You need to be ready. If you’re going to face Robert, you have to be prepared– both physically and mentally. At the very least, you needed to look presentable to meet him after so long.

Your outfit wasn’t terrible and the makeup you’d applied to make you look presentable wasn’t bad either. Everything seemed fine– on the surface. But you couldn’t bring yourself to step out of the car. Your grip on the steering wheel was so tight to the point your knuckle turned white. It has been so long waiting for Robert. You should at least be excited to meet him right?

But in this case, you couldn't pinpoint exactly what you’re currently feeling right at the moment. Anger, Sadness, Anxious, Happy. It’s all blended into one.

A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts. A police officer stood outside, gesturing for you to roll it down. You did so without hesitation, your fingers still trembling slightly.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t park here,” he said politely but firmly. At that moment you realized that your car stopped near the building– which is crowded with cranes and construction workers.

“Oh... right. I’m sorry,” you murmured, trying to gather yourself. “I didn’t mean to stay long.”

He nodded, not pressing further. “Alright. Just be sure to move along soon.”

As he walked away, the pressure in your chest returned. You looked back at the looming Watchtower building for a few seconds. You decided to park a little further away from the building. A big sigh escapes from your mouth. You’re here. You waited seven years for him. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

This is it, you thought. No more stalling.

Your hand reached for the door handle, it is now or never.

“Where’s Bob?” Alexei asked, both of his hands carrying four bags of heavy grocery as if it's nothing.

“In his new room I guess” a man with blonde hair answered lazily, he was about to leave the pantry, his eyes glued on a foreign person behind Alexei.

“Ah, great. Does Valentina send us a new PR manager so her reputation is untouchable? Cause let me tell you, we owner her now, one bad decision she ended up with President Ross in the raft” the blond whinged.

“Ah no no… Valentina does not send her here. I am” Alexei clarified.

“You want us to have a PR Manager?” he asked, one brow lifted in confusion.

“No, fool. This is our number one fan!” Alexei chirped. A huge and wide smile could be seen from his face. He put the groceries down, and gently pushed you forward to properly introduce you to the man.

You recognized the man standing in front of you—he was the second Captain America after Steve Rogers. You were sure of it; the day he was announced, his face had been everywhere.

Walker’s confused expression quickly shifted to one of disapproval. He shook his head as he looked between you and Alexei.

“No… no… Alexei you can’t bring some random people in here! She could be some secret agent or something or just some creep!” he grumbled.

You’re about to open your mouth to defend yourself but Alexei cuts you off immediately.

“She is harmless. We’re going through security seven times, no guns and knives on her, I guarantee that”

Walker rolls his eyes back, first day as the new Avengers, Alexei already does so much work in marketing their team. The blonde let out a small sigh while the older male still trying to reassure him. Seeing the tense in the room, you clear your throats to gain their attention which is a success.

“I’m not a secret agent or some creep, I just want to meet Robert. I’m his friend” you speak up

“Bob got another friend?” Walker asked

You nodded your head slowly. Seems like Robert still uses the nickname ‘Bob’ to introduce himself to others. You dropped the nickname a long time ago, you thought the name Robert sounds too good not to use, besides he also likes being called Robert by you.

“I met her in the lobby. She begging to meet Bob, I thought she is a fan”

“Fans or friends. She cannot be in here. I’ll call the security–”

“Please! I’m begging you, I need to meet him, even for a minute.” you pleaded, the sound of desperation in your voice is noticeable which makes the stern Walker having second thoughts.

“Okay sure. But under one condition”

You expect the usual would be; having almost thirty guards surrounding you, security check for the nth time and you need to talk to him in the visiting area but your assumptions went straight out of the window when they ask a girl with platinum blonde hair or they called her as Yelena to accompany you to meet Robert.

You trailed along behind her silently to Robert’s room, the walk from the pantry isn’t that far, but on each step, your hand grew colder. You glance at Yelena, you’ve seen her once– on the news yesterday but even from that brief impression, she seemed confident, brave and a kind of person who genuinely cares for others. You could tell by how cautious she is before allowing you to meet Robert.

You didn’t even know what kind of relationship she had with him but you can’t help but feel slightly insecure. You used to be Robert’s safe place. You were always there for him, through every hell he endured. But now, it was Yelena the others trusted with him.

Was she really trustworthy?

You knew how naive Robert could be. That’s what worries you most—that this “new Avengers” crew might be filling his head with promises, just to turn him into their next lab rat.

“Well, Bob doesn’t mention he has a friend” Yelena spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You frowned slightly, a sharp pang tightening in your chest.

“He hasn’t?” Seven years—seven long years—you waited for him like a fool, and he hadn’t even mentioned you to his new friends?

A slow wave of regret crept over you. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

“Well, it’s only fair. We just met 48 hours ago and his memory is still hazy after the incident” Yelena answered.

You stop in your tracks and so does Yelena, the blonde girl turned around to face you with a confused face.

“I– is he okay?” you asked, the news hasn’t covered much about him, they only talk about the other superheroes hence you don’t even know why they took Robert as well. Does the medical research he went to seven years ago link into this chaos?

“Yeah, he’s fine. But just don’t pressure him into remembering things, he can’t control it yet” Yelena said.

“It?” you asked in confusion. What exactly happened to him?

“Uh, the thing yesterday, it was him– not entirely him but his dark side I would say”

You fell silent, a chill spreading through you. Had they already made him into their lab rat? For seven years, he has been suffering alone all these years?

Your steps grew heavier as you followed her through the quiet corridor. The sterile lights overhead flickered slightly, casting shadows that seemed to dance with your thoughts. Every footstep echoed your anxiety.

“Bob?” Yelena knocks on his door once before Robert opens it up, with a wide smile plastered on his face.

“They gave me a good bed!” he exclaims

“Uh yeah, good for you…” Yelena smiles at him, she hasn’t checked her room yet, too busy dealing with the superiors with Bucky. She took a look at Robert's room, it was huge and comfortable, much better than her old room.

“I think I want to request some books, vinyl records and oh! Maybe a huge TV–”

“Uh, Bob?” Yelena cut him off gently.

Robert turned, eyebrows raised—until Yelena stepped slightly to the side, revealing the girl who had been standing quietly behind her.

Robert froze, stunned into silence. It took him a few seconds to fully register the woman standing in front of him. But when recognition finally clicked into place, his eyes welled with tears, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N”

Without another words you ran towards him and he caught you in a warm hug. It was surreal, almost unbelievable to feel Robert’s arms around your waist again. You had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was all real, the realization broke you into tears as you clung tightly to him.

On the other side of the room, Yelena let a small smile form on her lips. It felt good to see people reunited, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding happiness again. She dreamed of that too—especially on the days that felt heavier than most.

Her found family meant everything to her. And now, with her sister Natasha gone, all she could do was keep moving forward. Still, deeply inside she longed for the same kind of peace the two of you had just found in each other.

“Seven years… I’ve waited for you for seven years, Robert” you speak up after a moment being in each other's embrace.

Robert wipes the tears off from your cheek while nodding his head.

“I’m sorry– everything happened so fast, one moment I was in a metal coffin and the next thing I knew I was in a vault and met them” he explained. From the moment Robert regained his consciousness inside the OXE Vault, everything felt like a blur to him. The sight of four strangers in cool suits locked in a deadly battle made him nauseous.

He can’t remember the details but he remembered the tension in his body and when he turned into the Sentry, it felt good. For the first time in forever, everything felt right. He wanted to fly straight to you and show how powerful he became but then again he suddenly collapsed after feeling a buzzing from his new costume and waking up once again not remembering anything.

He got a little too excited with the news of the new Avengers and the fact that he had a room of his own again. It was a lot to take in after everything. He hated that it distracted him, even for a second.

“I’m sorry” he added

You shook your head, this time it is your turn to wipe the tears off his cheek.

“I’m just glad that you’re okay. Everyday I pray for you to come back to me.” you snivelled.

“I’m here now, I will not leave you again. No more volunteer to any medical researchers shit” he slightly chuckle

You scoff at his banter, slowly removing your arms from his waist.

“You have a lot to tell me, Robert. I can’t wait for us to go back home and–”

“Um, not trying to ruin the moment here but he cannot go back home” Yelena cuts your word. You turn your face to her with a confused expression.

“What? Why? He is just civilian like me”

“Uh no… Apparently Bob is one of us now, the thing about medical research make him powerful” Yelena explained

You glance at Robert for a moment, then shift your gaze back to Yelena.

“So about the ‘It’ thing you said earlier–”

“Yup” Yelena Yelena answered before you could even finish your question—already anticipating it. She was worried Robert might try to force the memories back too soon.

“So, can I stay?” you asked her

Yelena seems caught off guard with your question, it tooks a second for her to make a decision.

“Just don’t let Bucky see you,” she said and left the room.

You turn to Robert again, now his face mirroring your facial just now– the confused look. You let out a small laugh and held both of his warm hands.

“She cares for you a lot, I can tell. I need to beat her in this one-sided competition” you joked. Robert smiles at you and caresses your cheek– the things that he always does to you, it was more like a habit when the two of you are close like this.

“She feels like a sister to me. A sister that I never had, I don’t know why though, but you… You’re the most special person ever in my heart. The person who trusts me the most. Thank you for waiting for me, I really appreciate you. I really do”

“I think I love you a little too much to the point that no one in earth can replace you”

“My girl, I love you too. So much! Gonna spend all of this moment with you forever!” He pulled you into a tight hug and spun you around, making you let out a small shriek in protest, laughing as you begged him to stop.

“I’m glad you found friends that truly care for you, Robert. Me and your other friends are always on your side, through thick and thin”

Robert’s heart is getting warm hearing your words. He grew so used to the word alone, he nearly forgot what it felt like to be surrounded by people who truly cared. His memories are still foggy, but after meeting the others yesterday, he knew one thing for sure. He is not alone anymore.

For the first time in forever, the void is finally filled with something beautiful.

#mcu imagines #the sentry imagines #the void imagines #thunderbolts #thunderbolts fic #thunderbolts imagines #thunderbolts x reader #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds fic #bob reybolds fic #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds imagines #bob reynolds imagines

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hearts4johnwick · 21 hours ago

Text

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Lethal Touch. / B. Reynolds.

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 while training, all goes well until a move bob makes changes your concentration as you begin to relive your worst memory.

CW. 𝜗𝜚 lil bit of angst, lil bit of fluff, war/military ptsd, violence, character death, bob & reader spar for training.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 im in love with bob. i need lewis pullman. check out my thunderbolts* fic on wattpad! @/hearts4johnwick 🤭🤭🤭

“Okay, ready?” You smile as you look at Bob, your hands are on your hips and your hair in a ponytail.

“Are you ready to get an ass whooping?” You scoff at his cocky words and shake your head.

“Seriously? You’re stealing my lines now?” He laughs and you squint your eyes.

“I mean… I kind of did beat you once, there’s no way I can’t do it again.” He exhales sharply and shrugs. You nod your head mockingly and walk closer to him.

“You’re not going to do it again, I know you’re not, you like me too much.” Bob’s smile leaves when you tease him about him liking you, you meant it in a platonic way, but he feels nothing platonic for you, purely romantic since the day you tried to kill Ava in Valentina’s storage building. His face gets red, and you notice it but shrug it off. You push him away and tilt your head. “Plus, this is training, no powers, you can’t hurt me.”

“I don’t think I ever could.” He says in all honesty and you smile. You put your fists up and signal him to step forward, to which, he does. He strikes with a left hook which you block by pushing his arm away and kicking him from the back and onto the ground.

“That was nasty.” You bite your lip and he laughs breathily. You lunge forward once he’s back on his feet, but he grabs your arm and throws you to the ground effortlessly. You groan and stand back up. You take the distance between you and run up, jumping onto his shoulders and choking him with your legs, he grabs you by your shirt and throws you off of him. You groan in pain and look up at him. “Bob! I said no powers!”

“I wasn’t using them! It’s not my fault I’m incredibly strong.” You scoff and roll your eyes. You weren’t exactly mad at him, it’s part of training, but damn, he threw you a bit too hard on that one.

Punches were thrown, punches were blocked, and you managed to get a hold of Bob’s arm and throw him over your shoulder and onto the floor, where you pinned his wrist with your knee and held his other leg.

In his mind, Bob can’t get tired of the view, you on top of him, drops of sweat falling from your temple, and your heavy breathing, it is perfection, right now he wishes that instead of his alter ego making him relive his worst moments, it’d be the best moments, and clearly, this is would be one of those moments. “1-0?” Bob’s eyebrows furrow and he scoffs.

“You wish. 1-2.” Your body recoils and his scoring and you stand up.

“1-2 how? You haven’t pinned me at any moment.” You question and he sighs, placing his hands on his hips once he stands from the floor.

“1-0.” He corrects himself and you smile. He stares deeply into your eyes, your smile makes him smile back, your matching energy radiating off of each other. You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at each other until he reaches out to get a gentle hold of your arm, but you take a simple step back unknowingly.

“1-0. Want to change that?” Bob nods. “Then fight me.”

“I thought you said for me to be careful.” Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head.

“When did I say that?” You ask genuinely.

“When I knocked you on your ass.” You laugh loudly and get into your fighting stance.

“Oh yeah? And when was that?” you tease.

“Right now.”

“You’re so funny, Bobby.” You watch as he approaches, you go to tackle him, but he grabs your legs, wrapping them around his torso and throwing the two of you onto the ground. He grabs both of your wrists and pins one to your side, while he holds your other one close to his face.

The expression on your face shattered his heart, he knew he messed up, and your then content features were now blank, scared.

You were there, in the field. Your ears ringing as a result of the gunshots coming from both sides of the field. Enemies. “Conners! Where is Harley?” You ask the soldier next to you, he was on your side, he was good, 3 years in the army. 20 years of age.

“I don’t—I don’t know!” His voice was shaky as he peeked over the spot you were hiding in while the enemy shot your place down. “Lieutenant… we’re not going to make it, are we?” Your head slowly moves to look at him. He was scared, and God, so were you.

“What? Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!” You yell to his face as he holds his rifle closer. “We will—we will get out of here. Do you hear me?! Do you hear me, soldier?!” He nods and you take a deep breath.

Staring at a wall. That’s how you would die. Staring at a wall. At least, a piece of you died, staring at a wall in enemy territory.

“Lieutenant ____!” Your closest combat friend calls out your name. You search for her, then, a soft rattling sound catches your ear.

“Grenade!” Harley was in too much of a shock to react, she just stood there, staring at it.

“No! Harley get out of here!” The flash was enough to blind you. You were in a state of mind only the dead could go through. You didn’t hear a thing, and through your blurry vision, all you could see were the flashes of weapons firing, and, the gruesome scene of what was your only companion.

There it was, another piece of you gone. Staring at the absolute nothing of someone you cared for.

You were back, gasping for air as you let out faint sobs. Bob held you close, caressing your hair and rocking you back and forth. You sit up and stare at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Your lip quivers when you see him, tears falling from his face. You slowly move your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and wiping away one of his tears. You let out a soft sob and embrace him. Letting all your tears flow while he held you tighter than ever in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeats and you nod.

The two of you sat on the floor, curled up together in a hug for almost more than 10 minutes, as he stayed caressing your hair and murmuring “I’m so sorry.” And “It’s going to be okay.”

When you pulled away, you held his face close to yours. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” You sniffle.

He places his hand over yours. “I’m sorry you had to live that.” You nod and swallow the lump in your throat. He raises his hand to wipe your falling tears. He then cups your cheek and stares into your bloodshot eyes.

Once again, you stay like this with no recollection of how much time has passed, until you close the distance by pressing your foreheads together.

