#sticks without stones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 8 months ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

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muffinlance · 8 months ago

Note

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

#Sokka: please stop calling my Gran-Gran by her first name. please.#Kanna: you’re right Sokka he can call me Gran-Gran #Sokka: THAT IS WORSE THAT IS SO MUCH WORSE #Meanwhile Hakoda: you adopted WHO #Kanna didn’t ADOPT anyone thank-you-much she was very practically holding that boy for the fleet to use for ransom #why Hakoda #what would you have done if you had a Fire Prince #avatar the last airbender #atla #Zuko #Kanna #ficlet #(infinite hot water lady is ABSOLUTELY Toklo’s aunt)#(he looks to the prince looks to her and spontaneously invents the High Five)

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sl-ut · 2 months ago

Text

i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to.

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob.

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did.

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower.

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact.

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing.

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match.

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner.

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time.

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

“It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.”

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week.

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well.

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet.

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed.

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation.

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer.

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others.

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking.

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it.

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with.

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband.

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room.

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times.

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke.

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen.

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place.

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her.

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob.

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way).

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic.

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning.

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion.

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself.

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks.

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself.

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer.

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.”

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected.

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped.

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#new avengers

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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Note

I have a request! Where the reader is on her period and she has a lot of cramps and Bob takes care of her 🤧

Affection

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re in extreme pain from your period cramps, and Bob is the first person to jump in to help you.

Warnings: No warnings, just fluff, lots and lots of fluff, and Comfort too (reader and Bob are very close friends)

Author’s Note: Thought I’d give y’all something light…Because ummm…I’m stirring a pot of angst and it’s stewing and simmering…The emotional bricks are at the ready lol. So I thought we’d actually just relax with this one a bit 😂 (thanks for the request BTW anon! :))

Word Count: 3,984

The kitchen was dim, steeped in the kind of quiet that only exists at 2:32 a.m–where the world was pausing between breaths. The under-cabinet lights were casting a soft amber glow against the tile, reflecting faintly off the sheen of sweat along your forehead. The red coil of the stovetop glowed like an ember, pulsing lazy hazes of warmth that didn’t seem to touch the chill in your limbs.

You were bent at the waist, forehead pressed to the cool marble counter as if you could siphon relief from its surface. The stone was slick beneath your skin–smooth and icy–and it did little to ground you. Your breath came shallow and fast through your nose, each inhale shaky, each exhale punctuated by a quiet whimper you couldn’t suppress.

Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat, the cotton twisting uncomfortably beneath your arms. You were overheating and freezing all at once–skin clammy, spine prickling, stomach coiled so tightly you swore it was tying itself in knots. The pain wasn’t sharp, not exactly–it was deeper than that. A dragging, molten ache that curled low in your abdomen seemed to radiate down your legs and all the way to your back, it was as if your body had been caught in a vice and someone kept twisting the handle and laughing.

Every few seconds at this point, a new wave crested–hot and unbearable–and your hand flew to your lower belly instinctively, fingers pressing hard into the tender flesh like the pressure alone might hold the worst of it at bay.

It didn’t. It never did.

A low groan slipped from your throat as the kettle finally began to whistle–sharp and rising, like it was mocking the sharpness in your gut. But you couldn’t move. Your muscles were locked in place, spine bowed forward, with your knees trembling beneath you.

You just needed one more minute. Just one more wave to pass. Then maybe you could stand up fully and stop the annoying whistling.

Then. Your ears caught the sound of footsteps, padding in from the hallway behind you.

”O-Oh…Sorry–I-I didn’t think anyone was u-up–“ Your head turned slightly at the sound of his voice, forehead lifting just enough to glance over your shoulder. The amber light from beneath the cabinets spilled across the entrance–and caught Bob standing there in all his soft, sleepy awkwardness.

He froze like a deer in the light, clutching an empty glass in one hand, like he’d just come to get water and stumbled into something he wasn’t sure he should be seeing. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side and wild on the other, and he was swimming in a faded navy hoodie that hung loose around his shoulders. Grey sweatpants clung low on his hips, and his bare feet shifted uncertainly against the tile.

His eyes–still heavy-lidded from sleep–tracked you slowly. From the way your body was braced against the counter to the sweat that began to bead at your temple, to the tremble in your knees. You could see his eyes soften at the sight, almost like he was trying to figure out what was wrong without asking you–because he knew you got frustrated when people were concerned for you.

Bob’s grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles paling. You could tell he was trying to play it cool–not alarm you, not smother you–but there was no mistaking the way his mouth parted, just slightly, like he was about to ask something, though he choked it back.

He took a cautious step towards you, shifting his weight to one foot like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go–like he was waiting for some kind of cue from you. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He knew you didn’t like being asked that when you clearly weren’t. Instead his eyes continued to move over you, noticing the grip you had around your stomach. His mind immediately jumped to the conclusion it was something you ate–and the dread settled into him quickly. The chicken was the first thing that came to his head.

He’d insisted on making the team dinner, he had even waved off Walker’s offer to order Thai and physically blocked Ana from touching the stove because he said ‘No, l-let me do it! I-It’ll be a surprise!’

You watched his face slowly twist into a horrified expression. The dawning belief that he’d positioned everyone settling in his bone. That he was the reason you were hunched over a countertop at two in the morning like you’d been run over by a semi.

”I-I didn’t…Oh my god,” He blurted, stepping a bit closer to you, his free hand flailing slightly like he didn’t know where to put it, “I-I knew I shouldn’t have tried to make that recipe from memory. I-I mean I checked the chicken so many times. I-I know it was a little dry but…I swear…Wait…Oh crap…If Y-Yelena wakes up p-puking she’s gonna kill me and b-bury me in the woods I–.” Your laugh cut him off from continuing. A short, low wheeze that hurt to let out–but the kind that broke through your clenched teeth anyway. Your whole body shuddered with it, and you winced, but it was worth doing.

”Bob.” You said quietly, turning your head toward him as best you could, one hand still braced on your stomach, “As much as it was dry, and as much as I needed to chug water just to swallow it…Your food didn’t do this to me.” You added, your eyes snapping shut as another surge of pain twisted your insides around, before returning your forehead to the counter.

Bob blinked like he’d just been slapped with a wet towel–stunned out of his guilt spiral by your laugh, your voice, your reassurance. His posture softened almost immediately. The hand that had been flailing now just hovered awkwardly in the air before slowly lowering to his side, fingers curling around the edge of the counter like he needed something to steady him.

”O-Oh…” He breathed, “S-So then…W-What’s happening with you then?” He asked, reaching over to turn off the whistling kettle, his movements clumsy but quiet, his eyes still locked onto your figure, seeing the way you slowly swayed from side to side.

You lifted your head–only an inch or two–to look up at him again, and that was enough.

When his eyes met yours, everything in his face changed.

Tears were forming. They weren’t falling yet, but they were there–thick and glassy, clinging to your lashes like they were holding on for dear life. Your lips were slightly parted, trembling just enough to betray you, and your breath hitched audible as you tried to blink them away.

His brows pulled together instantly. Deep. Concerned. His whole expression shifted like something was cracking behind it–worry rising slowly, curling under his features like a rising tide. His lips parted slightly, jaw ticking with hesitation, but his eyes…His eyes said everything.

It was the look he got when someone on the team was bleeding but too stubborn to say so. The one he wore when he thought he wasn’t allowed to step in–but he desperately, desperately wanted to.

“It’s just cramps Bob…I’ll be fine. You should just…Get what you need and go back to bed.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes off quickly, averting your gaze from him. For a moment Bob didn’t move, he just stood there, staring down at you like it pained him not to get closer. You tried to be casual about the tears streaming down your face now–tried to pretend like your body wasn’t unraveling.