Outside the training room, in the coms room, Alexei sat eating his box of cereals, watching the whole scene unfold, and celebrating silently when you pressed your foreheads. “Young love.” He sighed in awe.

#gigi writes marvel 𖤓 #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #sentry #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman x y/n #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry x y/n

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kiss-me-muchoo · 3 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ after three months away and passing as dead in Jackson, you and Joel discover you have been with WLF the whole time and you give your husband a shocking surprise at the ripe age of 61 after infected trespass the hospital of Denver.

warnings_ age gap (late 20s/joel’s age in s2), sex is implied, gore, angst, fluff, fallacy references, canon divergence, A LOT of medical inaccuracies, character death (NOT JOEL), no proofreading

Notes_ reader’s “secret” revealed

「 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 」 masterlist

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

There are lines marked all over your arms; proof of how well you slept.

Someone bangs on the door of your place, and you rub your eyes before standing up and putting on some hoodie and shorts to cover your naked body.

Joel was still soundly asleep.

The banging grew louder, and you hissed.

“Jesus! I already heard!” You start hearing some chuckles and upon opening the door, you see Rosalie.

“It’s late. You have an appointment at the hospital” she says, crossing her arms and looking up and down at you with a cheeky smirk. “Ah, you and Joel spent the night fucking”

She doesn’t even question, she knows. Rosalie is your blonde, green-eyed, and tall best friend. Who knows you too well.

“All night? Really?” She teases as you let her come inside.

“Maybe till 2:00 am. He has good stamina” you admit, realizing that after healing his injuries, Joel had only rejuvenated a little.

He had a new haircut and shaved beard, only looking hotter than ever. Making you forget about all the trauma of the ski lodge.

“Yeah, probably with all the vitamins and therapy they’ve given him, he must feel great” Rosalie agrees with a smirk.

“Anyways, I was heavenly fucked by my husband all night. How’s Rae?” You ask and Rosalie starts chuckling, watching you brush your teeth in the kitchen and then putting on some old sneakers.

“Rae is fine, he’s coming back earlier today” You nod, gesturing to him that you’re ready.

Rae was twenty-five, and he was the head electrician at the hospital of Denver. He loved Rosalie so much that he built her a coffee machine and many electronics.

“I’ll just go and say bye to Joel” she nods.

Your sleepy eyes notice he isn’t in bed anymore. Joel was just coming out of the bathroom. He already was dressed up and as he saw you, he smiled. His limping was still visible, but several times better.

“Morning, handsome” you greeted, kissing his cheeks. “I’m already running late to the clinic”

“You’re not feeling ill, right?” He questions with genuine worry. You only shake your head, hoping to ease him.

“No, dear. I’m good, just a quick check-up to see how my ribs are doing, then to work” Your hands start playing with his greying beard and you can’t help but admire your old man. “Just some more weeks and then we’re returning home”

Joel and you arrived in Denver three months ago. Greeted by a strong community that only asked for help. If you wanted medical aid, then you two had to be useful in whatever way possible.

“Alright, be careful. I’ll see you at lunch time” Joel says, and you give a peck on his cheek before moving to his lips and leaving a wet kiss.

Joel moves his hands to hold you by the waist, he steps closer and nudges his knee between your legs, making you moan.

“I heard that fucking moan, let’s go!” Rosalie yells from the leaving room.

Joel chuckles and you start blushing. Feeling very promiscuous and pointed out.

“Be safe, honey” you remind your husband.

“You too, dear” Joel replies.

You step back, out of the room.

The tiny apartment you were offered was just fine. Salmon paint in the walls, a microscopic kitchen, and a living room. One bathroom and bedroom are connected. It was just fine to survive.

You missed home. You missed going to council meetings, returning with Cerise, and finding Joel carving some new wooden toy for the girl. You missed cooking and the feeling of belonging in a place you could call home.

God, how bad you missed your daughter. Every night you and Joel wondered how she was. If she was suffering from her parent’s absence and how was the rest of the family.

But Joel had healed his leg, his wounds turned into scars. Your ribs were better and if everything went right, soon you two would be in Jackson.

But the day was just every other one from the past three months. In Jackson, Joel and you have been sleeping with the fishes for three months.

…

Bandaids to the left, needles to the right.

You had spent an hour placing medical equipment in different boxes at the hospital.

Which was a block away from the apartment complex where most of the people from the community lived.

Joel and you were lying. Saying you two came from Arizona. Since there were no actual places to get a marriage license, everyone in Denver believed you two were just a couple with an age gap.

Even to Rosalie and Rae, they knew something happened in Jackson, but they didn’t know exactly what. And to avoid questioning, you also never pushed Rosalie to tell you why she and Rae left Jackson in the first place.

They still worked as electricians, had the trust of the leader named Masiel, and convinced him to let you and Joel temporarily stay.

Joel worked helping to fix the cables and facade of the hospital. He barely talked to anyone besides Rosalie, Rae and you. He was awkward whenever Masiel asked him things and invited him to drink. To everyone’s eye, Joel reminded you of the man he was back then, at the Boston QZ. But behind closed doors, Joel was the same man you were in love with.

Most of the work was done inside the giant hospital. Only the street where it was and surrounding complex buildings formed the foundation for the people. It was guarded by men to protect from infected or raiders. It was a failed attempt at what Jackson was.

Starting with the fact that neither of the people inside the street was family.

And that’s when you were reminded that Denver wasn’t home.

But just having your friends and especially your husband working at the same place as you, was more than enough to give you hope.

“Miss y/n?” An old nurse called you, startling you.

You turned to see her; in her sixties, blonde, glasses, and poor attempt at wearing makeup. She reminded you of Gail.

“Yes?” You finally answer.

“Your results are ready” you gulp, slightly nervous.

…

You entered the cafeteria of the hospital, full of people. You started looking around until you found Joel sitting at a tiny table. Looking so grumpy and intimidating, until he spotted you and started smiling.

Your feet drag you all across the room until you’re sitting beside your husband.

“Hi, baby” you greet him as he hands you a wet cloth to clean yourself and hands you a sandwich. “I’m so hungry”

“I can tell, you’ve been eating my leftovers,” Joel says with a playful huff, his pinky finger poking yours. The gesture makes you smile, and you end up twirling your pinky finger with his.

“You always eat everything, Joel” you remind him with a light pinch in his hand.

“Don’t care. What did the doctors say?” He asks with full attention.

“No fissures, my ribs are completely healed” you answer with ease.

“Good, I was worried”

“Joel Miller worried? What a surprise!” He rolls his eyes at your comment.

“Very funny” you laugh, finishing your sandwich. “Can we get the hell outta here?”

“Why, peepaw?” He huffs at your nickname for him.

“You’ll beg when you need somethin’ from yer old man” You nudge him, blushing from his teasing.

“No, silly. I mean yes- I’d always beg for you but…” you take a bite of the sandwich. “Why do we have to go?”

“I can’t stand this crowd. I want to be only with you…” his comment makes your heart beat faster, utterly in love. You eye his graying curls, his navy shirt, and his new dark grey jacket. He looked heavenly handsome.

And that heavenly handsome man was your husband who only wanted to be with you.

“I know a place,” you say, almost whispering in case anyone heard.

“Don’t you have to go back with the nurses?”

Joel asks and you shrug, sending him a playful smirk all the while.

Nobody pays attention to you and him. Unlike Jackson, where Joel and you were known by every single person, in Denver nobody looked at you two.

And the people who knew you two didn’t care.

So, when you pushed Joel inside an empty office in the pediatric ward, you tried to make him sit at the desk. But he quickly manhandled you to take the place.

Your shorts hike up and you are giving him a naughty view of your naked thighs.

And you eyed him; God, he was so handsome.

And he was all yours.

“What’s with the looks?” Joel asks.

“Just admiring my husband” As time passed, Joel found himself feeling a little more worthy of having a perfect wife. But whenever you complimented his appearance, he got all shy and submissive.

So, he just checked once to see if nobody was outside in the hallway, to then lock the door and let you palm his hard length as he fingered you, fogging the window nearby and leaving him a mess.

…

It was days later when you got to help Rosalie with the wiring of the hospital. You looked at your best friend so concentrated on placing the right cables and wires together, some of them sparkling once in a while.

“Can you hand me the red ones; the cable crimpers?” She asks pointing at the toolbox resting on the floor. You nod, kneeling to grab the tool she asked for.

The cable crimpers were identical to the ones your daughter always used to steal from her father.

“What?” Rosalie asks when you started to take longer than intended.

“Sorry,” you shake your head, handing her the tool. “It’s just that the crimpers reminded me of Cerise”

“Oh… she used to steal Joel’s tools, right?” Of course, Rosalie remembers, she once found your daughter with a screwdriver inside her mouth. “I miss her a lot”

“If I miss her. You must be missing her to an extreme level, y/n” she says. “You’re her mother, of course, you miss her. But you’ll see her in some weeks”

“And at the same time. I’ve had a great time here with you and Rae” The moment of working is interrupted by the talking. “Which makes me feel guilty since… my family thinks Joel and me are dead”

Neither of you wants to go back to work.

“It’ll pass. You came here for Joel”

“Yes but-“

“I also felt guilty when Rae and I left Jackson” The comment makes you feel curious. “We wanted to go back. But I thought about how big the town had gotten” she says. “I thought about all the progress Rae and I did there. All of your friends and family like you, Joel, the girls, Tommy and Maria. I knew I would be putting everyone in danger if we decided to return. WLF had found us while doing patrol. So we just knew it was better to pretend we were lost rather than revealing anything about Jackson”

Her sad eyes connect with yours, and your heart is in awe after understanding why they had disappeared. All the time you wondered what had happened to them, Rosalie and Rae sacrificed their happiness for the whole people in Jackson. Your eyes get glossy, and you have to hug her.

“I’m so sorry. But thank you, Rosalie” you whisper in her ear.

“Leave Denver with us. You and Rae can come back” you add, as she softly brushes your hair.

“We can’t. Rae is the head electrician. Masiel would wonder why we want to leave”

“Masiel can go and fuck himself. He’s odd, I’ve never liked him” you admit, breaking the hug. Rosalie chuckles, nodding.

“I don’t like him either”

Someone knocks on the door. Rosalie and you turn to look, only to find Masiel himself. He is tall, with greying blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He had the face of a villain, and his polite smile could be interpreted as a fake one.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says still with his fake smile.

You eye at Rosalie with unease, which he reciprocates.

“It’s okay. Is there anything we can do for you, Masiel?” Rosalie answers him.

“Yes. I would like to speak to y/n in private” Your pulse rate quickens, your eyes showing discomfort. “It’s about her petition to become a nurse at the hospital”

Masiel reminded you of the disgusting man you met almost six years ago; David. Unlike him, Masiel was not a preacher, but he easily persuaded everyone. And you were almost one hundred percent sure he disliked Joel because he could sense Masiel was in reality a control freak.

“Alright,” you agreed, dropping the tools in your hands to follow the man. But you turn to look at Rosalie.

She reads your lips saying, “Go for Joel”.

And your best friend is smart enough to know what could happen. So she goes for Rae, the. Joel, each one with an emergency backup and your very few belongings.

But you only prepare for the worst. You don’t have a gun, scissors, or anything. You were vulnerable, following Masiel to the fifth floor of the hospital. He opens the door of his office and thankfully he doesn’t lock the door, but the whole floor is empty, the lights off, and a disturbing silence invades the place.

“It’s quite hot today” he comments, and you simply nod. “Take a seat, y/n”

“I’m fine, thank you” you reply with politeness, marking distance.

The man eyes you, trying to look for something you couldn’t describe.

“How long have you known Joel?” The question makes you frown. “He is closer to reaching a coffin than you are to entering menopause”

Your frowning only increases, Masiel only chuckles, taking a seat at his desk.

“I’m kidding. Although he is certainly old for you”

“That’s my business,” you say, trying to dissipate the urge to say something mean. He had a pistol hanging from his jeans, he could pull a bullet between your eyebrows anytime.

“It is, pardon my intrusion,” Masiel says, looking up and down to you. The gesture is disgusting. And you remember why you had only spoken to him once or twice since you arrived in Denver.

“And why did you and he decide to leave Arizona? I haven’t heard anything about it in a while. Nobody goes to the west nowadays”

The west was a dead place. Extremely few settlements of FEDRA were there, the fireflies never tried to take the west because it wasn’t worth it. Very few big cities all crowded with hordes of infected.

“Our group was killed by raiders. Joel and I barely made it alive” Half a life, half the truth. Masiel smirked, shaking his head before eyeing you with pure intimidation.

“You can quit lying. It took me a while to understand Joel killed our best surgeon; Jerry” Your hands start shaking, your legs trembling, and scare invades you. “Don’t worry, nobody else knows. Your secret is safe with me”

“What do you want?” You spit out as Masiel shrugs with disdain.

“I should have Joel killed and you should be punished…” you gulp, nervous. “I should kill you both but given your circumstances… that would be unethical”

“Ethics nor morals exist anymore nowadays” You protectively hugged yourself, as if that would protect you from a shot.

“Then you won’t mind…” he says before standing up and scaring you to death, his steps hurry to get close to you and you can’t help but scream.

…

Joel learns that all those months, they had been with WLF The group Abby and the others belonged with. The same people who tried to kill him.

“Masiel must know what happened at Salt Lake” Rosalie explains, putting on her backpack and loading her gun. “And something happened in Seattle today, so the guards are monitoring since the infected started wandering at the hospital’s surroundings. Just in case of emergency”

“Shit, infected around is zero good news, and y/n is alone with Masiel?” Rae questions with unease.

“That’s why we’re hurrying to get to them” Joel was sweating, with two backpacks and a new rifle in hand, he was exhausted.

But that didn’t matter, not when you weren’t by his side.

Rae suggests taking the emergency stairs to avoid suspicion from guards, nurses, and doctors. Three floors up there were the biggest offices. Joel quietly opens the doors to enter the dark hallways and shivers after the sound of creaking echoes through the corridor.

At the same time, the alarms of the hospital start ringing, the dark hallway flashes with red lights, and seconds later, shotguns and screams start flying everywhere. The infected trespassed the gates. Rosalie exchanges a look with Joel and the screams at the floor they were in increase, mixing with the chaos downstairs.

As soon as they put a foot inside the hallway, they hear a female scream. And Joel knew it was you. Immediately, he stopped caring about being silent. He ran following the noise.

“Joel! Wait, it’s not safe!” Rosalie yelled, running behind the man.

The screams increased and Joel started feeling very uneasy. His fingers gripped the trigger harder. Rosalie ran faster than him, she hurried to open the door, and they saw Masiel on top of you, holding your hands above your head and trying to keep you still. The image made Joel feel nauseous. He lifted his gun but before he could pull the trigger, Rosalie had already shot Masiel.

You scream as you feel the weight of the lifeless man on top of you. Rae fans to move the corpse aside and Joel helps you stand up.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” You gasp, holding onto him as you see the corpse.

“He tried to, but I’m okay” Joel nods, still checking to see if you were completely alright.

“We have to keep going. The guards probably heard the shot” Rosalie comments, but you turn to look at her with rage.

“You are not coming with us” They all start trying to calm you when you lift Masiel’s pistol at Rosalie

“You fucking knew they almost kill Joel and decided to shush about it?” You ask with disappointment at her.

Joel interfered, stepping between you and the blonde.

“Don’t do this, y/n” he almost whispered in your ear. You shrug, forcing out a fake chuckle.

“I ain’t killing nobody, Joel,” you say with your eyes focused on your best friend, she looks panicked and distressed. “But she won’t get any closer. So move aside”

“Please, listen, y/n” she pleads, her eyes filling with tears. You don’t flinch and you try to not feel awe at her green eyes staring at you. “I didn’t know Joel, Ellie and you were the people from the Salt Lake tragedy”

“You never told me about that” she adds.