But Bob just shook his head. The kind of quiet refusal that didn’t come with volume–but from depth.

“W-Why…Would I-I do that when you’re n-not okay?” His voice cracked on the last word, and immediately your eyes returned to his, taken back by the softness in his tone–by the way he wasn’t trying to fix anything yet, and by the way he was just being present.

”I don’t need help,” You said barely above a whisper, “It’s just pain…It’ll pass.” Bob took a moment, and let out a short breath, before putting his empty glass on the counter and leaning forward, bringing himself down so he was eye to eye with you. You could feel his breath mixing with yours in the space between you.

The under-cabinet lighting, soft and golden, carved warm halos along the edges of his face. And for the first time since he stepped into the kitchen, you saw the fullness of his eyes–blue like deep water, not just bright but saturated, with something rich and aching caught beneath the surface. The amber glow softened them, turned the outer rim to shadow but made the center gleam, like starlight reflected off a dark lake.

They shimmered.

Not from light alone–but from the way he was looking at you. From the way he saw you.

Not just someone in pain.

You.

Not just a teammate or a friend–you.

The muscles in your jaw tensed as your eyes welled again.

Bob didn’t blink.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Unsteady.

“When…W-When was the last time someone a-actually took care of you, Y/N?” You swallowed hard.

That was the kind of question that shouldn’t have hit like it did. But it knocked the air from your lungs with its gentleness. The honesty in it. The fact that he wasn’t asking to prove something–he was asking because he saw it.

The exhaustion. The weight. The way you always powered through everything because it was easier than asking. Because you thought maybe you weren’t allowed to ask.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Your lips parted to try, but no sound came out.

Bob didn’t push.

Instead, he lowered his voice even more–barely audible now, like a secret meant only for you.

“B-Because… I-I want to help. I want to take c-care of you right now. Because I care about you. And I–” He glanced away for a moment, jaw tightening, before forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “And I see you’re s-struggling. And I don’t think you should have to go through this alone.”

The words were simple.

But the sincerity behind them wrapped around you like a blanket–warm and devastating. There was no pity in his voice. No pressure.

Only care.

Only Bob.

You didn’t say anything right away. Your eyes stayed locked with his, and something in your chest cracked open. Not loudly. Not visibly. But something shifted.

Slowly, with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you nodded.

“O-Okay.” You stuttered, feeling your pulse beating in your throat, “Fine…” Bob gave you a small nod, slow and certain–like your quiet surrender meant more to him than anything else.

”I’ll help you to the couch,” He said, already adjusting his stance, “Then I-I’ll make your tea…That…Which one i-is it again?” You stared up at him.

”The gross raspberry leaf one…” You replied, watching a soft, sheepish smile appear over his lips.

”Y-Yeah that one…And then I’ll steal W-Walkers heating pad from the closet…S-Should help you a bit with the pain, alright?” You nodded at his plan, feeling his arm gently slip under yours, bracing your weight against his side.

”C’mon…I-I’ve got you.” Bob helped you to the couch with a kind of patience you didn’t know anyone still had.

Not rushed. Not overly careful. Just present–his arm braced solid and steady around your waist, one hand hovering protectively near your elbow in case you stumbled. The living room was dim, still cast in that same honeyed glow that the kitchen had, and the couch–your favorite end seat–looked like a sanctuary carved out of lowlight and flannel.

Bob eased you down onto it with a reverence that made your chest ache. His hands didn’t linger, but the warmth of them remained even after they left your skin. You slumped back into the cushions with a breath that felt just a little deeper than the ones before, muscles uncoiling slightly now that you weren’t upright anymore.

“H-Hold on,” Bob murmured, eyes flicking to the side.

He crossed the room in quick, quiet steps and tugged the large fleece blanket off of Walker’s ridiculous leather recliner–one of those overpriced monstrosities with fake cupholders and lumbar massage settings he claimed were “good for his spine.” Bob brought the blanket back and unfolded it gently over your shoulders, tucking it in around your arms like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Then he grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked the TV on, lowering the volume with a few soft clicks before handing it to you.

“News is on, if you want to change it,”He said, crouching beside you. “I’ll be r-right back, okay? Just going to get the tea, heating pad…M-Maybe a hoodie in case you’re still cold.” He added, repeating the list he mentally made in his head.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to say much more than a quiet “Okay.” Bob brushed his hand over the blanket once more before slipping down the hall. You could hear him moving–cupboards opening, the kettle whistling again. The low, comforting clink of a mug set on the counter. The closet door creaked open, followed by a quiet “shit” when something fell off the top shelf.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. Even through the pain. Especially through the pain.

A few minutes passed. The TV played on quietly in the background–some late-night anchor talking about overnight weather patterns and airport closures. It was white noise. Background to the warmth slowly returning to your limbs, to the softness of the blanket around your shoulders. The pain was there still, but it had become a little more manageable with the fabric wrapped around you–which was already a good sign that you would actually get a semblance of sleep tonight.

Then he returned.

He had the tea in one hand–the mug carefully braced with a napkin wrapped around the handle– and the heating pad folded in the crook of his arm with a hoodie covering it. He crossed the room in three steps and set the tea down gently on the side table next to you.

“Still p-pretty hot,” He murmured, “C-Careful.” You watched him as he knelt again beside the outlet and plugged in the heating pad. He held the hoodie out to you, but you shook your head. The little orange light flickered on briefly, before turning a dark red. Bob tested the temperature with his hand, feeling around the flat end with his palm, then he shifted closer to you.

“I-Is it okay if I…” he trailed off, eyes flicking to your abdomen, then back to your face. “If I help you with this?”

You nodded wordlessly, the pain still etched into your features but softened now by trust. You didn’t need to speak for him to see it.

He shifted forward slowly, folding one knee onto the couch cushion beside you. The pad was already warm–radiating a low, comforting heat as he carefully uncurled the cord from around the folded fabric. You could smell him now, fully–clean linen, spearmint, and that faint trace of cinnamon that always clung to his hoodie when he wore it throughout the day. It wrapped around you just as much as the blanket did, thick and soothing.

Bob held the heating pad open and reached for the hem of the blanket tucked around you.

“L-Lift up just a little?” He asked, voice low.

You obeyed, slow and stiff, and he slid the pad forward, pressing it gently across the curve of your lower abdomen. His hands ghosted beneath the blanket, through the thin barrier of your cotton sleep shirt–his fingers warm, a little rough from old calluses, but so careful it made your breath catch in your throat.

He smoothed the pad into place with open palms, applying a light pressure–not too much–just enough to let the heat sink into your skin. His thumbs brushed your sides on the way out, knuckles skimming the soft give of your waist through the fabric before he pulled back.

“D-Does that feel okay?” He stuttered.

“Yeah,” You whispered. “Yeah…It helps.”

Bob looked at the pad, frowning a little. “Wish these things worked better. I mean, it’s warm, b-but it doesn’t wrap all the way around, y-you know? Just heats the front.” You let out a dry laugh.

”Probably because Walker cheaped out and bought a throw away…” Bob’s smile flickered, small and crooked.

“I c-could’ve made one better in the fifth grade with a sock and a microwave.”

You tilted your head with a smirk. “Yeah? You gonna patent it?”

His eyes met yours and held. “Only if I can put your name on it too.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward–close.

Then, without another word, Bob settled beside you, his body angled slightly so he could still glance at your face while giving you space. The heating pad glowed faintly beneath the blanket, casting soft orange pulses like a heart beating slow and steady in the dark. You took the mug from the side table with both hands—fingers curling around the ceramic for warmth more than anything else.

The raspberry leaf tea was bitter, herbal, not exactly pleasant, but the heat soaked into your chest with each sip, loosening the tightness in your ribs. You cradled the mug and leaned a little into the couch cushions, letting yourself sink further into the moment, into the quiet that had grown easy now between the two of you.

Bob was watching the news like it mattered–eyes narrowed slightly at the forecast ticker running along the bottom of the screen. When he spoke, it was soft, conversational, like he didn’t want to break the atmosphere.

“D-Do you think it’s the s-storms that really c-cause more accidents or if people just…F-Forget how to drive?”

You glanced over at him. His hair was still tousled, his jaw faintly shadowed with very very light stubble. “A little of both,” You said, sipping again. “Storms and stupidity. Dangerous combo.”

He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, then looked down at the mug in your hands. “T-Tea helping?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Not magic or anything, but it’s better.”

You talked like that for a little while. Quiet things. Small things. Bob asked if you’d ever seen a tornado up close. You told him about the one time you had to shelter in a Walmart freezer with a bunch of other customers because they were within a tornado zone. He winced and muttered something about how “no one deserves that.”

Eventually, the tea was gone and you set the mug down with a small sigh, shifting under the blanket to get more comfortable. The pain had dulled but hadn’t left. It had just relocated. Mostly in your back now, a deep, dragging throb nestled in your lower spine.

Bob must’ve noticed your subtle wince, because his head tilted slightly, as concern tugged at his brow again. “Y-You still hurting?”

“Just my back,” You murmured, pressing your palm against the base of it. “Feels like something’s pulling at the muscles though…That’s all.”

He hesitated, then gently peeled off the hoodie he was still wearing. Underneath, he wore a simple black t-shirt–thin enough that you could see the dip of his collarbone, the lines of muscle in his arms. His movements were unhurried, like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but you still caught the way he swallowed before glancing at you.

”I–I could help with t-that…If y-you want.” He started, seeing the way you tilted your head at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “I-I mean…I run pretty hot,” He said, almost sheepish. “L-Like, body temp-wise. I-It’s…It’s kinda just...How it is. S-Sometimes I sleep with the window open even when it’s snowing ’cause I get too warm.” He paused, looking down at you with hesitant sincerity. “So I thought maybe… I-I could just… Lie with you? J-Just hold you, maybe. Like–with my chest against your back, and the blanket and everything might…Y-You know…I-Insulate the heat.” You considered it for a moment, then gave a slow, small nod.

“Okay,” You whispered. “Yeah. That actually…That sounds really good.”

Relief bloomed on his face so quickly it made you want to reach for him. He gave you a quick, grateful smile and then turned, padding over to the wide sill beneath the living room window. The throw pillows you usually kept for decoration were stacked in a lopsided pile, half-flattened by time and sun. Bob scooped up three and brought them back over, crouching beside you again. He carefully arranged them along the edge of the couch, creating a makeshift bed—just enough space for you to curl into without losing the heating pad or the blanket.

“You sure you’re comfortable lying on your side?” He asked, already adjusting one of the cushions to support your knees.

“Yeah,” You murmured, shifting with his help. The motion was slow, a little stiff, but manageable. You rolled gently onto your left side, facing the TV, wincing as the dull ache pulled through your spine. Bob waited until you were settled, then carefully eased himself onto the couch behind you.

His movements were hesitant, precise.

He slid onto his side, chest brushing lightly to your back, one arm stretching out under the pillow you were lying on–so that his wrist dangled off the edge of the couch, palm up, loose in the open air. The other arm came around you, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand hovered just above your stomach, eyes flicking to yours.

You gave a small nod, shifting your hips back just an inch–enough to close the space between your bodies without making a show of it.

Bob placed his hand gently over the heating pad. You couldn’t tell if his palm was causing the pad to be warmer, but you could feel the temperature change almost in an instant. The newfound heat sank through the fabric of your shirt like a balm, and you felt your muscles instinctively ease.

His touch didn’t wander. He didn’t stroke or squeeze. He just…Rested there. Solid. Steady.

You felt safe wrapped up in his arms, but then again it was Bob…He was always safe to you regardless of everything that happened with The Void and everything.

You let your hand drift slowly, fingers reaching up the curve of the couch until you found his other hand–the one still hanging just off the side. Your fingertips brushed his wrist first, then his palm. He stilled for a moment, startled, but then his fingers curled up and around yours. No hesitation. Just soft, certain pressure.

No words were exchanged and the quiet deepened around you like a hush after a snowfall, the soft cadence of late-night weather reports humming in the background. Your body, which had felt wrung out and trembling before, began to feel like it might belong to you again–bit by bit.

His chest rose and fell against your back, the rhythm slow, soothing. And when his thumb began to unconsciously trace over your knuckles, your eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank you Bob.” You whispered into the dark. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

”You’re welcome Y/N…”

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carebearbussy · 1 year ago

Text

𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙪𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 '𝙪𝙜𝙡𝙮' 𝙖𝙣𝙙 '𝙨𝙡𝙪𝙩', 𝙗𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 2.7k

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your day went as normal as usual.

You walked with you head held high, a pep in your step as you wondered around the large estate claimed by Sukuna. Alongside you, was one of your loyal handmaids, ordered by Sukuna to accompany you by default. It was early morning, as you heard the talkative birds chirp in the crisp air. It was very relaxing, especially for you, who was often picked on by your fellow concubines, who were supposed to support you.

As you stepped onto the stone walkway that led to your beloved garden, you noticed the flowers slightly dwindling in color, as the stems had lost their pin point shape. This made you frown, as you realize you had forgot to water them recently. Your handmaiden follows behind you respectfully, as you walk through the rows of colorful flowers.

"You must really enjoy the flowers, my lady." You handmaiden pointed out, coming to that conclusion as she had watched you tend to the flowers every day without fail. It was something she admired about you greatly, that being your calm nature, even under the circumstance of Sukuna wanting you to be monitored 24/7. She felt some sort of pity, even through her love for Lord Sukuna. "Yes, I am quite fond of them. They are very beautiful, but they look very dull today..." You say through your pouting.

You walk over to the gardening table over by the end of the conservatory, as you put on your gardening gloves, as well as putting your hair in a high ponytail. Your handmaiden looks at you with her head tilted, questioning your motives. "My lady, you should not be getting your hands dirty. I suggest you stick to watering instead of doing the dirty work." She said, worried about what Lord Sukuna would think if he saw his favorite consort getting her pretty hands dirty. You look over at her while carrying a bag of soil, walking over to the start of where the flowers were.

"Its fine, really. He wont even know I was here today, hes out for a business meeting. Uraume informed me he may not return for a couple of days." You said, reassuring her, as you kneel down to tend to the garden. "Okay, if it is what you wish..." She says, looking around to see if anybody was watching. "I will just stay here and keep watch."

As you patted down the soil, you sprinkled water over the plants, the glass of the garden house letting the sunlight shine in. You looked at your work as you were halfway through, proud of the work you had so far accomplished. But as you were admiring your handiwork, you heard a group of heavy footsteps walk into the large garden house. You were not expecting anybody else to come here except for you, so who was it. Oh, of course, its them.

A group of three notorious mid ranking concubines, followed by one high ranking one. You audibly sighed, knowing what would follow suite. They laughed when they saw the sight before them. Sukuna's favorite? Doing a maids work? It was laughable to them. Was this finally the moment Lord Sukuna kicked you to the curb, and realized your true worth? That was what they hoped for in the end, but for now, they had to have their moment of joy, which was picking on you.