“Oh, fuck you. The moment you learned it was us, you should’ve told us” you spit out with rage. “I would’ve never risked my husband and myself to travel down here only to end up living with the people who tried to kill him”

“I only wanted to help. If I had known the whole issue, I would’ve never made you and Joel come so far. Let alone put you in danger” Rosalie screams with desperation.

“Please, I’m so sorry” she adds, holding her hands up in surrender. “We have to go, y/n. It’s not safe for you…”

“Stop, y/n. She’s your best friend…” Rae tries to make you reason when you don’t lower down the gun.

“You have to trust her, y/n” When Joel said that you huffed in disbelief.

“You have to stop trusting everyone” You were being ruthless; too harsh. “Take a look where it led us to do such a thing the last time…”

Joel felt hurt. And you were right, but he also knew that Rosalie and Rae were family.

“You can trust me, y/n,” the blonde says with tears falling down her cheeks. “Remember why Rae and I left Jackson. To protect your family and the whole town”

Maybe you were in shock by the way Masiel almost got you. You want to rub the scent he left in your clothes. Your jeans feel tight, and your top is out of place, the black fabric pulled. You sigh, knowing you have to trust them. They wouldn’t hurt you and Joel deliberately.

“Fine, I’m sorry, but take me and my husband out of here before it’s too late” she nods, carefully getting closer as you lowered the gun.

For the first time, you acknowledge the alarms and flashing red lights.

“Everyone okay then?” Rae asks to confirm, and everyone nods.

The four of you get out of the office, Joel looks down at the window near the entree of the hallway and curses.

“The whole street is a mess” When you look at the disaster, it reminds you of the night in Kansas. With infected everywhere and people trying to get away from them.

You sighed.

“The hospital has a stair from the outside. We get down and take the sewers to avoid the infected” Rae sorts the plan; everyone nods in agreement. “At the end of the street, there is an improvised stable with horses and a barn. There is a door that leaves to the exterior”

All of you get going, Joel helps you climb out from a window.

You look at him as Rosalie and Rae check on the stairs to see if they aren't completely rusty.

“It’s going to be okay” he assures you, brushing your hand with his fingers. You only nod at him. Not able to fully process what was happening.

When the four of you are on solid ground, you wait for Rae to give a signal to cross the street and reach the entrance of the sewers.

You press your head at the wall of the hospital, your backpack offering comfort for your back, you sigh trying to calm yourself as you hear infected and people fighting steps away.

“Hey… Are you okay?” Rosalie asks, turning to look at you.

“Yeah…” you answer. “I’m sorry for earlier”

She shrugs, offering a little smile.

“It’s okay. I would’ve reacted the same way if Rae was in Joel’s shoes” You nod, smiling at her back. “I know you know I would never hurt you”

“Alright, we’ll run. If anything, we use this to gain time” he says lifting his hand with an improvised remote. “Since we arrived, I programmed a little system with explosives in case of emergencies. With this, the hospital will likely blow up as well as the whole street”

You and Joel eye each other, but he still tries to reassure you.

“Ready?” Rosalie asks, both you and your husband nod.

“NOW!” Rae instructs and the four of you cross the street.

Joel and Rae shoot at some infected and you focus on Rosalie leading the way.

The other side of the street is close. It’s clear in comparison to the Main Street.

Relief invades you when you make it. Rae takes the lead to look for the entrances of the sewers, for a minute, calm invades you.

But it doesn’t last long enough, because a group of infected enter the alley. Rosalie and you start shooting. You take down two and when you’re about to shoot another one, Joel pulls you backward. You barely see why, but you can’t do much.

An infected jumps and dodges your best friend. Her body looked as if it was about to be ripped apart. The infected bites her neck and then there’s a horrid cracking sound that makes you quickly shot at the disgusting creature.

“ROSALIE!” You scream, seeing her body was still.

Her eyes remained open, but there was no life left in her body. Rae turned to look in horror and ran back. You loudly gasped, covering your mouth, unable to believe what had just happened. Rae started running back.

“RAE, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!” Joel screams at the man.

His messy black hair obstructs his face, but he is confidently kneeling to check on his dead girlfriend.

“RAE!” You call out for him.

The man remains there, ignoring the approaching chaos, he only grabs his beloved’s hands and then turns to look at you. More infected running to enter the alley.

“Take my belongings and go” Your eyes snap open.

“What? We’re not leaving you” you yell desperately, but before you can step closer to him, Joel grabs your forearm, stopping you.

“Joel, take her and go” Rae insisted, throwing his keys with his free hand since the other would not let go of Rosalie’s.

Many infected approaches, running towards your direction.

“Be safe” Rae says lastly then takes out the remote he had inside his jacket. You try to run towards him one last time, but Joel starts dragging you away.

“NO, RAE, DON’T YOU DARE!” He pressed the button. The whole place exploding with an extremely loud boom.

Joel and you land a couple of feet away,

Stunned, you look around, seeing the flames of a big fire creating a barrier between you, Joel, and the crawling infected.

“You okay?, honey, Are you okay?” Joel starts asking you, protectively holding your stomach to see if you are hurt.

You shake your head, urging to stand up and help him as well.

“We have to go” he yells, grabbing your hand and starting to run away to enter the sewers.

In his head, he was only thinking on saving you. But his heart reminded him that you needed both to be safe. As dangerous as it was, both needed to live.

The decaying street starts to look farther away until you enter the darkness of the sewers. It’s humid, dark and burning. You can hear the distant explosions, and small tremors make you feel dizzy, but Joel never let's go of you hand to confirm you are following him. After some minutes, Joel climbs some stairs and sees the barn Rae had mentioned before. You look back to see the sewers, distant sounds of infected making you hurry to get out.

There’s only one horse when you enter the barn.

Joel rides faster than ever, the sound of yells grows distant and once you are far enough from the hospital, you hear the shotguns.

You swallow the painful lump in your throat but it was useless, you stared crying quietly.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Joel says, trying to comfort you. “I got you, baby”

“Let’s go fucking home, Joel” you say between sobs, holding him harder, wetting the back of his jacket.

How many more pain would it take to have your happy ending? You question as the city of Denver started looking smaller and smaller.

…

Hours later, you and Joel make it to Aurora, Colorado. Afar you see a big, decayed city, just like every other you have seen before. You knew it was full of infected. The distant growls and clicking sounds could be heard. You grip Joel’s arm as he helps you get down the horse.

It was getting late. Joel had no idea of how bad the road would be. He had in mind that you and him would return to Jackson by the same route as the first time. But now, going northeast wasn’t ideal, because it was unknown.

As he eyes the map and then at the city. He thinks about the possibility of not passing through the city.

But then, he looks at the sky. It was almost in complete darkness. The woods seemed safe, especially near the lake where the water running was ideal to hide any noise from infected and raiders.

“Okay, we’ll rest for the night,” he says, giving one last look at the map. “Tomorrow we’ll dodge the city and head towards Sterling”

When Joel doesn’t hear your answer, he turns worried. Only to find you kneeling, carving out something.

He gets closer only to hear you sniffling. Your hands sink an improvised cross made out of two old dry branches, placing some marigolds from the surrounding forest.

It’s nothing, you're placing a cross too far from where they died. But it was the least you could do to say goodbye to Rosalie and Rae.

“Just a minute…” you tell Joel, not turning to look at him.

He understands. Throughout the years he had buried many people that eventually he considered friends. And at some point, Joel also understood that no matter how many times it happened, it would always hurt. He remembered Bill and Frank, Sam and Henry, Tess… his Sarah.

Without thinking, Joel opened Rae’s backpack and after wandering inside, he pulled out his keys. The keys that opened their home, the same keys that opened the door for them to escape the hospital.

He placed the backpack in the floor and carefully kneeled beside you. Joel saw your profile and looked at how the tears quietly poured.

When he placed the keys with the flowers, you finally looked at him.

“They saved our lives”

“They did…” Joel agrees.

You are the first one to stand up. You offer your hand to your husband, and he takes it as leverage to not hurt his knee. You are biting your tongue.

Joel is about to untie the horse when you sigh, you grab his hand, startling him.

“What’s wrong, sweet-“

“Joel, I’m pregnant”

His hand drops yours. Only to push your head in his shoulder, his free arm resting in your lower back.

Your eyes water again. He will eventually ask questions. But at that moment, you just know Joel was shocked.

He kissed your forehead. It was a silent promise. It was him trying to say that he loved you, that he was scared. That he would protect you and that baby no matter what, he would survive any obstacle for you.

And you could read him so well that you understood him. You just embraced him harder.

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

RIP Rosalie and Rae 😭

reader is pregnant again, woah (go girl give us nothing) more details on how far she is on next chapter. And Dina and her learned they were pregnant on the same day NOOOOOOOOOO

Should Joel and reader have another girl or a boy this time? 🙂‍↕️

Taglist: @just-mj-or-not @mmkkzz @hiroikegawa @nosebeers @glitterspark @annulmaelae @heartpatch @doodlebob-mp3 @ennvsco @isabella-rose-trastamara @chewie-bars @bypurple @umadirectioner @mrsbilicablog @yvonne-dump @hannah9921

(tell me if u want to be added or removed from masterlist)

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you

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spinningwebsandtales · 3 days ago

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Imagine Bucky Helping You Through A Panic Attack

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack, hyperventilating, crying, hurt/comfort, Bucky breaks into your home, reckless driving, fluffy

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) Went to go see Thunderbolts yesterday and now I'm back on a Bucky kick! I have so many fic ideas for so many characters that it's not even funny! The plot bunnies have been eating my brain so I hope all my readers keep an eye out as I start churning out some new stuff! Enjoy my brain rot for hot dudes! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Bucky gunned the engine, the bike taking off with a roar down the street. His phone buzzing in his pocket as he pushed the bike harder. One text is all it took and he was flying trying to get to your side. You didn't ask for much and you didn't like involving him in your what you called meager problems. But that one worded text 'help' was all that it took. If you reached out it was bad and Bucky wasn't going to wait around until you decided that you wanted to push your problems back down and call him off.

Skidding into your driveway while the brakes screamed at the sudden stop. Bucky quickly kicked the stand down and ripped the key from the ignition before running to your front door. He wiggled the knob but whatever was happening with you, made you forget to unlock the door. He rattled it harder calling out your name and waited a few seconds. With no answer Bucky made the decision and with his metal arm ripped the knob and deadbolt off your door. He called for you again and this time he heard you say his name weakly. Throwing the motorcycle keys and the locks on the floor he raced into your bedroom. His heart shattered at your pale complexion as you rocked back and forth on your mattress.

"What's wrong," Bucky frantically looked you over before pulling out his phone about to call for an ambulance.

You were panting, trying to fill your lungs as you hyperventilated. A crushing weight settling in your chest as your heart raced. Anxiety had been bothering you all day but for some reason when you had finally gotten home it had blown into a full panic attack. Normally you could breathe through them and walk yourself through. But you had been pushing feelings aside, tamping them down and it had caught up with you. They finally erupted and you couldn't calm yourself down. So you reached out to Bucky, your rock in this world. He understood what it felt like more than anyone. You had met him so long ago and you both had became friends so quickly. But when your relationship grew, he opened up and it made you realize just how much that he carried upon his shoulders. A bloody past and regrets as deep as the sea. You had been there for him and now he wanted to be here for you.

"Panic," you huffed. Fingernails biting into your arms as you continued to rock. "Attack. Can't. Calm. Myself."

"It's okay," Bucky knelt down grabbing your hands. He didn't pull them from your arms but he worked your fingers to loosen so you couldn't scratch yourself. "I know it's hard and it seems irrational but don't stomp them down. Scream. Cry. But you have to start breathing normal. Can you do that for me?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes.

"I've," you huffed again. "Tried. Can't. Stop."

Bucky nodded before going ahead and loosening one of your hands. He placed it over his chest and his dark eyes stared right into you.

"Breathe with me. Deeply. Slowly."

He started taking in a deep breath and you tried your best to copy in. It was a stuttering breath and it left you in a whoosh as Bucky breathed out slowly. But he wouldn't waver, keeping a firm grip on your wrist. Once again he breathed in deeply and you followed. This time a little bit easier. You could hold the breath a little bit longer but you breathed out faster than Bucky again.

"In and out," he ordered. Never wavering and keeping calm. "You can do this. Slowly with me."

Bucky breathed again and leaned in his nose touching yours. This time you were able to sync with him. You breathed deeply along with him and holding a few seconds before you both breathed back out. Your breath mingling with Bucky's as his puff of air brushed against your lips. You shivered but your rocking had begun to calm and even the weight that was crushing your lungs was beginning to ease. You shivered a little but still Bucky held on. He refused to let go until he knew for certain that you were ready or you told him in all honesty that you were okay.

"One more time," he coached and you listened.

Finally you were breathing better on your own and all the tremors in your body had stopped. Bucky rubbed your arms, trying to will comfort into you before he felt comfortable to leave you just for a moment. He gave you a gentle squeeze before leaving your bedroom and going into the kitchen. Filling a glass with a bit of ice and water he made his way back to you. Taking a seat on the bed beside you, he offered the water and you took it gratefully. You downed it quickly before sitting the glass on your bedside table. You sucked in a breath through your nose and started to cry.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed.

Bucky stiffened but it took him only moments before he was embracing you. Shushing you as more emotions began to slam into your mind. Battering your walls as you clung tightly to his leather jacket.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky argued. "We all have days like this. There's nothing wrong with you and you don't have to apologize to me."

"But I made you come all the way here just because I couldn't control my emotions."

Bucky sighed rolling his eyes but he only held you tighter. "It takes five minutes to get here and like two if you break all sorts of vehicular laws and make yourself a public menace."

You snorted before sniffing to keep your nose from running onto Bucky.

"I don't think you could ever be a public menace," you squeezed him back as the storm within you started to calm.

"You would be surprised. Don't break into any government records on me, you'll lose faith in me."

You finally were able to pull away and look straight at Bucky for the first time since he arrived, "Never."

Bucky awkwardly patted your back and rubbing soothing circles as you drank a little bit more water and grabbed some tissues.

"I'm terrible at this thing called life," you groaned.

"I'm over one hundred years old and I'm still terrible at life," Bucky sighed making you giggle.

"I don't know," you wiped at your tear stained cheeks and eyes before blowing your nose with a tissue, "I think you're doing a pretty good job."

"Thanks and I think you're doing just fine yourself," Bucky tugged you back into his arms. Holding you close and giving you a tight squeeze. "Also I think I owe you a new lock for your door. Cause I kind of broke the one to get in."

"Who knew James Buchanan Barnes was a Dr. Phil and a handyman," you teased while drawing patterns in the dark worn leather of Bucky's jacket.

"Don't tell anyone I have a Winter Solider image to uphold," Bucky stood back up and offered up his hand. You took it as he gave your hand a squeeze.

You had hated texting Bucky, you knew he was a busy man but you were so thankful that you did. He had come racing to your rescue and you knew you could rely on him. Bucky stopped walking when he noticed that you weren't following him and the sight of the adoration in your eyes towards him had him sucking in a breath. He never thought he could earn any normal moments like these. Where he could be loved and wanted. Life had been hard and he wanted to make yours a little bit easier. If it meant he had to speed across town to get to you because of a panic attack so be it. From aliens to rampant emotions he wanted to be there for you no matter what. And now that one thing was fixed at the moment he wanted to focus on a certain doorknob that he needed to replace. But he wanted to do normal life things with you by his side forever.

#Bucky Barnes X Reader #Bucky Barnes / Reader #James Buchanan Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes Imagine #The Winter Soldier Imagine #MCU Imagine #Marvel Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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cuppajoel · 9 hours ago

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the next seven dates| the contractor

PAIRING: modern au/ no cordyceps/younger (late 30s)!Joel Miller x plus size!reader

SYNOPSIS: Dating apps have convinced you that love isn’t real and that all men are pigs. Turning to your bffs for a Hail Mary, you ask them to set you up on a blind date each to restore your faith. Your first date is with a contractor called Joel.

wc: 8.7k (oops)

TAGS: 18+MDNI, NSFW, Modern AU, smut, developing relationships, reader is plus-sized, able bodied and afab, no other description is given. Heavy flirting, first date vibes, Joel is a gentleman at heart, dirty talk, heavy petting in a taxi, alcohol consumption, sex while under the influence, pnv protected (the crowd boos) sex, v fingering, oral sex (f receiving). Both characters are in their 30s.

A/N: I started writing this in September and fell away so many times bc writing for Joel Miller scares me. If you’re looking for a sign to write the thing that you want to read, this is it. Not beta’d.

For context of the fic. This shot is called a blowjob. It’ll all make sense, I promise.

Reblogs, comments and likes are all appreciated <3

Jingling your keys in your right hand, you watch as the numbers climb on the digital display, showing what floor you’re on. You’re exhausted. You let your head fall back against the mirrored surface behind you, your back resting on the metal bar and your eyes fluttering shut for a moment of respite. Although it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, it was a close second or third. You take a deep breath.

From the moment you stepped foot into that bar, the guy was a red flag that turned into a 5-alarm fire.

“Oh wow you look good… A lot like my sister… DING Not that I think my sister looks good, but you look hot, d’you work out? DING Yeah, you can tell… how much do you squat? DING oh, well, I could probably bench you…DING We should try that sometime, if you know what I mean? DING. He laughs, a mix of a frat bro and that lizard meme comes to mind.

The elevator doors open with another ding, making your right eye twitch slightly as you cross the carpeted hall to your apartment. You turn the key in the lock and give your door the customary shoulder barge before the locking mechanism is released. Hooking your jacket and purse on the wall and locking the door behind you, you kick off your shoes and head straight for your giant corner couch, collapsing onto it with a huff.

This wasn’t just a bad date. It was a bad date after a series of bad dates, one after another. The only takeaway from each is that people seriously hyperbolise themselves online.

You were relatively new to the world of online dating after catching your fiancé of three years, Jake, doing the downward dog with your shared yoga teacher only eight months ago.

Jake was everything you thought you wanted. A nice guy with a secure 9-5 and a handsome face. But everything about him was just nice. Your dates, your apartment, your sex- all nice. And at the end of it all, he was cheating on you- real fucking nice.

Unlocking your phone, it opens to the group chat thread between you and your two best friends. You hold down the voice note button.

“So you may be wondering ‘Why is she home already?’ Well, my sweet summer children, not only did my date admit that he found his sister attractive and wanted to ‘bench me’ all before we ordered our first drink…” You pause for dramatic effect, knowing they can’t hear you, but it makes you feel better. You huff out an empty chuckle. “I am just so over it. How can a man say that his favourite film is “Little Women”, have pictures of his rescue cats on his profile, and still be that much of a stereotypical douche?” You fling your head back, resting it on the top of your couch.

“I’m going to do something dramatic and soooo not me… I am deleting the apps… the two of you are tasked with finding me a date each. I don’t wanna know anything about them before I see them- just their name, age, and one picture. You decide who is going first and the winner gets to be maid of honour at the inevitable wedding… Anyway, I’m going to go read one of my fairy porn books and contemplate my life… Night, loves!”

Somehow, you muster the energy to shift yourself from the couch to your room. You bunch up your tainted date clothes, toss them in the general direction of your hamper and pull on an oversized T-shirt. The wasted makeup is double-cleansed off your face, and you shove your hair up into an extremely unflattering bun. Grabbing your Kindle from under your pillow, you flop back onto your bed; your dates with the beautiful high-fairy king never disappoint.

Almost a week later, your best friends pull through. Having found a guy each, who they swear is the one you’ve been looking for, they arrange your dating schedule between themselves. Tonight was the first. In the Uber ride over to the restaurant, you send your location to your friend who set up the date.

Any last-minute words of wisdom?

He’s kinda that strong, silent type.

Also southern

A gentleman for sure!

Hopefully not all of the time 😮‍💨

You shove the car door closed, adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder, and tuck your phone inside. You feel good tonight. Blue jeans, a red lip, oversized, white-button down, black, pointed-toe, heeled boots-damn they hurt, but they look so good. You slide your index fingers into the belt loops either side of your hips, hiking them up slightly to allow the denim to stretch around your ass just right.

Rounding the corner, you find yourself on the strip of bars and restaurants on the main street. You weave in and out of the patrons, everyone being washed with the rich blues and reds of the neon lights beaming down on them. As you push the door with your hip and descend the two steps to the bar, you lick your teeth, making sure they’re free from any red stains.

Inside is quite the contrast from the bustle of the streets a few feet away. The place is busy, for sure, but it’s as if everyone is collectively trying to keep the atmosphere calm and easy. A massive mahogany coloured bar is the feature of the room, with hanging, warm, filament bulbs creating small spotlights all along it.

You walk further into the room, parallel with the bar, coming to a stop at its corner, facing the bartender. You squint your eyes slightly, trying to pull out familiar shapes from the hundreds of glass bottles behind the bar. The bartender gives you a small smile; it’s your turn.

“Can I have a Tanqueray Savillia gin and tonic, please?” You ask with a soft smile, reaching for your purse to pull out your wallet. “Oh, and a shot of tequila…” You wouldn’t normally mix drinks on the first round, but you also wouldn’t normally go on a blind date.

“Sure. Do you wanna start a tab?” is the return. You look up to answer their question, having retrieved your card and holding it firm between your index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, plea-“

“I got the this one.” A warm, sturdy presence flanks you on your right shoulder. Their strong right hand is placed gently on the bar next to you. Your eyes flick up to the mirrors behind the bar, meeting his in the reflection. He’s looking right back at you through the glass, and a small, closed-mouth smile creeps across your face as you turn to face him in real life.

“Joel?” He nods slowly in response, the smile not faltering as he looks down at you, a glitter in his espresso-coloured eyes. His eyes trail down your form and then back up; you allow yourself to do the same to him. Although not the tallest man you’ve seen, he’s built big.

He’s wearing a charcoal grey, brushed-cotton button down and dark-wash denim jeans that fit him perfectly. Both sleeves of his shirt are folded in on themselves and stop just below his elbow. His hair must be naturally wavy or curly, but it’s been pushed back and tamed slightly, a few curls going rogue.

“Hey, it’s good to meet ya,” he tips his head down slightly as you raise yours, meeting each other in the middle as you press a kiss on the other person's cheek. He smells warm and masculine, a mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like basil. “I’ll take a Glenlivet 15 and a shot of tequila- the tab is under Miller. Thank you.” He smiles firmly at the bartender. Your eyes follow the line of his thick neck, up through his jaw, which is peppered with trimmed salt and pepper stubble.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” your hand comes up to his jaw, remnants of your merlot coloured lipstick on his cheek. He turns back to you and creases his eyes slightly, not following your apology but also not flinching an inch as you place your hands on him.

Your thumb moves in a slow and firm window-wiper motion to try and remove the stain. “I got lipstick on you…” Your left hand now comes up to the other side of his face, pushing ever so slightly to get him to turn to face you more. He preens into your touch, malleable to where you want him. The trimmed stubble pricks lightly at your fingertips.

“Is it my colour at least?” He teases, he looks down at you from the corner of his eye as you woman-handle his face. Damn, his voice is deep. It rumbles through your chest, signifying how close you are to this broad, thick, stranger.

“Yes. Very pretty.” You return with the same level of flirt. Your eyes shift from the red mark you’ve placed on him to his as you give him a lazy smile. The bartender sets up your drinks on the bar in front of you, making you both finally pop from whatever bubble you found yourself in. Three minutes in and you’re already cradling his face? Nice one, babe. You hear your friend's voice in your head.

“Well…” Joel picks up both shot glasses of tequila and hands you one, raising his own, and an eyebrow in your direction. “Cheers-“

“Hold it!” You cut in, your glass also raised to the same level as his. “Gotta look me in the eyes as we drink… otherwise it’s seven years bad sex.” You say, dipping your voice ever so slightly as you remember the above dive-bar standard of the room you find yourself in.

“Shit- well…” Joel smirks, he clinks his glass against yours. “Can’t be havin’ that now darlin’” That southern accent clings to every word as he throws the liquid back, his eyes not faltering for a second. You mirror his actions entirely, trying your best not to screw up your face as the liquid heats your insides.

He gives a silent chuckle before leaning into you again, hand on the small of your back and his mouth hovering just over your ear. “I snagged a table in the corner over there…” He points over your shoulder and you follow with your eyes. “Means you can keep telling me how pretty I am…” he teases and resumes his stance- one giant hand supporting himself on the bar.

Your mouth raises slightly at the sides. That first shot of alcohol hits you nicely as the smell of his cologne makes you breathe harder. “Sure.” You grab your drink from the bar and walk ahead of him to the vacant table, hoping that ‘ol’ faithful’ jeans are doing their job.

You stop just before the chair that isn’t covered by his leather jacket, waiting for confirmation. It comes in the form of Joel pulling out the seat for you. “Pretty and a gentleman… so many sides to you, Joel.” You say, not putting your full weight on the chair so that he can tuck it in under you.

He quickly joins you at the table, his large presence not diminished by his seated position. “Well, what can I say? I’ve got many talents.” He shrugs as he takes a sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he places it back down.

In the ease of the past forty minutes, you both had forgotten that this was a first date. A charged silence falls upon you both as you simply take each other in, smiling widely when you catch eyes.

Joel watches as you unconsciously play with your necklace. He’s actively trying to stay in the room rather than let his mind wander about your full, rounded lips that flash red with danger.

“So, I gotta say, I thought you’d be a little more bossy given your demand for a blind date… You do that often?” He sips the whisky, hoping it will bring him back to earth. He so desperately didn’t want to be the guy not paying attention to what you were saying, given that he had asked the question.

“No,” you started, your eyes crinkling at the sides as you smile, “I don’t usually demand that they set me up on blind dates, but the last guy I went on a date that I organised admitted his attraction towards his sister and then tried to organise sex… all within the same sentence, so I’m starting to doubt my abilities to pick for myself.”

Joel splutters on his drink slightly, the fiery liquid catching the back of his throat as he coughs. “You got any siblings?” you cock your head, chuckling that you caught him off guard.

“My brother has a bit too much moustache for my taste,” he says, taking another quick sip to hopefully soothe the burning in his throat. “And I don’t tend to ‘schedule in’ sex.” He murmurs, the words coming out a bit laboured due to the whisky in his throat.

“Noted.” You return, “I’ll make sure to keep mine at bay.” You rub your upper lip before finishing off the last mouthful of your drink. “You want another drink?” You ask in a way that sounds hopeful. Not wanting to run after 10 minutes? Double nice one babe.

“Yeah.” He savours the last sip of his drink, licking across his bottom lip. “What can I get you?”

“Oh no, this one’s on me, pretty.” You wink at him. Joel opens his mouth in protest but wavers, a slight flush coming over him at his new nickname. “Same again?” You ask.

Joel notices how the lights strung around the place bounced off your eyes, making it harder to see their colour but even more difficult to look away. You pick up his empty glass as you stand. Joel nods in response, giving an earnest “Thank you, darlin’.” As he watches you make the small walk from your table to the bar, he gives himself full permission to check you out.

Your jeans look like they were painted on by the devil, caressing every curve of your waist and thighs. The back pocket of your pants stretches and pulls as you slide one of your hands in, waiting on a popped hip to be served at the bar. The denim leaves little to the imagination but, boy, was Joel imagining? He never wanted to be in a wrestling match more than with this pair of pants. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to peel them off your body.

You move, shifting your weight to your other hip; your heels must be hurting you, he thinks. He lets his eyes wander up over your silhouette, up to your profile, as he does, he sees your eyes waiting for his. “Busted.” you mouth to him, your lips forming a wicked smile.

Joel smirks too, not letting up his gaze and nodding. ”So busted.” he says under his breath.

It’s not long before you join him back at your table, setting his down in front of him with a tip of your head before sitting back and enjoying a long sip from your own.

From the corner of your eye, the bartender comes over, placing two shot glasses in front of you. “Ah, thank you!” You say to them as they return to their bar. “Here ya go, I didn’t have enough hands for everything.” You hold out the shot to Joel with a devious look that wasn’t there before you’d left.

It wasn’t a shot Joel had ever seen before, a mix of different browns and beiges topped off with whipped cream. Joel takes the small glass between his fingers and crinkles his eyes at you. “Should I be scared?” He says, turning the glass to see the different liquors marbling together.

“That depends…” You move your shot glass to your other hand and lick some whipped cream off your thumb before switching it back to your dominant hand. “Do you like blowjobs, Joel?” You flutter your lashes and smile sweetly at the man across from you, whose jaw had just gone slack and eyes darker from the last time you’d looked at them.

Joel, not wanting to interrupt whatever mood you’d returned with from that bar, makes a deep “mmm mmm mmm” sound that started somewhere in his chest as he shakes his head and purses his lips. “You are trouble, ain’t you?” With that, you clink the glass against his and smile again.

“You have no idea.” You tip the glass back along with your head, just slightly so as not to break eye contact. Joel mirrors your motions, trying not to tempt fate given that he had a demon in front of him. Quickly, his gaze falters as the contrast in taste between the shot and his whisky has him shivering.

“Is that the best blow job you’ve ever had?” There you were again, licking the sweetness of the liquor from where it’d spilled on your fingers. A carnal image of you doing that after having his cock in your mouth flashes before his eyes. He shifts in his seat, having to tug at the denim at his crotch.

“Probably not.” Joel starts, taking a drink to rid his mouth of the overly sweet shot. “But, I believe in second chances-can always try again.” The liquor was starting to talk for him as he felt it climb his neck and up his ears.

“Okay, so I have this game that I play on dates…” You start, somehow your chair had drifted closer and closer throughout the night, as you both take turns getting the next round from the bar. As you sit elbow to elbow with Joel, close enough to smell the whisky that mixes with his earthy cologne.

“I like where this is headed already.” His accent has gotten stronger over the hour that has passed.

You shove his shoulder, “Shut upp. The game is that you have to imagine that your memory is wiped, so you get to experience things for the first time again… I then give you a category and you can only pick one thing, okay? So, if I were to say movie: what movie would you want to experience watching for the first time again?”

“Blade Runner”, he says, without hesitation. His eyes were starting to have that warm, glazed look that comes with drinking. “You?”

“Probably Scream or Fight Club- I like a twist. Vacation?”

“Ireland.”

“Australia.” you respond, picking up the pendant on your necklace out of habit, dragging it back and forth along the chain. Joel follows the movement of your fingers with his eyes, letting it soothe him too. “Food?”

“Mmmm, that’s a hard one…probably something that my Mom makes, like chilli or barbecue.”

“You’re easy to please, hm?”

“Give me a plate of good food and I’m yours.” He picks up his glass, trying to savour the liquid as you’d both agreed ‘just one more’ two drinks ago.

“I also love chilli.” You start, watching the way his lips wrap around the glass and how his tongue flicks across his lips when he sets it back down. “But I think I’d go with a dessert like chocolate fudge sundae… or, have you ever had one of those French pastries… What are they called? Pain au chocolat? That would be mine.”

He hums again, enjoying watching you ask and answer your own questions. The fidget that you started with the pendant of your necklace holding steady. In a moment of no thought, Joel slowly reaches out and stills your movement to look at the gold medal. “This is pretty.” He says to himself more than anything.