"My, my, my. Look at what we have here. Little Y/N is out doing the work of those lower than her? What did you do to make Lord Sukuna that upset?" The lead woman spoke, cackling along with the other girls. Your face distorted into that of annoyance. You looked at the girl straight in the eyes, preparing to attempt to defend yourself. "Why are you all here? To ridicule me? If you must know, I chose to tend to the garden."

One of the girls standing behind the lead scoffs, stepping slightly forward. Looking at your handmaids, then to you. "You really are pathetic, if you must need that woman with you at all times." She says, gesturing her hand towards your handmaiden. Your handmaiden looks away, too afraid to talk back to the likes of somebody a higher rank than her. "It would be a damn shame if you got dirt on your precious face, it's already messed up, you aren't the prettiest woman ever." Another one adds in, creating more fuel to the fire by taking a jab at your appearance.

This stroke a nerve in you, your self esteem slowly crumbling as they go on. The lead concubine takes a step closer to your kneeling form, looking down on you as if you were nobody. She crouches down to your eye level, grabbing your chin on each side with her fingers. "I really don't see what Lord Sukuna saw in you. He must not be very interested in you anymore. You are nowhere near perfect. Especially after your massive weight gain." She says, knowing the damage she is doing to you. She lets go of your chin, pushing you slightly back. "It wont be long before he gets rid of you for good, hopefully as soon as possible. We don't need an ugly duckling the likes of you waddling around the well known beauty of Lord Sukuna's estate." She says, brushing astray dirt off her kimono, as the girls behind her laugh at her words.

You feel tears forming in your eyes, as you try your best to hold them back and to not lash out at the woman, you mouth hanging agape from shock. But you are not as slick as the woman currently standing before you. She looks at you, a smirk crossing her fair face in accomplishment. "Aw, whats wrong? Are you going to cry? Your already the biggest slut in the palace, I don't need to call you more hurtful things."

And this was the last push to send you over the edge, as you felt hot tears spill from your eyes. The girls laughed louder, mocking your weak state. You panicked, as you got up, pushing the woman out fo your way as you ran out of the garden house, your gloves still on, your ponytail messy. You ran as far away from the scene as you could, as your handmaiden ran after you, pure shock in her eyes. Embarrassment crept up your spine, as you ran all the way to the opposite side of the wing of the garden, out of sight from any onlookers. How were you to face anybody?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

You lay sorrowful in your large bed, curled up into a ball as you cradled your knees. Your eyes were puffy with sorrow, as warm tears streamed down your face, all the way down to your chest. Your nose was stuffy, snot running trickling down your nose. Used tissues covered the bed like a sea, as your handmaiden handed you more. She rubbed your back, as she sat on the edge of the bed watching you.

"My lady, please don't cry." She said, worried for you and your morale. You look up at her through wet eyelashes, as you sniffled into a half dirty tissue she held up for you. "Easy for you to say, you don't know what its like to be me. It feels like every single day, the people of the estate seem to hate me even more, and I try so hard to avoid it. I just don't know how to endure it anymore." You say, your lower lip quivering.

Your handmaiden looks at you pitifully. She feels like she knows you so well. She felt like your only true friend since being welcomed into Sukuna's estate. So it hurt to see you like this, especially after witnessing the unfair treatment you had received throughout your time here. The slow hand that once rubbed your back moved up to move the loose hair from your face, letting her see your full face out on display. But instead, you cover it, by moving your head more towards the pillows, the concubines words clearly getting to your head.

But she saw right though you. "My lady, the things those girls have said are simply untrue. I'm sure they were just saying that to get a rise out of you. They want what they cannot have, especially your close relationship with Lord Sukuna." You stop into your own world and think about it. Yes sure, you knew jealousy was a big factor in their distaste in you, but then why would they say such specific things? Were you truly all of those things they said you were?

"I'm sure it stemmed from what they truly want from you. All they want are reactions like these from you-" She says, but intervened by none other than the man himself, the head of the entire estate, Sukuna, who had came home unexpectedly earlier than usual.

Your handmaiden from what seems like instinct, immediately gets up to bow, anxiety filling her system for the largely built man standing before her. "Just what the hell do you think you are doing in my quarters uninvited?" He asks, unamused by the sudden appearance by anybody other than you. He looks down at her, waiting impatiently for an answer. "My lord, I was just tending to My lady, Y/N. She seemed in distress after a sudden altercation-" Without a second thought, he pushes her out of the way with his foot. Searching for you. He hears sorrowful sniffles coming from his large bed, as he raises his eyebrow in confusion. Who is in his bed? Ahh, it you, something must have happened.

You look up slightly from the bed to be greeted by Sukuna's broad stature, as you turn away from him, not wanting to face the fact that you failed to stand up for yourself. You had always made it a point to prove that you were strong willed, but this time around, you had failed. And failure is something you had feared around the likes of Sukuna.

He walks over to the opposite side of the bed that you were on, not wanting to upset you further, knowing how you become when you are upset. You try to muffle your sniffling, but to no avail. He looks at your chest rise and fall quickly, due to the nature of your fast breathing. A loud, audible sigh is heard behind you, the sound of it making chills creep up your spine. He then looks over at the handmaiden, who is still kneeling on the floor. "Leave." He says to her, as she quickly gets up to take her leave, not stopping to say anymore goodbyes.

He then looks back at you, who is unable to turn his way. "Whats wrong brat? Are you going to explain what happened, or are you just going to lay there like a sappy little thing." He says, crawling into bed, grabbing hold of your waist. He notices you flinching, keeping it in mind that when you are sad, you become sensitive to touch. He slowly brings you into his chest, your legs straddling his lower waist. Your body shakes as you hide your face within his chest, getting his robe wet with your snot.

"Look at me." He orders you, clearly not liking the mood you are in. But you don't move. Instead, you move your head side to side, still hiding your face from sight. Your head nuzzles further into his chest, as you move your arms to either side of his waist, hugging him deeply as you inhale his scent. You feel your tears keep running, as you use his robe to wipe them. "I told you to look at me, I wont repeat myself a third time." He said, sternly informing you. You didn't want to upset him, so you slowly look up at him, barely being able to hold eye contact. His eyebrows slightly furrow, as he slightly adjusts himself on the bed.

"Christ, what happened to you woman?" He says, using his upper left hand to wipe away the tears staining your face. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, but quickly stopping realizing how intimate that was. You hesitated before you spoke. "Its just... there are these girls, and I feel like ever since you became a part of my life, I have been tormented by them." You said, the thought of them ridiculing you flooding back into your mind like a storm, causing more tears to flood your waterline. "Torment? How so?" He asks, wanting to hear more.

"Like today for example, I was just trying to tend to the garden, and they came in and- its just- its complicated." You said, not wanting to spill the full details, worried of his reaction. "What did those woman do." He said. It was more of him trying to figure out what happened, than a question towards you. But you felt your emotions run high, causing you to completely unfold before Sukuna. "They came in, and they basically told me I would never amount to anything, and how i'm ugly, and that I gained weight recently."

He looks at you, his upper lip curling into that of disgust for what he just heard. You? Ugly? Never amount to anything? Gaining weight? This was all ridiculous to him. He would never truly understand why you were upset at being called those things, but he particularly did not like the reaction you had to it. Seeing you cry, for some reason, tore on his heart strings hard. Your emotions ran through him like an electrical current. He lowered his back into the mattress, still holding you tight.

"That has to be one of the most absurd things I have heard in my years of living. You are none of those things. Why would I care about such laughable things. You're my woman, nobody else is able to judge you, except for me."

You look at him with glossy eyes, as you place your hands over his chest, which had a wet patch due to the mixture of your snot and tears. You felt your lip quiver all over again at his words, thus resting your face on one side of his chest. You let all your tears run out, as you felt yourself quietly wail at the hands of Sukuna. He placed a large hand over your back, massaging your back, soothing you simultaneously.