His big hand covers yours and flips the coin-shaped jewellery over with his fingers, the only response you can muster, “mmm”. He surveys the jewellery as best he can in the dim light of the bar, noticing the engraving on the back.

“It’s my initials.” You say. Your hand, and his, staying exactly where they are.

“Oh, you have a middle name.” More an accusation than a question. He sounds as if he’s uncovering some hidden gem about you. “What is it?”

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting it that easy. That’s for date five at least.” You tease, your gaze becoming heavier, the devious glimmer in Joel’s eyes becoming stronger.

“Anything else special happen on date five?”

”You might get another blowjob… but you were so ungrateful for the first one.” Your eyes drop to his mouth and then back up to his.

Joel can feel himself aching to be closer to you. His hand that holds the pendant now drifts to your jaw, his thumb feathering over your cheek, mirroring the window-wiper hold you had him in the first moments that you’d met each other.

He had a craving to explore every part of you, to taste, smell, and hear you. The need shoots through every nerve ending, spurring him on to take everything he can. But he has to slow down, or else take you to the bathroom and make you fill up all of his senses.

The Texan gentleman within him holds strong, as much as he could feel all of his reasoning heading south. He brings his face closer to yours, that slanted smile quickly becoming your favourite sight. “Can I take you home?” He rumbles, his voice low and soft so only you both could hear it.

The whisky on his breath makes your eyes flutter as you draw a sharp breath at his question. Your mouth turns up at the sides, you can tell your eyes have the same shimmer as his. Tipsy. Ready.

This wasn’t something you’d planned on. You had so many rules about first dates: No kissing (hence the red lipstick), no sharing a car, and no sex until you felt safe. With this man’s hand cradling the back of your neck and his calloused thumb tracing down your jaw and back again, you feel like syrup dripping over hot pancakes.

You’ve lost all sense of what time it is, or how long you’d been sitting there, inches from his face as your body screams at you to kiss him.

His face is so close to yours that his features become fuzzy. Your eyes are having a hard time focusing in this light. Joel’s eyes move over your features, waiting, restraining, teasing, not daring to push further until you say so.

You reach out to the corded forearm that is tensed and attached to the hand that was holding you gently. Your manicured nails rake up and down his arm in a feathered tickle. You feel his breathing deepen as you press your top teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna need to,” The pressure from your scratches is getting slightly harder, causing a hum to vibrate in Joel’s throat. “or else everyone will see how pretty you are with this shade of lipstick on your mouth.”

Joel takes the weight of your head and neck in his hands. He holds you both in that position; thick fingers cradling your nape. His tongue traces along his lips and pulls back slightly just so he can take in the heavy-lidded, slack-jawed sight before him.

“Let’em see.” he brings his lips, achingly close to yours, his eyes open, waiting for that last confirmation before he hands over his soul.

In an instant, his lips find yours, setting a slow, strong pace. The trimmed stubble on his upper lip chafes against your soft skin, creating the sweetest friction.

His cologne, mixing with the whisky and the warmth of his skin, takes over your senses as the broad backed man envelops you in his big arms.

Raking your hands through the soft curls at the back of his head, you can help but kitten lick at his bottom lip, craving a taste of that whisky you’ve seen him sip at all evening.

It only takes an instant for Joel’s breathing to deepen and for his tongue to meet yours, you both stifling a moan as you slide deeper and deeper into each other’s mouths.

Your wills, hanging by a thread, allow you a moment of clarity to softly pull away. A noise rumbles within Joel’s chest as you do, his resolve slipping like sand in an hourglass. With heavy eyes he lingers on your messy mouth, his brain unable to think of anything else than what state you’d end up in after his cock passes through your full lips.

With a chuckle, you bring your thumb to his mouth, wiping away the remnants of your lipstick that have transferred to him. “Messy boy.” You mumble, assuming your pupils must be the same size as his. He mirrors the movements on your mouth. The lipstick, blurry and smeared into a faded, pastel red that he hopes stays on him for days.

Joel swipes gently at your hot, swollen lips and chin, trying to clean you up and calm himself down before you leave the table. At one of the passes of his over your mouth, you lick softly at the pad of his finger. Matching your mood, he sinks his teeth into the fleshy part at the base of your thumb and tugs slightly.

“If we don’t leave in the next minute this whole goddamn bar is gonna see how messy I get when I turn your sweet ass the same colour as your mouth.” He licks then kisses where he had bitten you, making your eyes flutter and thighs press together.

The next half an hour was a blur. You both had the mission to get to your apartment as soon as possible, causing you to move with the most efficiency that four drinks would allow you to.

The Uber ride was the longest of your life.

Joel opened the car door and then slid right in behind you. His large, powerful hands placing you into the middle seat and wrapping the seatbelt around you, clicking it into place. He places his warm hand in the inside of your thigh, unable to keep his hands from you, you did the same, your forearm laying across the top of his thigh, nails scratching softly at the denim.

The alcohol has well and truly gone to your head, making every touch and graze feel heady and dreamlike. Joel was struggling. All night he was craving to be closer to you, holding and restraining himself but now that he’d had a taste it was impossible not to touch you. Trying to maintain his stoicism was less like stopping a yawn or sneeze and more like trying to stop a freight train on a windy day.

In the front, your driver is murmuring along to the radio, but all you can hear is the heavy, warm breathing of the man behind you as you allow him to explore your jean-clad thighs.

Pulling, pushing, kneading, it felt like Joel couldn’t get close enough. The roughness of his touch was full of nothing but need and desire.

You can��t make out everything he’s saying, his whisper is strained and raspy. You can make out the words goddamn and jeans; the lucky fabric achieving their purpose once again.

Your hand covers Joel’s, squeezing and pushing at him, encouraging him to keep going. Whatever devil was inside you wanted to push him to his limits in the back of this cab.

Feeling bold, you allow your palm to push at Joel’s high, travelling further and further up his lap before you stop dangerously close to the giant bulge you can see in the low light of the cab. This wasn’t typical behaviour from you, but the solid warmth of the man under you called to your most primitive nerves.

Dropping your head to Joel’s shoulder, you lean into his neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses, tinged with light pink, in your wake. Trying your damnedest to hold strong until you get to the apartment.

The walk through the main doors of your apartment building was full of sideways glances and lip bitten chuckles. To have such desire within hours of meeting someone had never happened to you before. It made your skin tingle, all of your senses heightened.

By the time you reach the elevator, you can hardly recognise the darkness in the eyes peering into yours. Fingers interlaced, firm squeezes shoot straight to your clit; Joel’s rough hands somehow able to be strong but reverent at the same time.

Waiting until the doors close, Joel guides you against the brushed steel bar, which reaches the small of your back, and closes you in. His hands hold onto the bar on either side of your hips.

That nagging, rational part of Joel’s brain was screaming at him. He didn’t want any wires crossed or doubts about his intentions about tonight. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one night stands but not for years and certainly not with someone who he’d felt this level of attraction to.

With his knuckle, he ensures your eyes are on him as he hovers his mouth too close to yours. “I need you to know that I didn’t come on this date expectin’ anythin’and I still don’t…” he bows slightly, his forehead rests against yours, and he exhales with a self-fuffacing chuckle.

“I should be a gentleman. I should walk you to your front door, kiss you, and say goodnight.”

But I don’t know if I can, his brain screams at him.

Unmoving, you both share breath in close proximity. The alcohol in your system is dulled by the rush of adrenaline and hormones that are buzzing around your body.

Your teeth latch on to your bottom lip, Joel immediately catches on to the action but squeezes his lids shut, keeping his caveman brain at bay just barely.

The hotness of Joel’s breath fanning over your face has you fantasising about how it’d feel to have it between your legs. You shuffle slightly, squeezing your thighs together and feeling how wet this evening has made you already.

Staying in the electric silence, your chuckle echoes his own. You mimic his actions, moving your forehead, pressing the knuckle of your forefinger under his chin, encouraging him to lift it so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Joel, I’ve got some good news for ya…” The elevator dings, opening its metal doors at your floor. You let your grasp of his chin fall so you can wriggle free of his hold and lead the way to your apartment. “You might be a gentleman, but I’m not.”

Exiting the elevator slowly, you emphasise the movement of your hips as you lead the way through the carpeted hallway to your door. Joel follows closely, admiring the view with hearts in his eyes. Pausing for the briefest of moments, he exhales fully, palming himself, squeezing to elevate the ache at the base of his cock before catching up to you.

Twisting the key in the lock, you ram the door with your hips once, twice. “C’mon cockblocker” you ram it again, somehow the combination works, gaining you access to your apartment and a sideways glance from Joel which reads ‘we’ll deal with this later’.

With unfathomable accuracy, you throw your keys into the dish by your door and shrug off Joel’s leather jacket, which he kindly lent you, hanging it by the door.

At your back, you feel the Texan man push his hips into your ass. His fingers slide through your belt loops, giving him more purchase and momentum as you lead the way down the hall to your bedroom. His lips kiss softly at your neck, inhaling your scent before exhaling with a rumble. “Can you feel that, darlin’? Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me?” He punctuates with another pump of his hips.

A playful chuckle passes your lips as you turn on your heel so that you are facing him. Bravely, you press your palm firmly against the thickness under his jeans.

A flush starts at the base of your spire and carries up to the tips of your ears, as you feel how hard he is. His eyes flutter close, a deep groan reverberating from his throat as your breathing gets heavier. “Oh fuck, you’re big.” You rush out, that brain-to-mouth filter experiencing technical difficulties.

Joel threads his fingers through your hair, his palm cradling your head, the other grabbing at your full hip. His big brown eyes glimmer in the low light of the room as he scans your full face, stopping at your lips before flicking back up to match your gaze. “I believe in you, sweetheart. I think you can take it.” A sideways smirk, gifted to him by horny demon, swipes across his full lips.

Bringing your lips to his once again, the kiss is feverish, missing all of the earnestness of your first. Joel licks into your mouth deeply, his tongue gliding along yours, your breaths mixing together, making the air balmy.

Almost simultaneously you reach for his belt buckle and he your top button, the soft clink of metal on metal making your pussy clench.

He coaxes you backwards, prodding you to lay down on the bed as you begin working the buttons of your shirt.

Reaching behind himself, he tugs on the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swoop. His body is a wall of soft muscle- not created at a gym but through honest hard work. Freckles speckled down his arms and across his chest- you want to trail a path with your tongue.

“These jeans laced with black magic or somethin? Had me hallucinatin’ from the minute I saw you at that bar.” He peels them down in a see-saw motion. Joel kisses down the roundness of your hips and thighs as they are revealed little by little as he goes one on one with the denim.

Before long, jeans, shirts, and shoes are cast to the outskirts of the room. You lay before him in a blue matching set- the heft of your tits barely confined. Giving them a squeeze, your smaller hands barely cover them, the pillowy flesh spilling over the spaces in between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes go directly to them, a slanted smile sweeping across his face before he lowers his lips to the roundness of your stomach.

Licking, kissing, inhaling the scent that he assumed was your perfume lingers heavy on the plumpness of your soft skin. Travelling lower and lower, Joel settles himself, kneeling on the floor before you, eyes settled on the damp patch spreading on the gusset of your panties.

With forearms hooked under your thighs and hands resting on top Joel yanks you towards him, his beautiful hooked nose laying on the wet fabric as he inhales. “Fuck me.” He whispers into your mound.

Hooking his fingers around the fabric, his eyes flick up to yours for permission. Bumping up onto your forearms for a better view, you smile wickedly, crooking your neck to the side. “Let’s see how messy you can get, pretty.”

Joel all but rips the lace garment, whisking it downwards, past your knees before he hovers his mouth just above your pussy, close enough that his breath tickles against the soft hairs. Tongue first, he places wet kisses on just north of where you want him the most.

Instinctively, your hips raise, eliciting a dark chuckle from him. “Goddamn you’ve got a pretty pussy.” He shifts you so that your legs lay over his shoulders and freeing up his hands to push apart your folds, allowing him to see your swollen clit.

With a flat tongue, Joel licks almost too tenderly at the soft, dewy skin before swooping languidly over and over your bud. “Oh my god.” You moan, willing your hips to stay still and stop being so greedy, allow this man to cook.

“Never been called that before.” he mumbles, bringing the sides of his cheeks together, gathering his saliva in his mouth and then letting it fall to your clit. You were already soaked but Joel needed to see you dripping, messy. You moan, the lewd act making your eyes roll back.

Although being caught up in the desperation you had for each other, Joel needed to take inventory of every twitch, roll, and moan passing through your sweet, soft form. There was no way that he was taking tonight as a solitary event, already craving how you’d moan and whimper for him when you allowed him to fuck you bare.

Gently, he pulled at the apex of your pussy with one hand, pulling at the hood of your clit to unsheath it fully, before circling it with deep, even pressure with his opposite thumb. “You are fucking soaked, sweeheart.” Your breathing gets heavier, you’re unable to open your eyes fully, but you’re not willing to miss a second of this guy at work.

Joel incorporates his mouth, slurping and swallowing as if you were ice cream threatening melt right under him. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you push and pull at his fluffy curls, your heels digging in just at his shoulder blades to encourage him, more.

Feeling him chuckle,he presses into you deeper, his lips and tongue now licking into your pussy which flutters and pulses around his tongue. With each movement of his jaw you feel his beautiful nose bump and swipe across your clit, that familiar buzz at the base of your spine growing stronger and stronger. “Fuck, Joel keep going, it feels so fucking good…”

Hearing his name as a moan on your lips, strokes the most primitive part of him. He needs to be closer, deeper, before he comes in his pants like a teenager.

Somehow finding the strength to peel himself from you, he stands, his cock aching and hard as stone. There’s a clear, darkened patch on his boxers which steals your attention for a second before it moves slowly to his hand squeezing at himself. “I gotta get you ready sweetheart. Gotta be inside you.” He shucks his boxers off himself and pumps his cock in his hand.

Resuming his earlier position, Joel gathers your slick with his middle and ring finger before pushing them in slowly to your weeping pussy.

“Shit”

“Mmmmmfuck”

Groaning in unison, you swear you see Joel’s eyes flutter in the way yours are as you squeeze against his fingers. Joel flexes his digits, sweeping the pad of his thumb across your beautifully swollen clit to tandem with his fingers.

Shifting your hips, you rock yourself on his fingers, allowing your big tits to bounce and ripple in harmony. Opening your eyes, you can see him jerk his heavy, weeping cock at the same pace as he pumps into you, the strong expanse of his forearm tensed with chorded muscle. The view getting you closer and closer by the second.

“Think you can take more? I know your sweet pussy is gonna milk me dry.” Joel stretches his fingers inside of you, licking his lips, his eyes glued to your own.

Never have you had a man talk to you like this during sex. Often, your background music to get off was either the squeak of the bed frame or the buzz of your pocket bff after you were laying, disappointed, in a wet patch in your bed.

“Oh, you like me talking to you, don’t ya? You like it when I tell you how tight your cunt is, hm?” Joel’s upper body is covered in a small sheen of sweat, his fingers somehow able to quicken and maintain the even pressure.

“I’m gonna come, fuck.” Your hips grind harder, movements in tandem with Joel’s allowing your big tits to jiggle and ripple.

A familiar warmth spreads through your pelvis and hips, growing higher and higher flushing to the tips of your ears.

Joel, praying so hard that he doesn’t come, stops jerking himself, instead lowering his body so that he can drink your sweetness from the source. “That’s it. Good girl. Come all over me.” He speaks into your sopping wet pussy. Through thick lashes, he peers over the soft valleys of your stomach and hips, his tongue and fingers not stopping but calming to a slow, steady motion.

Ears still ringing, you prop yourself back on your elbows once more, enjoying the view of the southern man, eyes closed kitten licking at your pulsing hole.

In feeling your muscles flex in movement, his eyes pop open. He pulls his fingers from you, holding them in front of his face and scissoring his first two fingers, examining the silky wetness of your come. Without show or performance he places them in his mouth, past his knuckle in order to finish his meal.

Not wanting to waste another minute without him inside of you, you extend yourself, reaching to the top drawer of your night stand, grabbing a box of condoms and rattling them in his direction.

“I think twelve times might be ambitious but I’ll sure give it a go.” The flirty twinkle in his eye makes you cock your head to the side, giving him an over exaggerated eyeroll. He grabs the package from you, using his teeth to perforate the cellophane and pry open the untouched box.

Pumping his length a few times, Joel scans your entire body; toes, knees, thighs all the way to the undoubtably frizzy fucked curls framing your face. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” It’s not until he finishes the sentence that you look up at his face, meeting his gaze that was waiting for your eyes. He slides the lubed condom over his shaft before joining you, kneeling between your parted thighs on the bed.

Biting your lip, you watch his actions in earnest, allowing his words to settle on your skin. Although never the best at taking compliments, this was not one you wanted to deflect. This beautiful, strong, southern man was looking at you with reverence and you were determined to believe it, if only for tonight.

Lowering himself on one elbow, he reaches your leg with his other arm, hooking it over the sturdy angle of his hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sweetly, his lips find yours, having that gentle quality that you shared in the bar. Pulling back only slightly, his eyes peer south, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it up and down the wetness of your slick, tap tap tapping it on your now engorged clit.

On your gasp, his eyes dilate further, unable to keep that goddamn slanted smile off his face.

Only in this moment have you noticed that when he smiles, he does with his whole face. Yes, his lips move but also his cheeks, creating a domino effect on his eyes, crinkled at the side, and the soft raising of his ears. Fuck, he was handsome.

It was your turn to peer down, looking at the way his cock was teasing you. Cheekily, you manoeuvre your hips, making the tip of his cock, notch against your cunt, causing Joel to swallow a moan and for you to smirk. “C’mon pretty, I wanna feel you stretch me with that big dick of yours.” You circle your hips, trying to make him do it again.

Leveraging your leg on his hip to raise your hips higher, he sinks into you, slowly, inch by inch until he is seated fully. Eyes cemented on yours as your smirk turns into a moan.

“Jesus Christ”

“Fuck, Joel”

Joel held still for a moment, the hand that secured your leg over your hip sweeping up and down the expanse of your thigh. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” His lips lower, licking and kissing over your collarbone and neck, the sweetness of your perfume now musky, mixing with your sweat.

As he pumps his hips with long, deep strokes, you thanked the sex gods that he had a pretty face and a pretty dick. His cock was big and thick, stretching you and making you feel beautifully full, fuller than you ever had been.

Working your hips, you moved in parallel with Joel. Pulling your hips back into the mattress when he pushed his pulsing length deep inside, bridging your hips upwards when he retreated. You didn’t want there to be a moment when he wasn’t inside you, moulding your pussy to fit his perfect size.

Joel slants his lips against yours, not waiting to push his tongue deep and long against your own. It wasn’t controlled, it was sloppy and wet, your hand threading through his hair and pulling at the disheveled strands.

The taste of him, mixed with your come and the faint memory of whisky had you rolling your eyes. It was desperate, reckless, kissing someone you barely know like this, like your life depended on it.

Pulling back, he arranges you, one leg still wrapped around his hip and the other raised up, ankle on his broad, freckled shoulders. “This okay?” His eyes, somehow wider, looking for any change in your expression, ensuring you’re comfortable.

You answer with your heels digging into his shoulder and the small of his back, pulling him into you. He feels bigger this way, his cock able to get deeper, on some strokes kissing that detonate button buried deep inside you.

It’s almost as if you forget how to breathe as he gets faster, the hair on his thighs and lower stomach now glistening with your slick as they rub against you.

Joel lifts you higher, allowing him access to grab at your ass, spreading it slightly, making your head spin and pussy flutter. “That’s it. Cmon, baby. I need to feel you come over my cock.”

This feels primal, biological; as if this night, this moment was written in the fabric of your DNA. Meant to happen.

With your eyes rolling back, you give over your body, surrendering to the will and strength of this man. Joel, feeling that he could combust at any moment looks skyward, willing his body to endure this sweetness for longer.

Bringing his thumb to your poor, swollen clit, Joel rubs in quick, deep circles, his pelvis and hips stuttering as he feels his impending orgasm.

“Fuck yes.” You come, eyes rolling, toes curling and pussy squeezing against the heavy cock inside of you. Your eyes snap shut, your jaw clenches as Joel continues to pump in and out of your spent pussy.

“Mmmmmmfuck” you peel yourself from ecstasy long enough to see Joel come. Each beautiful angle and muscle on his body tensing, his eyes scanning over your flushed face, that smile of his appearing again.

Inching towards you, he kisses you sweetly, the curls at the nape of his neck getting curlier by the second. His giant palm rests on your cheek, deepening the kiss slightly, running his thumb over your jaw.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get cleaned up. You grabbing the oversized T-shirt that lay dormant under your pillow and him finding his boxers in the far corner of the room.

A conversation isn’t had about whether Joel should sleepover or not, instead you fall into each other again; kissing, biting, licking, unable to stop but too tired and a little drunk to take it further.

An ungodly vibration on wood wakes you from the best sleep you’ve had in months. Shooting up in bed, you immediately regret your pace, your head tender from the night before.

Scanning your surroundings for a minute, a little seed of disappointment plants itself when you realise you’re alone, no Texan man in sight.

You swipe across the screen, putting your phone on loud speaker before you faceplant back into your pillow.

“Hello?”

”Good morning, princess.” You can hear the sarcasm dripping from your best friend’s voice. “I was gonna call you last night to see how your date went with the contractor but I’m guessing due to my 5 unread texts that it went quite well, hm?”

Stretching your body like a cat in the sun, you grab your phone and lay it on the pillow next to you, feeling like you’re at a sleepover.

“It went well, yeah.” You hear the smile through your voice before you realise it’s there. “He is so fucking hot, got that Mr Darcy stoic thing about him but he is definitely a dark horse.” You turn to lay on your tummy. “Honestly, it got to just about closing time at the bar and I didn’t want it to end. We got back to my place and he went full fucking caveman. And his dick is fucking gian-“

Your soul leaves your body as you hear a hoarse throat clear. Flipping around you see a fully clothed Joel with two cups of coffee hovering at the threshold of your bedroom door. With no notice you hang up the phone, shoving it somewhere in the bed before sitting upright.

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t want to subject you to the uncaffeinated version of me too early.” His movements are slow, shy almost as he hands over the cup and perches himself on the side of your bed.

“I thought you pulled an Irish goodbye on me.” You take a long sip, peering over the ceramic as you drink, the sarcasm shield firmly intact.

“And miss seeing your Cookie Monster T-shirt in the daylight? I don’t think so.” He teases, reaching for the hem of your shirt which grazes your mid thigh.

“I had a lot of fun last night.” He rests his giant warm palm on your leg, his brown eyes almost doe like.

“Me too. Think you finally broke my curse of bad dates, pretty.” You set the mug on your nightstand.

Joel flushes at the nickname, immediately taking him back to last night's events. Placing his mug next to yours, he scoots forward, cradling your jaw and placing a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips.

Unable to resist, he deepens the kiss. His big fingers thread through the mess of tangled curls as his breathing becomes heavier.

Pulling away, he keeps your faces close together as he scans your sleepy features. A goofy looking grin works its way across his face as he chuckles softly.

“What?”

He shakes his head softly, the smirk not letting up. “Can I have your number?”

Your head bows slightly, falling to rest on his broad chest as a silent laugh works its way through your shoulders. The sex last night was incredible, not the typical first time timidness so the thought of this man not having your number seems so ridiculous.

Joel presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling that scent that now makes something stir at the base of his spine.

Sunday afternoon rolled in slowly. Joel stayed for a hearty breakfast of cocoa puffs before heading back home, the impression of him lasting through the sweet ache in between your thighs.

Your current boyfriend, the high fairy king, had just slayed the mortal who spoke ill of his mate as a notification pops up on your phone from the Texan himself.

[image attached]

damn, that looks so good

I’m jealous

Last night work you up an appetite?

certainly did

it is good

but it’s got nothing on what I ate last night

The smile on your face had your cheeks hurting. Last night was not a normal first date. The level of attraction and passion you’d felt was nothing you’d ever experienced.

Rolling your head to rest on the top of your couch, you can’t imagine any date going better than your one with Joel. It makes you anxious but in a way where it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

Before you can reply to Joel your phone pings again, but this time the message from your best friend.

Okay gentleman Joel might’ve been good but just wait for first date number two before you make up your mind.

This is Javier. 🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😚😋🫠

Clearing your throat you look at the image of date number two.

Think I should give him a shot.

For science. 🙂‍↕️🤓

npt/ tag list 🏷️ @gothcsz @chasingthepoguelife @mandaloriankait @probablyreadinsmut @half-moon16 @brittmb115 @noisynightmarepoetry @maried01 @witchy-and-persnickity @drunk-and-capable @angiewatson @toshatoshalopez @qutequeersstuff @indiegirlunited @jolalibrary @sheepdogchick @regularjoel @iknowisoundcrazy

#pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #modern day au #modern day Joel miller #plus size reader #tlou fanfic #Joel Miller #fic!thenextsevendates #cuppajoelfic

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mia-can-yap-too · 3 days ago

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Diamond-less Disaster

What?:- The Blue Lock boys try to ask you out! Except they're in 'Episodes – Choose your Story' and don't have enough diamonds...

Warnings:- Crack, isagi crying from embarrassent (not in front of the huzz tho), rin uses plant flirtation tactics, kaiser is so confident im pretty sure its almost OOC

Who:- Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Rin, Micheal Kaiser

Isagi Yoichi

Isagi doesn't know how he did it, but somehow, he convinced you to join him on his early morning runs.

It went quite smoothly, actually. He slowed his pace to match yours and occasionally switched to a light jog so it would be easier to hold a conversation with you.

The only downside was that both of you forgot to bring water bottles. Fortunately, you spot a vending machine nearby.

Isagi, ever the gentleman, pays for your waters and sits down next to you.

Still panting, he takes a minute to admire you. Even in your sweaty-hair-stuck-to-your-forehead-and-face-red-from-running glory, you are no less than the sun to him.

Tell her you like her

[15 💎] Ask her out to a date later

[Free] Stand five feet away, wave awkwardly, and say "I respect oxygen"

All of a sudden, Isagi stands up and waves at you, nervously.

Raising your eyebrows and giving your own awkward wave, you ask, "Are you... alright?"

"I... respect oxygen."

"What?"

"I mean... you breathe... good?"

He looks like he's about to cry out of embarrassment, but no, he has to be a man. And real men keep going even in the trenches.

"I uh... meant that oxygen is so useful, like wow, I'm so grateful. I mean... the trees are sure working overtime for us, huh? Go, Mother Nature! O2, wow, couldn't live without it..."

You are weirded out. Like, incredibly weirded out. "I guess... I didn’t know you were so passionate about oxygen..."

He doesn't meet your eyes. He can never meet your eyes again if he wants his dignity intact.

Face as red as the faux tomatos you were throwing at him in his head, he pretends to be shocked as he looks at his watch.

"Oh no...! I have practice with... Kaiser! We're the best of buddies, so I can't leave him hanging, you know? So, I have to go. Like, right now. Sorry for leaving you like this," he starts walking backwards, "Okay? Okay. Bye!"

It's a full-on sprint now. He is definitely crying from embarrassment now.

You've chosen humiliation. Confidence -20

Itoshi Rin

The classroom you're in is quiet, the perfect environment for you to peacefully doodle in.

That is, of course, before Rin enters like a glitchy DLC character that no one paid for. [a/n:- im lying yall would play just for him smh]

Rin has been hyping himself up for this all week. Today, he will confess to you. No matter what.

Okay. Just talk. Be normal. Be cool. Compliment her. Compliments are free, right?

You've never opened up to anyone before. Let her in.

[30 💎] "You calm the chaos in my head."

[Free] "If I were a plant, I'd tolerate you as my sunlight."

Apparently, compliments aren't free.

Rin opens his mouth despite it all and speaks in the most monotone voice you've ever heard.

"If I were a plant... I'd tolerate you as my sunlight."

Oh God, not another one.

Confused, you ask, "... You'd tolerate me?"

He wants to die inside. "Yeah, I wouldn't wither... Immediately. Like I usually do..."

"So... I'm not bad. Just... barely acceptable?"

Okay, now he's in the danger zone. Like, the part where you're sweating nervously and begging God to kill you with lightning or whatever works for Him.

"Some plants thrive on neglect. I could be one of those. You could be... my low-maintenance sun."

"Rin..." Oh no, now you sound worried. "That sounds so insulting and sad. Are you okay?"

"You're like... the right amount of photosynthesis. Not too much. Not too... chlorophyll-ly...?"

Why is he still trying?!

Once he realizes that he's drowing, he tries to fix it and fails miserably because the author of this fic likes chaos.

"Wait. No. Forget I said any of this."

With that, he dissappears.

Well, fuck. He should've just paid the diamonds.

You've chosen Emotional Constipation with Agricultural Undertones.

Michael Kaiser

Desperately trying to get away from all the pathetic-boy-chaos, you slip onto the rooftop to watch the sunset.

The sun is setting, and the golden hour casts a beautiful glow on you. And Micheal Kaiser.

He appears like the ghost of dramatic monologues past, and his hair glints as if he's actively photosynthesizing ego. He walks towards you with the swagger of a man who already knows your heart belongs to him. Except it doesn't.

Sweep her off her feet (not literally)

[40 💎] "The spot as the Empress to my Emperor is forever vacant for you."

[Free] Call her a peasant and throw a rose at her feet.

Nothing can deter him. Not even having a maximum of 2 diamonds.

"Kneel peasant," he smirks.

You're seriously offended. Even though you already know what's happening.

"Excuse me?!"

He dramatically pulls out a crumpled rose from somewhere inside his jacket, and looks at it as if it hold all the wealth in the world.

"This rose... was once blooming and vibrant. But now, it's withered.... just like your charm and charisma."

He drops it at your feet as if he's bestowing unknown luxuries to you.

"I bless thee."

"Did you just throw trash at me?! I bet that came from a gas station, too, asshole!" You scowl at him, and Kaiser can't understand why.

Looking as if you just praised Isagi in front of him, he starts his rant off with, "First of all, it was a roadside convenience emporium...!"