"Thats it, let it all out. God, you look so weak right now, its quite endearing." He says, a slight smile being hidden from your field of vision. You grip onto the ridges of his robe, using it to try to grab onto something. His lower hands grip each side of your bottom, holding you for leverage. As he massaged your back, he pet your hair with his other top hand. Your hair was always one of his favorite things about you, which is something that stuck in your head. The words of your handmaiden ran through your head as well;

'They want what they cannot have, especially your close relationship with Lord Sukuna.'

It was true after all. And you will come to realize that as time goes on. How lucky did you get to become Sukuna's most favored? Any other girl in your situation would think the same way. Especially the way he is giving you so much attention. It makes you so happy. Knowing those girls would give anything to be in your situation. You felt like a princess.

You felt yourself fall into deep slumber, the comfort of your thoughts, along with Sukuna's relaxing hold bringing you comfort in moments like these. He looks down at you as he notices you had seized your crying. He thinks about moving from his spot, but decides against it, not wanting to ruin your beauty sleep. You needed this, he thinks. And he was right. He brushes the hair that covers your ear out of the way with his hand, as he leans down to whisper into your sleeping form.

"You can trust, those woman will be dealt with accordingly."

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(𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙥𝙩 2?)

#sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #heian sukuna #heian era sukuna #heian sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x Charlotte #heian #heian era #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x Charlotte #jjk smut #sukuna fluff

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snail-day · 1 month ago

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Happy Island Getaway

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Dubcon/intentions of noncon, Violence, Forced Captivity, Gun Violence, Gojo is a bit more on the feral/unhinged side. MDNI

Yandere! Gojo x Reader

a/n: This was supposed to be a cozy Animal Crossing thought... and then @raspberrietreats said “billionaire Gojo” and my brain spiraled. Thank you for your crimes 🫶 Now here we are: one sugar daddy, a fake plane crash, and a very reluctant bride.

Yandere! Gojo, who lounges lazily across the private island he bought just for you - so sweet, right? So romantic. A whole paradise with your name on it. Just the two of you. Isn’t he thoughtful?

So why, baby, why do you keep writing those little SOS messages in the nice warm sand?

He can’t help but smile behind his designer sunglasses, sipping from a chilled coconut as he watches you crouch near the shore, carefully arranging smooth white stones into a shaky, desperate H E L P M E. It’s adorable, really. He even chuckles a bit, brushing his snow-white hair back with one hand, his long legs stretched out on a ridiculously luxurious sun chair.

“You know I own the air rights to this place, right?” he calls lazily, voice teasing and light, like he’s talking about a parking ticket and not your failed rescue attempt. “No one’s even allowed to fly over without my permission. But points for creativity, princess.”

You don’t answer, at least not with words. Just hurling the coconut he gave you into the waves, salty tears brimming in your eyes, fingernails caked with blood and sand from trying to build a fire that wouldn’t light.

“Aw, c’mon now,” Satoru pouts, finally getting up and sauntering over. He squats beside you in the sand, the scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to his skin, long fingers idly brushing a stick out of your shaking hands. “You didn’t have to throw that,” he adds, a little sing-song, a little scolding. “The poor guy who carved it really didn’t deserve that. I mean, I did rip his tongue out afterwards, but still. It’s the principle, baby.”

You glare at him. He coos.

“I know you’re mad. I get it. Sure, maybe faking a plane crash wasn’t... super ethical. And yeah, flying my jet into the damn ocean might’ve been a little harmful to the environment, but how else was I supposed to make you stay with me?” His grin spreads slowly, sharklike. “Forever and ever. Just us. Isn’t that romantic?”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with your throat tight, hands trembling, sobs building thick in your chest.

He pulls out a sealed bottle of water, unscrews the cap with one hand, and presses it to your lips with the other.

“Thirsty, baby?” he murmurs, watching your expression with glittering eyes. “You’ve been working so hard today.”

And when you turn your head away, refusing even that, he just sighs, tilting your chin back gently with two fingers.

“Be good for me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your salt-streaked cheek. “You’ll feel better once you stop fighting it.”

You take the smallest sip, the glare never leaving your face. Tears drip freely now, hot trails down skin already raw from sun and salt.

“Good girl,” he beams, voice bright like he’s praising a puppy. “See? If you keep that up - well! Maybe, just maybe, I’ll call someone to come pick us up.” His grin widens, dazzling and full of mockery. “But I’m having such a good time here, baby. Would be a real shame if you didn’t indulge with me.”

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours like he hasn’t just destroyed your life, like you’re lovers on vacation. His thumb rubs slow circles against your wrist, almost tender. That crooked, boyish grin spreads across his face again - pretty, if you didn’t know better. If you didn’t see the rot behind it.

“We could be really good together,” he hums, tilting his head. “Not like you have any other options.”

And just like that, he pushes you gently back into the sand, the fine grains clinging to your skin and the tattered remains of your dress - god, your poor dress. It’s barely more than fabric now, after all the gifts you refused. The silks. The swimsuits. The sundresses. You stopped taking anything from him after you saw what he did - what he made of the staff. Tongueless. Broken. Just so you’d only ever speak to him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he mutters, breath warm against your cheek. Then, quieter, almost under his breath: “Besides the grime. You could really use a shower, baby.”

Your stomach sinks. Heavy. Cold. Sinking like the plane he crashed, just a day ago, now rusting on the seafloor.

He leans in to kiss you, palm brushing over your chest with sickening familiarity. “C’mon, sugar. You always said you wanted a sugar daddy, and now that I’m playing the part… what? You don’t want me?”

He pouts, then grins again - baby blue eyes crinkling like he just cracked a joke only he understands. His lips find yours before you can twist away, tongue hot and invasive, tasting of coconut and cruelty. One hand creeps beneath your dress, fondling with your breas, the other pins your wrists above your head.

You bite down.

Hard.

Blood floods your mouth, metallic and hot. He jerks back, lips split, a crimson smear curling at the edge of his grin.

“Ow,” he whines, but his eyes are alight, wide and so terribly pleased. “Oh, baby. I had a plane coming.”

He sighs theatrically, licking the blood off his lip. “Guess you just lost your chance.”

Your breath stutters. Your eyes flick to his side - where the gun holster rests, sleek and silent.

He follows your gaze and laughs, loud and bright like waves crashing on coral.

“That’s okay,” he chirps. “I could use the longer vacation anyway.”

He leans down again, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and syrupy.

“Run if you want to, baby. I always catch what’s mine.”

You feel it. His hand loosening.

An invitation.

A test.

You scramble. The sand burns under your palms, jagged shells biting into your skin as you push yourself up and take off, stumbling and zigzagging toward the trees. Behind you, he lets out a low whistle and starts counting.

“One… two… three…”

He’s grinning. Wide. Wild. Like this is the best game he’s ever played. You’re fast - God, you’re fast - but he’s not worried. No, never that. Because when he hits ten, he raises his arm with surgical calm and -

Bang.

The bullet slices clean through the back of your leg, barely missing bone. Your scream splits the air as you hit the sand, limbs twisting, blood soaking into the shoreline.

“Don’t you know I’m a straight shot?” he sings, sauntering toward you, carefree as a boy in love. The gun is tossed aside like trash, clattering onto the beach behind him.

He crouches low beside you, knees digging into the sand, and brushes your tears away with those soft, unworked hands - fingers that have never lifted anything heavier than a silver spoon.

“Shhh, baby,” he coos, voice thick with mock concern. His grin stretches almost too wide. “I know it hurts. I know.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, the blood from your leg staining the hem of his linen pants.