You have chosen Romantic Tyranny. -10 bitches.

a/n:- my goal as a writer is that you read my fics and think "wtf was going on in her head?" LOLOL i have never played this game so this is all based on what friends have said and tbh the choices in the game are probably much worse than this but idc

m.list

@strangergraphics for dividers

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yoiisa · 22 hours ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 #𝟐 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

fluff! pure fluff and nothing more! also to make up for that other angsty nagi fic i wrote lol (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

thinking about how to celebrate nagi seishiro's birthday with him!! (っ˶ ˘ ᵕ˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶ς)

see, normally in the morning's he has you trapped underneath his massive body weight, so you can never leave until he wakes up and lets you. Not today though, no, you are determined to surprise him with breakfast. it takes you about forty five minutes just to pry yourself out from underneath him.

you hurry up in using the bathroom and brushing your hair. you wanna look cute after all when you're serving up his food. then, you hurry off into the kitchen to start cooking.

you premade some pancake batter last night that's been sitting in the fridge since 11:00 last night. it's still good when you pull it out from the fridge and you take out a pan to preheat on the stove. you wince at the sound of metal clattering and hope it wasn't enough to wake up your boyfriend.

when he doesn't appear, you set to work. you turn on the stove, and as the metal heats, you also quickly wash some fruits- strawberries and blueberries- to plate the pancakes with. by the time all of that's done, your pan's ready to go. you pop a square of butter into it, and let it melt and sizzle as you spread it around.

it'd taken you a while to find one when you went shopping last weekend, but you'd managed to snag a cookie cutter in the shape of a bunny head. you place it into the pan then pour the batter into the mold. you repeat this process three more times, until you have a small stack of bunny pancakes.

you grab chocolate syrup, chocolate chips, and whipped cream before getting ready to decorate. small little eyes, a little x for the mouth- miffy! you giggle as you stare down at the face, the sound reverberating through the kitchen. you take the chocolate syrup and, as carefully as you can, write "happy birthday sei!!" alone the edge of the plate. it's a little lopsided, but it's the thought that counts. you put a dollop of whipped cream in between the miffy's ears, and the blueberries and strawberries all around the pancakes. you slice some apples and put them on a separate plate, and finally, you're done.

just in time for the birthday boy to show up.

he's yawning and scratching his head as he walks through the doorway of the kitchen. his grey pajama shirt rides up on him, the old thing too small on his tall body. his pants hang loosely around his waist, and he pulls them up a little before opening his eyes and looking around at the dishes and the plate.

he takes in your beaming smile and glowing eyes before tilting his head to the side and asking, "what's all this?"

you can't hold your delight in. you take the plate and present the miffy pancakes to him, cheering, "happy birthday seishiro!!"

he blinks down at the pancakes, before a tightness constricts in his chest. in the glow of the sunlight from the windows, you in your pajamas, your bright smile, the cute food- it's too much. he might die.

he takes the plate and sets in on the countertop, seemingly dismissing it. "it is my birthday isn't it, i completely forgot." you're just about to scold him when he turns around and gathers you in his arms, squeezing you tightly against him.

" 'ts cute, but you're cuter," he mumbles. "thank you for all that work."

you can't help but giggle and wrap your arms around his neck. in an instant, he lifts you in the air and carries you to the couch. he collapses onto it with you still held tight in his grasp.

"but no more work for a few hours, let's sleep some more!"

you groan, although your smile never wavers for a moment.

"sei."

"sleep," he silences any more protests of yours with a kiss.

a/n: my sweet little baby, I adore him so much. he was my fav character for a long time, before it flipped to Isagi lol

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro x you #seishiro nagi x reader #seishiro nagi x you #bllk fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 14 hours ago

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butterflygirl738 (2)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The store is dead. Usually, you don't mind a quiet shift but it's really dull. You come up the aisle of toiletries and watch Mikayla and Nour suddenly part and feign interest in the shelves and tags. Shoot.

Drew sends them a side-eye as he continues through the section, nearing your own. You put a jar of body scrub back on the proper shelf then turn to him and smile. "Hello sir, how are you?"

"I'm not good. There's no customers." He snips.

"Oh, right. I was using the down time to tidy--"

"Down time? Do you know the cost of down time? Do you realise what it costs to run these lights? The AC?"

"Sir, uh, yes," you stammer. "I'm sorry it's slow--"

"And your pay? What good is that if you're doing nothing?"

You gulp, "sir, I'm--"

He looks at his watch and sighs. Is it a real Rolex? It looks real but you wouldn't know one logo from the next.

"Go home."

"What?"

"Clock out," he drops his arm. "Gotta send you home." He pinches the button on the wire of his headset and you hear him through your earpiece as an echo. "Joe, send Sandra home. Place is a ghost town."

"Please, sir, I need the hours--"

"Don't you have another job?" He curls his lip. "Not my problem. Head office is gonna cut back hours next week. We gotta bank what we can for the full-timers."

You pout. Some weeks you work just as much as the full-timers and you put in twice the effort. You need this twice as much. They get benefits and you get the scraps they throw your way.

"Sir--"

"I don't have time to argue with you. I have a budget and a meeting with the regional manager. Things you can't understand," he turns and strides away, snapping his fingers at Nour. "You too, go home."

You recede into the aisle of soap dishes and bath mats. No matter how much you do, it's just all sliding back on you. You slump and shuffle to the back of the store, dejected but not yet defeated. Look at the plus side, it's only four. You have some time to spare.

You go to the back and punch out. You grab your bag and take off your name tag and radio; you put the former in your pocket and slide the other into a cubby on the wall.

You don't go straight to the bus stop. You wind around the back of the plaza and to the next block. A few streets back, past the boys and girls centre, and residential street. The food bank is still open but it's the end of the day. You'll not get the best but it's something.

Inside, they give you a box of non-perishables and a loaf of bread. Powdered milk, a bag of instant oats, some canned soups and beans, tuna, and a box of rice. You thank them and head off, straining under the weight of the box.

The bus comes an hour after that. You can't find a seat so you stand and struggle to balance your load. You get off as first drops of rain start to fall. It's funny sometimes how the world can change to mirror your life. It's not so bad. The moisture will be good for Colleen, Coraline, and Cordelia; the three chrysalis waiting to hatch in your hamper.

You're damp as you get into the apartment. Your mom is on the couch but not asleep. The television hazes over her as she stirs and groans.

"Honey, you're early." She says.

"Sorry to crash your alone time," you say as you set the box down and slip off your shoes. "Sent me home early but I got to the food bank."

"Yay," she gives a monotone whoop. After treatment, she always gets a bit dull around the edges.

There's more mail on the mat. You pick it up with the box of food. You carry it into the kitchen.

You leave the envelopes on the counter and focus on putting away the boxes and cans. Rice and some of the discount pork will be good. You have enough brown sugar for your special sauce.

The prep keeps your mind on point. Marinate on the pan then slide into the pre-heated oven, get the rice in the cooker, and put some frozen veggies in the steaming basket. Easy peasy.

You bring a cup of water to your mom. She has her forehead against her palm, leaning into the armrest. Her eyes are glassy as she stares at the TV.

"Thanks, hon," she murmurs. You pull the throw blanket over her lap.

"No problem. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Sure," she blinks sleepily.

You touch her shoulder softly then retreat. You hope she gets some sleep. You can always save the food.

You go back to the kitchen. Your stomach flips as you stare at the envelopes. The red paper visible through the window is dread-inducing. No point avoiding it.

You step forward as the smell of starch thickens the air. You tear through each envelope and slide out each paper. You lay them out. Three new ones. Big bold letters at the top in that 'Amount Owing' box. You look them over one at a time and stand in silence. You can't even pay one in full.

You stack them and fold them and shove them in your back pocket. You finish cooking dinner. You set aside your mother's portion in a container. She's asleep. You eat in the living room as her soft snores rise from her frail figure.

You wash your dishes and return to her. You help her down to her back and put her legs up. You tug the blanket higher and kiss her scarf.

You go to your room. You sit and the paper crinkles in your back pocket. You huff and reach for your laptop. If it wasn't so old, you could sell it.

You scroll through your activity. Lots of likes. Not too shabby on the followers. People are sharing your videos too. Even just the ones of the butterflies you saw near the pond on your way home.

You wish life could be as happy as that. As those little wings fluttering over the soft ripples. The breeze warm and wilting. The birds singing, the bugs humming.

You scroll through your feed. It's careless things like crochet patterns or painting videos. People are so talented. Your mom used to paint. She did the picture of butterflies hanging over your bed, a fair sitting among the swarm of colourful wings.

There's one post that gives you pause. It's a creator that makes clay earrings. She has a little donate button. Just a dollar or two for people to support her videos. That's awesome but you don't think your stuff is cool enough. You just watch cocoons.

You open a new tab. You fingers move without thinking. Thousands of results come up. You've seen these things before. People in need.

You're in need. No, your mom is. You promised you would do everything you can. You've done everything. This is that last thing. It's a long-shot. You doubt it will get anything but she always said you got to try at least once before making up your mind.

You search through your old photos. You and your mom at your graduation. It's one of your favourites. You start with that.

You stare at the text box. A story? No, that's not what you would call it.

The words pour out of you and you end with a final plea. 'You don't have to give but it would be nice if you could. Take care.'

You leave the page in draft for an hour before you post. You hit the Insta share icon and click through. Then you shut the laptop and push it away from you.

You get up and take the bills out of your pocket and leave them on the desk next to the hamper. You peer through the mesh. Soon.

🦋

The local coffee shop has free wifi. Your internet was shut off at the beginning of the week. It's at the bottom of the priority list. You have the old DVD player and your mom only ever watches the same things over and over. Who needs the news, it's all so grim.

You sit in the corner and hope no one notices that you haven't purchased anything. It's business enough and most people are on their way somewhere else. It's a rare moment where you're not doing the same; rushing to or from work, or to an appointment.

You wish work would call. As much as you need the money, you need something else to think about. Something besides your mom and the hospital bills.

You lean your head in your hands and stare at the phone's wallpaper. It's your mom with a butterfly on her nose. That was an amazing catch.

You blow out through your lips. You can't make it. Worse, because you can't, she won't. How can people put a price on health? On treatment?

An envelope icon pops up on the screen. You don't often see that one. You don't get too many emails that you don't send to junk.

You sit up and tap the screen. 'Yay! You got your first donation'. At first, you think it's a scam. Then you remember what you did. Your username is right there; butterflygirl738.

You open the email and tap the link to your profile. You log in through the browser and nearly choke at the dollar you see on screen. It can't be real. You're delusional. You've finally detached from reality.

'$10,000'. That can't be. It can't.

Below it reads. 'thank anonymous donour'. You have to. You have to make sure they didn't make some sort of mistake.

Your hands shake as you pick up the phone. You type into the chat. 'Thank you so so much <3 Are you sure?' You hit the arrow and lower the phone. They probably won't answer right away. They sent the money this morning. The email must have been caught.

An employee approaches your table, "um, miss, I'm sorry but uh..."

"No, it's okay," you stand and knock the table. "I get it. Sorry. I was uh... waiting for someone but they changed their mind."

You hurry out as your lie hangs in the air. You doubt they even believed it. You stay close enough to keep the signal as your phone vibes in your hand. You check the screen. A reply.

'I'm sure. I hope your mother is well. You too.'

You send a heart emoji as your whole body starts to tremble. Your eyes fill with tears, of disbelief, of gratitude, of joy. It's not a cure but it's an ounce of hope. It's a drop of relief in a bucket of doom.

You sit on the curb of the parking lot as the tears stream out. You keep yourself from heaving, letting the emotion trickle out until your face is cold and sticky. You wipe your cheeks and check your phone again.

'I'd like to help more. Can we talk?'

The message is confusing. More? Talk? They already did so much. It won't wipe away all your debt; not even close; but it will keep you from drowning.

'What do you mean?' You type back. That little circle with the featureless avatar floats ominously on the screen.

'WhatsApp? Audio call?'

Your lips form an O of realization and surprise. You cradle the phone. Uh oh. This might be a mistake. Should you give the money back? What do they want?

'You can think about it.' They type.

You ponder. Ten thousand dollars. You can't hope for more than that. You could never dream of this. And you can't say no. You have to think about your mother. She needs this money, it's not about what you want.

'When?'

You wait and watch the screen. Three dots pop up then disappear. You frown.

You get up as you nearly get kicked by another customer. There's the burger place across the street. They have wifi and you can hide behind the dumpsters.

You run across the road and past the drive-thru. You barely miss a bumper as you do. It's embarrassing but better than being hounded at the coffee place. The employees at the restaurant only offer to share their joints with you as they step out for their break.

'Now.' The reply blips up as your connection is restored. Below, a link to WhatsApp.

You stare at the blue text. Now? Right now? What do you say? You're not ready? You're steel reeling from that number. Who is this person? This kind kind person? What could they possibly want from you?

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #butterflygirl738 #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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slowdrawl · 2 days ago

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[DESCENT] Circle II — Lust | Joel Miller X f!reader | AU ONE-SHOT | 3.8k | MASTERLIST

Lust. The circle where want eclipses reason. Where love doesn’t live, but burns.

You live in his house. Date his son. Sleep down the hall. He pays rent. Steals your panties. Stares too long. You both give in to lust. One slip. No apologies. Just the sweet, slow sickness of the second circle.

a/n: This bad boy floats between lust and treachery? anyways, if you've read my fics, you'll know I love a good phone call. Nine alternate universes. Nine versions of Joel Miller. This one? Sinful. Possessive. Reckless. Lust.

18+ MINORS DNI | warnings | explicit sexual content, age gap, phone sex, masturbation, unsafe sex, manipulation?, possessive behavior, power imbalance, infidelity, degradation/praise mix, morally dubious Joel

Thematically Inspired by Dante’s Inferno. & Hozier (duh)

You’ve been living at the Millers’ place since your parents kicked you out.

Your dad walked into your room in the middle of the night and found your boyfriend asleep in your bed. It wasn’t even an act of defiance—it was an honest-to-God accident. The two of you had been hanging out, watching movies, and you both fell asleep. You knew the potential consequences of breaking the rules in your parents’ house, because they drilled them into you like they were law. You’re surprised they never made you swear an oath on some leather-bound book.

I solemnly swear that I will not break any rules of this house, even though I am a full-blown adult.

“I don’t want to hear it. I will not have you getting pregnant under my roof,” your mom spat through gritted teeth. “We didn’t raise you like this…I didn’t raise a harlot.”

You tried explaining, telling the truth, apologizing. It was no use, and the way they treated you for it didn’t have you on your knees begging for forgiveness. They were cold and mean about it.

“Go play house somewhere else. Give me my house keys, or I’m changing the locks.” That’s all your dad said. Once he managed to look at you, that is.

That was over six months ago, and you haven’t heard from them since.

You and your boyfriend Jake walked back to his dad’s place at 3 a.m., him scared shitless after your dad threatened to get the shotgun if he didn’t “Get the fuck off my property.” You were exhausted, red rings stinging around your eyes.

You didn’t even have to ask Mr. Miller twice.

He took you and your boyfriend down to your parents' place the next day in the truck. Carried your boxes out himself.

“You can stay as long as you like, darlin’. I just got a few rules of my own,” he said, placing your belongings down in the spare room-turned-office.

“You gotta contribute ‘round the house, and if you ain’t in school, you gotta pay rent. So unless you’re enrolling in classes, you better gear up and get you a job.”

He winked. You laughed.

And that was the end of that. Simple, you thought.

Until you found them in the laundry.

At first, it didn’t register. You were half-asleep, crouching in front of the dryer, pulling out your boyfriend’s dad’s clothes and putting them in the basket he’d left next to the machine. Draped over the washer on your tiptoes, reaching in, when it clicked.

Wait. Whose were those?

You looked back at the pile of clothes for a second, wondering if maybe you’d just seen it wrong. You decided to double-check and—yup.

A thong, in Mr. Miller’s clean laundry.

Black. Lace. Yours.

Irrefutably, no argument. They were yours. Black lace with criss-crossing straps, a metal heart attached to a chain in the front that sits right at the top. You bought them before Valentine’s Day earlier this year. Sexy as hell. A little out of character for you. Lowkey goth vibes.

Your face got hot. Mouth went dry. Because you remembered wearing them two nights before under your favourite skirt. Jake was working his regular shift, and you got dressed up, hoping that you might get some when he got home. You stayed up with Mr. Miller, tearing apart some shitty action flick, mocking the bad acting. Drinking a few beers, eating popcorn and laughing. A totally normal night.

Right?

Jake came back late. Stayed to finish up a few things. By the time he got in, you were already back in your sweatpants, passed out. Lace in the hamper.

How the hell did your underwear get into Joel’s laundry? You swore you remembered taking them off in your bedroom. In your boyfriend’s bedroom. Tossing them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room.

You didn’t leave them in the bathroom. And you absolutely didn’t put them in his laundry.