“But hey, bright side?” he chirps, voice lilting, eyes sparkling like you’re the guest of honor at some romantic dinner and not bleeding out in front of him. “Now we get to spend so much more time together. You can’t run anymore. Isn’t that sweet?”

You try to crawl - anything - but he just tilts his head and grabs your chin, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I mean, baby, think about it,” he murmurs, so close now. “You always said you wanted a sugar daddy. Someone rich. Someone handsome.” He kisses you again, sickeningly soft. “I am playing the part, right?”

“And now…” His voice lowers. Darkens. “Now we’re just gonna get married.”

You flinch when he leans in for another peck, right on your cheek, thumb still resting on your lower lip, dragging across the soft flesh.

He laughs, a soft and bright sound.

“But hey. Just a warning.” His thumb taps against your lips, thoughtful. “If you want to keep that pretty little tongue of yours, I suggest you say yes when I propose.”

He smiles so sweetly it makes your stomach twist.

“Wouldn’t want a mute wife, now would I?”

#yandere #There's something about men with too much money that they use everyone else around them like playthings #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere gojo satoru #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere satoru x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere satoru gojo x reader

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lay-z · 5 months ago

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inamorata | 1

Summary: Two retired veterans decide to adopt a domestic hybrid on a whim to bring some much needed light back into their dire lives.

Pairing: hybrid!Ghoap x fem!hybrid!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ | Hybrid AU ft. black panther!Simon, grey wolf hybrid!Johnny, and maine coon cat!Reader. Despite ears, tails/feathers, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | strangers to lovers; class differences; fantasy/fictional setting racism; hurt/comfort; humour; eventual heavy smut; dom/sub elements; fluff; cussing; angst (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

Based on this idea 🖤

There is an atmosphere of departure around the common hazel just outside the fenced backyard.

The pair of robins has found their ideal nesting spot in between the high branches of the early blossoming tree after days of scouting the pretty territory. As early as January they start to sprout, Nana had explained to you once, and it’s February now. While other trees around are still leafless and recovering from winter, the common hazel is turning colourful; working hard and earnest to change the lifeless scenery with its tiny deep green leaves and pale-yellow catkins hanging from the branches.

And joining its effort, the common birds of the area are starting to build their nests, looking forward to spring with natural optimism; stacking sticks and stones and moss to build a home in harmonic teamwork. A home for their offspring to hatch and grow; hidden and protected from predators.

A breeze makes the thinner branches and catkins sway while the reddish birds huddle together, seeking shelter in a notch of the trunk, puffing their plumage for warmth. Out of a hole at the base of the trunk, a hare pokes its head out, large ears perked.

You wonder what the hare must’ve heard. You wonder if the breeze is cold, if it would nip at your exposed face and make your furry ears bristle. You wonder if the air smells fresh, perhaps flowery, though definitely exhilarating. And you wonder how the robins sound, if their lovely chirps would make your heart flutter with happiness and longing for more.

Exhaling a soft, discouraged sigh, you continue to gaze out of the meagre overhead window, curled up on the metallic windowsill high up off the ground of your tiny enclosure; chin resting on your forearm while you clutch your long and cottony, golden tail to your chest, petting it self-soothingly while you try to get lost in your daydreams; drowning out the awful ambient noise of the hybrid shelter along with your terribly empty stomach and grief stricken heart.

It’s gotten even more crowded after Christmas, now that given away hybrids have been returned to shelters, to the illegal breeders they were bought from, or simply dumped into the streets and on highways before they were snared and detained by the regulatory agency for homeless hybrids–the RAHH. Although the only “homeless” hybrids always only happen to be domestic. The lesser species, meant to serve and obey.

The other female cat hybrid in this enclosure has been taken to the vet last night after her water broke, leaving you with the luxury to be alone in the tiny space, along with the puddle of amniotic fluids that no one has bothered to clean up yet, so you simply had to let it dry by itself as you lack any towels or blankets to spare for a proper cleanup, though the smell isn't half as bad as the general stench of this wretched place, and to your own horror, you’ve noticed that you’re starting to reek, too. Then again, you can only groom yourself limitedly without a clean source of water and a piece of soap.

Then, a particularly loud wail from one of the younger dog hybrids in a kennel close by disturbs your thoughts, makes you flinch, and your fuzzy ears flatten anxiously as you peek over your shoulder just in time to watch one of the shelter workers unlock the gate to your enclosure.

Your ears perk up again, tail twitching hopefully in your grasp as your eyes flicker to her–empty hands. No food. It’s been three days. Your stomach clenches and a wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm you at the prospect of going another day without a meal before something else catches your attention, something way more surprising–two large apex hybrids standing behind the worker, both oozing power and dominance.

The shelter worker, a stern-looking woman with a tight bun and a clipboard, sighs impatiently as she spots you hiding higher up on the windowsill again. She's used to the skittishness and fear in the domestic hybrids under her care, but your avoidant and clever behaviour is getting on her nerves. Turning to the two apex hybrids, she gestures towards you.

“This one seems fairly docile and well-behaved. A purebred cat hybrid, female, late 20 or early 30s, we’re not sure. She's healthy and not... uncooperative like some of the others, and it seems like she’s still a virgin.” The worker says, her voice devoid of any real concern or compassion.

Your eyes widen slowly as the wolf hybrid enters your enclosure confidently, uncaring of the still drying puddle on the concrete floor. His bright gaze is fixated on you, neck craned to meet your fearful gaze with what you can only describe as a cheeky grin; his long grey tail swishes behind him slowly while you get lost in the cerulean colour of his eyes. Bright like the sky, promising freedom. His haircut looks funny.

“Well, well, well... aren’t ye a bonnie wee thing,” he purrs, his Scottish brogue rumbling through his friendly words. His tail starts to wag as you shift your position, turning around fully and releasing your grasp on your tail to bend over the windowsill to get a better view. Your tail uncurls and stands up straight, its fluffy tip crooking like a question mark–showcasing your curiosity. Your nose twitches as you take a tentative sniff and catch the pleasant cologne on his tanned skin, mixed with his natural musk.

The other apex hybrid, a massive feline missing half an ear and wearing a black surgical mask, watches the exchange with a guarded expression. His dark tawny eyes, visible above the rim of his mask, are calculating as he assesses you. He takes a step closer and enters the enclosure as well, his broad shoulders and muscular build now crowding the small space while the shelter worker steps out into the corridor.

“She’s feckin’ gorgeous, Simon,” the wolf hybrid says in awe, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he nudges the other one with his elbow while you duck your head at the compliment, a flush rising to your cheeks. “Looks jus’ like the pic on the website.”

Simon glances up at you appraisingly; eyes gauging your body language while you tilt your head at the way he wears his sleek black tail tucked around his waist like a belt, still wondering what kind of hybrid he is.

“Aye, she’s... a vision, and calm, too,” Simon agrees, and his voice catches you off guard–low and gravelly, bordering on a deep, soothing purr that leaves your fur bristling pleasantly. They’re both nice to look at. Strong. He glances over his shoulder at the shelter worker, who’s tapping her foot on the ground impatiently, clutching the clipboard to her chest. “This one will do. We’ll take ‘er.”

Your breath hitches and your heartrate increases swiftly while your doe-eyes flicker between the apex predators, not quite processing what this means, though the wolf hybrid’s tail wags as he reaches a meaty hand out to you encouragingly. “Ye think it’ll work on her, Si? It certainly doesnae with ye,” he chuckles boyishly before flashing you a charming smile. “C’mon, bon–pspspspspspsps–”

You tut, brows furrowing at the blatant insult before you glance at the other one, Simon, who simply shakes his head slowly, muttering: “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” There is no doubt he’s some sort of feline.

Meanwhile, the shelter worker nods and makes a checkmark on her clipboard. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll have her things and the necessary paperwork ready at the front desk in a minute.”

“You’re... serious? You–You want me?” you ask in disbelief. It cannot be that easy. It cannot be that simple. And they cannot be serious about this. Your stomach growls as you push yourself up on the windowsill, waiting for confirmation while your tail flicks nervously.

Johnny beams and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, retrieving a bundle of black leather along with what looks like a chocolate bar. “Ye heard what Simon said, didn’t ye? Hard ta believe those pretty ears are deaf,” he snickers, fumbling with the items before holding a collar and candy up for you to see. A friendly offering, a mouth-watering temptation. You swallow hard and move to climb down from your safe haven, drawn in by the prospect of food, of getting out of this hellhole.

Behind him, Simon clasps a hand over Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it some and making the shorter man’s tail wag again as dark eyes look up at you expectantly. “Come on down now, sweet’eart. Let’s get you home.”

#inamorata #ghoap x reader #ghoap #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #hybrid au #cod hybrid au #hybrid!ghost #hybrid!soap #hybrid!reader #cod #cod smut #reader insert #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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reidrum · 6 months ago

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hypothalamus

note: this is just me reidsplaining neuro i fear. and being horny. sorry? inspired by my real life final that i so bravely studied for without spencer's help </3

summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, fingering, p in v sex, heavy praise kink, neuroscience jargon

wc: 2.3k

apologies in advance if it sounds too sciencey it is unfortunately the side effect of a woman in stem. bunsen burner! (divider by @firefly-graphics)

The dry erase marker crumbs stick to your hand as you angrily erase the whiteboard again, internally groaning as you restart drawing your diagram hopefully correctly this time. It’s not. After another few failed attempts you slump back in your chair and huff out in frustration, too deep in your sulk to hear the front door open.

“Hey I’m home!” Spencer calls out, bending down to remove his shoes.

“In the study.” you grumble out, a surprise he even heard you when he walks in a minute later. His gaze softens as he takes in the scene. Your notes strewn across the table, your whiteboard dark with marker smudges that match the side of your hand in which you used to erase it. The exhaustion clear as day on your face and the hint of defeat in your eyes is enough to draw him closer to you.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” he says softly.

You sniffle, not exactly crying but the stress was bringing you to the brink, “S’nothing, just trying to study and it’s not working. Feel dumb.”

He sighs and rounds the desk, sitting on the edge and reaching for your hands as he looks down at you, “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“To not to.” you mumble.

He laughs softly, “Well, yes. But it’s because you’re too hard on yourself. You were just explaining all of this to me yesterday.”

You whine, “I know and it feels like I forgot it already!”

“Maybe you just need to approach it differently,” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “Your whiteboard isn’t helping?”

“No,” you sigh, “I keep drawing it wrong and it’s frustrating me.”

The despair in your voice makes his heart ache, and all he wishes is to be able to take it away. Spencer remains deep in thought before something clicks in his mind, you see the shift in him but you’re unable to discern what epiphany he’s reached. His eyes sparkle with mischief as his entire demeanor changes, “I think you might need a different type of visual.”

Your eyes squint in confusion before you realize what he’s getting at, and you can’t help but laugh. “You’re not serious? This is a joke, right?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, “Humor me.”

The laughter dies down on your tongue as you take in and consider the very intentional nature of his words. “How so?”

“You’re studying brain structures right?” you nod, “Okay well, what better way to study than with some active learning?”

You couldn’t look less convinced. Spencer chuckles, reaching for your hand to switch places with him so he’s seated on the chair. You move forward hesitantly, he holds a hand out to gently pull you closer while using the other hand on your hip guides you onto his lap. You part your knees on either side of him and situate comfortably on him, arms slinking around his neck.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You soften, “Hi. Are you sure this isn’t a ruse to get me in bed?”

“Oh come on, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. A lot of the hypothalamic functions are very important during intercourse,” he trails his fingers up and down your side, “You’ll get to study with a real life application and relieve some of your stress.”

You move your hips slightly, smiling when you feel him harden beneath you at the simple movement, “Alright, I’m game.”

He matches your grin and presses a kiss to the base of your jaw, “Need you to help me with my pants for this to work, baby.”

The soft kiss already sends you into a dizzy fit, nodding mindlessly as you scoot back to allow yourself space to work on undoing his belt and zipper. You aren’t even sure what his plan is, but if it keeps him talking to you like that you’re afraid there might be nothing you won’t do for him. Spencer’s eyes are focused on you while yours are focused at your handiwork, unable to resist slipping a hand in and palming him through his boxers.

“Ah—h baby, not yet.” he hisses at the contact, reluctantly removing your hand, “S’about you remember? We’re studying. So, tell me something about the thalamus.”

“Okay, the thalamus functions as a relay center for both sensory and m—oh—tor functions.” you moan feeling his lips attach to your neck, slowly marking a path down the slope of your nape with chaste kisses.

He looks up at you briefly, smiling smugly, “Why’d you stop? Keep going.”

You clear your throat as he continues his descent towards your shoulder, motioning for you to lift your arms so he can take off the shirt you’re wearing. His lips immediately reattach before he stops in place once more, brown eyes peering up at you knowingly amid your silence.

“R—Right, so there’s a structure called the lateral geniculate nucleus, fuck.” you curse feeling him suckle a hickey into the crease of your neck.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, “And what does it do?”

His lips descend further down, teasing the lace edges on your bra. You yelp as he nips playfully, “It um, it helps send um…visual stimuli to the brain, right?”

A wicked grin spreads on his face, “That is right, smart girl.” His fingers trace the outline of your bra to the back where he expertly unclasps it, letting it fall to the floor. “You keep getting it right, and I’ll reward you each time, yeah?”

You nod hypnotically, eager to please him and seek his rewards. A soft gasp leaves you as you feel him latch onto your breast, letting his tongue swirl around the peak of your nipple and feeling it harden under his touch. You tighten your arms around him as he latches onto the other breast, moaning softly as he makes sure to give it the same special attention.

You grind your hips down and he lets out a low groan, arm tightening around your waist, suspending your movement. “Can’t do that, sweetheart” he strains, “You gotta earn it.”

Another whine leaves your throat, dropping your head to his neck. He really wasn’t making this easy. “Okay, so ask me something else then.”

His nose brushes up the length of your neck before his hands reach for the notes behind you, “Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

Before you get a chance to think about the answer, you’re distracted by his wandering hands again. Only this time, they’re going down towards where you really need him.

“Spence,” you say breathlessly, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure for a moment.

“Nuh uh,” he pauses his ministrations, “Answer first, reward second. I told you the rules, don’t make me repeat it.”

You whimper and Spencer almost folds—almost. But for the sake of your education, and definitely not the way you look perched on his lap, he treks on.

He does feel a little pity and decides to show you a bit of mercy when he motions for you to lift up slightly so he can pull your pajama shorts all the way off.

“That feel better?” he whispers, hot breath fanning your face. You nod hastily. “Okay then. Anterior nuclei of the thalamus.”

“Um…the anterior nuclei is responsible for—“ your breath hitches as his finger traces the edge of your panties. “Memory, right? Hippocampus.” you rush out.

You feel him smile and nod, “Correct,” his finger hooks onto the fabric and pulls it to the side, the cold air not even hitting you before he swipes through your folds.

Your head drops to his shoulder as you let out a shuddering sigh, peppering kisses up his neck as his fingers provide the much needed attentiveness you needed. He chuckles softly, “Just relax. You’re doing good, pretty girl.”