You were left wondering, should you take them back? Do you mention it? Stay quiet?

The heat from your face oscillated through you, straight to your core. You didn’t take them back. You just folded them, neatly. Deliberately.

A nearly impossible task, by the way—there’s barely anything to fold.

You placed them carefully on the top of the pile of clothes overflowing out of the basket, threw a dryer sheet into the machine, cranked it on, and walked away.

A test.

To see if he would sweat. //// Since that happened, the house has felt different. The quiet isn’t tense exactly. Just vibrating with something unspoken.

He hasn’t changed. He doesn’t need to; you feel it anyway. The way his gaze has started to linger when you stretch out on the couch. You see it in the tight clench of his jaw when you wander into the kitchen in the morning, bare legs, voice still husky with sleep. You’ve even caught him framed in the doorway, watching you pour water while the dim light from the porch outside illuminated you with a faint glow.

You could ask. You could call it out. But some part of you doesn’t want to break it yet, that taut line that's been stretched between you. It’s electric and sharp. You like it.

Your mind runs in circles. You wonder if he’s been listening. You know he has.

The walls are paper-thin, and you aren't exactly quiet. Not discreet—no. Not when your mind wanders to Mr. Miller while his son fucks you. You lie there, imagining him awake, lying in bed, hands drifting under the waistband of his sweats. Listening to you fall apart with his hand wrapped around his cock, timing his strokes to match the rhythm of your gasps.

You keep playing the game. You keep testing him. You push it one night, while Joel’s on the couch in the living room down the hall. You had your hands buried between your legs under those same metal-clad, black underwear, chasing release, breath ragged, practically screaming his name. Over and over.

And when you were finished, you didn't put your underwear in the hamper—no. You took them off and tiptoed down the hallway toward Mr. Miller’s room, hanging them right on his doorknob.

The following night, Jake was working late again. You spent the afternoon cleaning, doing laundry, anxious for when Joel got home from work. When he did, the air in the house stayed thin for a few hours. But when you walked down the hall and into the laundry room to grab your stuff, it shifted. The air was as thick as Louisiana in late July.

He was in there picking up his own clothes, and he locked eyes with you as you opened the door. You dodged them, moved past him, and bent over, slow to collect your things from the dryer. He stayed there, silent, staring blisters into the back of you. When you stood back up, he was right there, leaning in close to you, eyes on the basket. His lips brushed your earlobe as he reached a calloused hand out, dropping the panties on top of the warm, clean pile.

He drawled, gravel and silk. “You keep leavin’ these layin’ around like that…”

You barely breathed as he ghosted your neck, his fingers skimming the top of your laundry pile. Then he pulled out a thong. Bright pink, clean—and he tucked it into his back pocket without looking at you.

“I’m not gonna stop at just keepin’ them.” He moved a strand of your hair, giving himself space to graze his teeth on the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Think you might like that too much, tho. Huh, baby?”

You held back a shudder as goosebumps speckled your skin.

You tried to say something, but you were too stunned. You just stood there, eyes stuck on the machine, jaw slack. Panties soaked. Body on fire.

He brushed past you, deliberate, letting his shoulder graze yours. And then he was gone.

Your heart was still pounding long after the door clicked shut. ///

You take a few deep breaths. Try to level your head.

You tell yourself you’re just going to ignore it. That you’ll fold your laundry and pretend like nothing happened. But your hands are shaking, your thighs are pressed together, and that fucking thong is gone. He took it. He took it in front of you this time.

You wait a few minutes, catching your breath, before you sneak back out of the laundry room and head to your room. As soon as the door closes, you slink down to the ground, letting your shaky legs find relief. You sit with your back against the door and fold your laundry, contemplating your game plan.

When everything is folded, you put it all away and change. You slip out of the sweats you’re wearing and throw on one of your boyfriend’s hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts—right overtop of those same black, strappy panties. You count to five. Then ten. And then you march down the hallway.

The living room’s dim, the TV flickering soft blue light across the couch. Joel’s there—exactly where you knew he’d be. Laid back, beer in one hand, other arm resting along the cushions. Casual. Like he didn’t just steal your fucking underwear from a pile of clean clothes like he owned them.

His legs are spread wide. He looks completely at ease, flannel unbuttoned, shirt wrinkled underneath. He doesn’t even look at you when you walk in. Just takes a sip from the bottle and says, “You get all that laundry folded, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer him. Just walk toward him, steady like your blood isn’t fuckin’ molten.

His eyes flick up. He watches you climb into his lap, one leg swinging over, settling onto his thighs like you belong there. His hand wraps around the neck of the beer bottle, knuckles flexing.

You press your palms to his chest and he inhales quick. “Darlin’, we—”

“We what, Mr. Miller? We shouldn’t finish what you started?” you say.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, but it’s mean. Mocking. “Jake know you’re this bold when he ain’t around?”

You raise your brows. “He’s clueless about a lot of things.” You laugh, cold. “Jake know you’re a panty thief, Joel?”

The moment his name rolls off your tongue, you see his eyes darken. Something shifts inside him. You feel his cock twitch to life underneath you. You smile and press your hips down into him, slow, testing his restraint. “Would you like me to stop? Mr. Miller?” You purr. He chokes on his breath, jaw clenching as he shakes his head.

His hand drops, placing the beer on the coffee table. The other finds your waist, grip tightening, not pushing you away.

“You waitin’ up for him tonight too?” he asks. “Nope.”

“Good,” he replies flatly, keeping one hand on your side as he rolls his hips up into you. He reaches up to weave his fingers in your hair, twisting it at your nape, pulling your head back. He leans in close, lips brushing your jaw. “All that lace for a kid who comes home too tired to touch you,” his mouth is on your throat, murmuring into the sensitive skin there. “You put those panties back on for me, didn’t you, baby?”

He asks the question confidently, like he already knows the answer. You hate that he’s right.

You bite down on your lip, trying to nod despite the resistance at your scalp. The pain mixes with pleasure, sending heat flooding to your core. He’s got you exactly where he wants you now, and you need so much more.

He drops his voice even lower. “S’what I thought. Filthy fuckin’ girl.” Joel stops and pulls back for a second, a hesitant look comes across his face. “You sure about this? We can stop if you want. At any point, just say the word.” He says softly. You respond, voice certain, “Do you think I’d give up now?” He stays still, like he's giving you a second chance to change your mind. “Joel, I’m sure. I want you—please”

Then he pulls your face down to his. Far from gentle, he kisses you like he’s angry, like he’s been stopping himself for too long. His tongue presses past your lips, and you moan into it, grinding down harder. He groans back into you, hungry and breathless.

Your hips roll against him, chasing friction, and his hand slides down, between your thighs, calloused fingers slipping past the edge of that lace he already knows too well.

Your phone starts to vibrate.

You freeze.

Joel stills, mouth hovering over yours, chest heaving against you. The name flashes across your lockscreen.

Jake.

Joel’s eyes flick down. Then back to you. Something dark and knowing flashes behind them. “You gonna get that?” he rasps, voice thick with challenge.

Your pulse thrashes in your throat. You don’t answer. You just reach for the phone and swipe to accept.

“Hey, baby,” you say, breathy, too soft.

Joel grins, all teeth, all wicked.

Then his fingers slide into you, practiced, precise, curling right where you need them.

Your thighs are trembling. Breath picking up. Jake responds, totally oblivious. “Hey, babe,” the lines crackling slightly in your ear. “What’re you up to?”

“Not too much,” you murmur. “Just… winding down.”

“You sound tired.” “I am,” you say, voice trembling as Joel starts pushing deeper inside you.

“Long day?”

“Yeah. Laundry, mostly.” His teeth scrape the shell of your ear. Joel’s fingers are relentless, deep, finger fucking you slow through the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. Your free hand claws at the cushion, trying to ground yourself, but the couch is shifting beneath you. Every breath a risk. “Maybe if you’re still up when I get back we can watch a movie or somethin’?” Jake says.

You hum “yeah” through a bitten lip. It comes out a sharp, shaky exhale.

“You good?” Jake asks. You hear his concern start to settle in.

Joel’s thumb circles your clit, once, twice…

“I’m fine,” you choke. “Just a little tired.”

Joel drags his fingers out slow, slick and fucking obscene. He lifts them to your lips, pressing gently, and you open for him without thinking.

You take both fingers into your mouth, sucking, tasting yourself—all while Jake keeps talking about his shitty night at work.

“Tell him you miss him,” Joel mouths, voice barely audible, eyes on your lips.

You swallow. “Miss you,” you say into the phone. “I miss you,” Jake says. “You curled up on the couch right now? Wish I could be there.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You brace a hand on his shoulder, knuckles white. “Miss you too.”

Jake drops his voice down low, “What’re you wearin’? That hoodie of mine?”

Joel laughs under his breath—mean. Then leans in, biting softly at your neck.

“Y-yeah,” you whisper. “Feels nice.”

“Bet you smell like that perfume I like.” Jake teases. “The coconut one,”

Joel doesn't stop working his fingers in and out of you, brushing the spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Mmhmm,” you breathe. “Put it on before bed.”

There’s a long pause. Jake groans. “You’re killing me.”

Joel presses a third finger in.

Your mouth falls open, he quickly reaches to your mouth to stifle your gasp.

Then Jake chuckles. “Anyway—some asshole knocked over a display of ravioli back here. I’m drowning in Chef Boyardee.”

His thumb finds your clit again.

You suck in air through your teeth, trying to laugh, trying to survive. Then his hand moves off of you, unhurried, sure. You watch, breath caught in your throat, as he reaches down, he undoes the button on his jeans, and pulls the zipper down slow. The soft rasp of it cuts through the room like the strike of a match. You don’t look away. You can’t.

He shifts under you, hips lifting just enough for him to reach in and free himself. Joel’s watching your face, searching for a reaction, he smirks when your eyes go wide. He’s so much bigger than Jake is. His cock is thick and hard, flushed deep at the tip, already glistening. He wraps his broad hand around the base, strokes once, then again. Lazy, taunting, staring at you with blown pupils, all while Jake talks in your ear like nothing’s wrong.

Your thighs twitch. You shift in his lap, trying to stay still. Trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Then Joel reaches for you.

He pulls your soaked shorts to the side painfully slow, like a man unwrapping a gift he already knows he’s going to ruin.

His cock nudges against the lace between your legs, completely soaked through. He slides the head of it over the fabric, smearing you with your own slick.

You inhale sharply.

Jake exhales. “You sure you’re good? You sound… kinda weird.”

Joel leans in, whispering, “Think you should hang up the phone.”

You press the phone back to your ear. “I’m fine, really. I’ll see you soon, baby.” “Okay, well,” Jake says, “Text me if you pick a movie?”

“I already have one in mind,” you whisper. “Love you.”

You end the call.

Joel leans back slightly, eyes dark and full of heat. He tilts his head.

“Love you,” he repeats, voice flat. “Cute.”

“Now show me what that sounds like when you really mean it.” You look back at him, pupils blown, voice still shaking “You’re fucking insane for that.”

He laughs as he lifts you off the couch, you wrap your arms around his neck. His cock is still heavy and solid, pressing against you as he walks you down the hall. To Jake’s room. He kicks the door open. You should stop him. You don’t.

He sets you on the bed, hands already pushing your shirt up, tugging his own flannel off with a curse, biceps flexing as he tosses it aside. His chest heaves, skin flushed, and you catch the sharp ridge of his collarbone when he leans over you, mouth hot and hungry on your throat. Teeth dragging, beard scratching, breath ragged. “Gonna ruin you for him,” he mutters. “You want that?” You nod, grinning, legs falling open. “Please just shut up and fuck me, Mr. Miller.”

Joel groans, deep and wrecked. Pulling off your clothes, muttering obscenities as he strips you bare. He hovers over you, lining himself up, making eye contact with you as he slides in, burying himself inch by inch. You both gasp as he bottoms out. Your back arches off the bed beneath him, hands scrambling at the sheets. He fucks you soft, slow at first, drawn out, like he wants to feel every second of it, hips rolling deep. The drag of him inside you is maddening, making your walls flutter with every pull. The bed creaks under his weight, your thighs trembling as he stretches you open, again and again.

Your moans are high and helpless, fingers digging into his back, breath caught between words that don’t come out. “You let him fuck you like this?” he growls. You shake your head, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “No. Never.” He leans down, presses his forehead to yours, hips rolling deep. “I can tell, baby. You’re so fuckin’ soaked for me, needy little thing.” Your nails rake down his spine. “Joel—please—”

He brings a hand between you, rubs tight circles on your clit. You cry out, back arching hard. He leans close, breath hot on your ear. “He ever even make you come?” You freeze for a second. Then shake your head. “No.”

Joel huffs a dark laugh, then tips his head back, groaning low. “Or do you gotta do it yourself when he’s asleep?” You grin through a moan. “I do it myself.”

His eyes darken. “While you’re in the next room.”

Joel growls, hips slamming into you harder. “Jesus fuck.” “You ever hear me, Mr. Miller?” you whisper, voice wrecked. “I don’t try to be quiet.”

He flips you over, your shoulders hit the sheets, his hands are rough on your hips, and he’s forcing your knees apart further. The mattress dips and shifts under his weight as he drives into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

“You wanted me to hear,” he snarls. You nod into the pillow. “Wanted you to come in.” “You wanted this?” “I needed it.”

Joel bends over your back, teeth grazing your shoulder. “So damn perfect—he don’t even know what he’s got. But I do. You’re takin’ me so good baby.” His praise alone is enough to push you to the brink of ecstasy, “Oh, fuck—oh my god, Joel, fuck I’m gonna come” His arm clamps tight around your waist, dragging you upright, your spine pressed flush to his chest. You can feel every slick inch of him slide deeper from this angle, the overwhelming stretch pushing you into the edge of pleasure so sharp it almost hurts. “You’re fuckin’ fallin’ apart for me in his bed. What does that make you, huh?” he drawls, reaching down between your thighs, rubbing harsh circles over your already overstimulated clit. “Yours,” you sob. “Just yours. Only—”

Your body seizes around him, orgasm ripping through you like fire. Joel groans, loud and deep, panting into your ear, drowning out the world around you. You can tell he’s close, thrusts turning sloppy, faster, chasing his own release. His voice is wrecked when it breaks out of him, “Fuck, not gonna last—where you want it, baby?”

But you’re too far gone to answer, too tight around him, still pulsing, and that’s all it takes. He shudders hard, hips slamming deep as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you up with a strangled growl. He stays buried there, arms tight around you like he needs to hold you still, like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

He holds you for minute, hips barely moving, pressing in tight, both of you panting into the silence. His chest is soaked in sweat, skin sticking to yours. You feel the throb of his cock even as he softens inside you, the mess of both of you slick between your thighs . Then he slowly pulls out, hands gentle now, smoothing down your spine.

You shift, dazed. He helps you turn around, brushes sweat-slick hair from your forehead. “You okay?” he murmurs. You nod. “Yeah.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, to your temple, his breath shaky.

The house is quiet again. Too quiet. Until the front door opens and a voice rings out. Jake’s. “Hello?”

Joel’s head snaps toward the hallway. You scramble to sit up, heart hammering. Footsteps. You rush to put your clothes on. Joel stands up, calm, pulls his jeans on, tucking himself in. “Where you at, babe?” Jake yells from the living room.

You stare at Joel. He’s moving too damn slow right now, casually sloping his belt into the loops, standing there like he’s just waiting to be caught.

He reaches down to you, presses another kiss to your cheek, his voice hushed. “Looks like you’re switching rooms if you’re gonna stay here, darlin’.”

Then the bedroom door creaks open. A second passes.

Jake’s face goes slack, then hardens.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #bfd!joel #joel miller fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #descent

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