He helps you remove your underwear, maneuvering you so he can smoothly slide them off your legs. His fingers collect the slick and glides up to circle your clit, grinning when he hears you whine loudly. He continues to move across your pussy before retracting his finger while you let out a soft whimper. You’re about to protest when you see the intention of his removal, watching his hand slip below his boxers to gently pull himself out. He gives himself a few pumps before laying flat against his body, guiding your hips so your cunt is flush with the topside of his dick.

He holds your hips down preventing you from moving, “Hypothalamus?”

The cock drunk state is getting to you and he’s not even inside you yet, “It’s a um…it regulates…stuff.” you trail off, his lips returning to your neck.

He sucks another hickey onto your neck, licking over it and pulling back to gently blow on it. “Not good enough,” he whispers, “Try again.”

You whimper, “Okay—Okay, it sends signals for…sympathetic response—fight or flight” the end of your voice lilting up as he begins to move your hips.

“Keep going.”

The sensation of your cunt sliding up and down his length is enough to send you into delirium, and you’re honestly impressed you’re still able to speak. “It also does,” you take a deep breath for regulation, “It signals appetite and eating…and…”

He slides you forward enough so the tip of his cock is barely breaching your entrance, “One more, pretty girl.”

You rack your brain as you try to force yourself to focus, and not think about the way his tip is stretching your opening, teasing you relentlessly. The answer comes to you in a lightbulb moment, “Intercourse,” you moan, “releases hormones for sex.”

Spencer grins again, “Good girl.”

He lifts your hips a little, and the shift in angle is enough to fully slide himself inside you, the feeling causing you both to moan in tandem. The stretch of his cock inside you splits you apart beautifully, making you feel so full.

You whine his name again as you try to move, getting louder when you realize his hands are still clamped to your side, holding you square in place, “Wanna move, please.”

“Oh baby, you know I love it when you use your manners,” he touts, pressing kisses up your chest, “One more question and I’ll give you what you need, okay?”

You nod quickly, waiting impatiently for his last question.

“Tell me the two hormones made in the hypothalamus.” he whispers against your skin.

“I know one is antidiuretic hormone…” you breathe out shakily, “But, there’s one more I can’t remember.”

“I’ll give you a hint.” his hands slowly begin to guide you up and down on him, a languished moan leaving your throat. The feeling of him pushing against your cervix is so detrimentally distracting, like all you’re focused on is the pure euphoria your body is chasing. It’s clouding your judgement, your senses. It’s all consuming as the pleasure spreads throughout you.

Wait.

Oh.

Spencer seems to sense that you’ve reached an answer and thrusts up into you, “Ah—Knew you’d get there. What is it, baby?”

You let out a sharp gasp before answering, “Oxytocin.”

He doesn’t give a verbal praise but his face splits into a wide grin, finally loosening the grip on your hips and allowing you full reign to chase your peak. You brace yourself on his shoulders and increase your pace, his hands returning to your sides facilitating your movements.

“Such a smart girl you are, baby,” he coos, “Taking me so well and getting all the answers right?”

“Spence…”

“You’re just so good, angel. My beautiful, intelligent girl,” he continues to praise, feeling you clench around him, “My good girl, isn’t that right?”

Any and every neuronal connection in your brain is fried at this point, melded down to nothing but atoms at the hands of Spencer Reid, clearly reveling in your fucked out state as evidenced by your incoherent babbling. His hands grip your sides tighter and pulls you harder when you sink down, the sound echoing throughout the study.

“ ‘m close,” you mumble as you slump into his shoulder letting him fully takeover. He stills his movements for a second before standing up with his hands under your legs to sit you on the desk in front of you. Your hands detach from his shoulders and hold you up from behind as you lean back and let Spencer pull your body towards him.

He continues to fuck into you, the new position allowing him better control for calculated thrusts and a faster pace. Words don’t exist in your lexicon anymore and you hope he can understand your babbles as you attempt to communicate with him that your orgasm is about to overtake you entirely.

He knows, obviously, because it’s you. He slides a finger down to your clit to further drive you to the edge, leaning down to whisper, “Come for me, baby. You’ve earned it.”

With a high pitched whine you crash into your peak with the full force of your body, vision temporarily going white before returning in splotchy spots. Spencer comes not too far behind you, fucking the last of his come into you before stilling completely.

You both pant heavily as you try to catch your breaths, and Spencer leans forward to rest his forehead on yours. “You alright?”

“I think you fucked me dumb.”

He laughs breathlessly, “Actually, I think I fucked you smart.”

You swat his shoulder lightly and laugh, “That was so bad.”

He smoothes your hair back before gently pulling out, using your discarded shirt to clean you up a bit. His lips press a kiss to forehead, then your nose, both cheeks, before landing on your lips kissing you deeply.

You pull back suddenly, “Wait, I still have like, five more sections to review.”

Spencer’s wicked grin returns. “Well, we better get to work.” He effortlessly picks you up from the desk as you giggle and wrap your legs around him. He reaches the bedroom and delicately tosses you on the bed, looking down as he stands over you at the edge.

“Gotta make sure you get that A, pretty girl.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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missmadella · 2 months ago

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"How They React When You Dress Up Beautifully (But Usually Dress Boyish) "// Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Shinichiro, Wakasa, Hanma

Synopsis: you’ve always been the hoodie girl. the one in scuffed sneakers, hands in your pockets, hair tied up, blending in with the boys without even trying. you weren’t there to be looked at — you were there to hold your own. and you did. but tonight? tonight, you show up in a dress. and not just any dress — one that fits, hugs, flows, turns heads. hair down. lips glossed. eyes soft but untouchable. and suddenly, no one knows what to say.

he stares. he freezes. and then he remembers how to breathe.

CW: possessive behavior, mild jealousy, physical affection (waist grabbing/thigh touching), suggestive dialogue, strong language, gender assumptions, toxic remarks from side characters

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

When you first joined Toman, you were all hoodies, joggers, combat boots — tough, quiet, and fast with your fists. Mikey assumed you were just another strong kid in a sea of delinquents. Until Draken casually said, “You know she’s a girl, right?” Mikey froze. “Wait— she?”

You weren’t bothered. You didn’t correct anyone. You let your fists do the talking.

And god, did Mikey fall fast.

The way you handled yourself in fights. The way you leaned back on his bike like you owned it. How you never tried to impress anyone — just did your thing. Mikey loved that.

You were you, no matter what.

__________________________________________________________________________

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees surrounding the old shrine, casting golden light over the cracked stone path. The Toman boys had gathered early, as usual — laughing, arguing, throwing weak punches, killing time before the captains' meeting started.

You were leaning against Mikey’s prized bike, one leg propped up on the step, hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hands in your pockets. Comfortable. Invisible, almost — exactly how you liked it.

Mikey was sprawled lazily on the shrine steps, back against the railing, munching on a dorayaki. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles, eyes half-lidded in his usual not-quite-here, not-quite-gone state. You caught him glancing at you every so often, though.

"Yo, [Y/N]," Baji called suddenly from where he sat cross-legged beside Draken. “Serious question.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

He grinned wickedly. “You sure you’re a girl?”

The entire group broke into a mix of groans and snickers.

“Baji…” Mitsuya warned, but it was too late.

Even Smiley jumped in. “For real, though. Hoodie, boots, baggy jeans. I thought you were one of the boys until, like… last month.”

“Didn’t she knock out that Mobius guy in, like, one hit?” Takemichi added, trying to defend you — but mostly just fueling the fire.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. You were good at brushing this stuff off. You’d heard it before — from rivals, from randoms. But something about it coming from your people — even jokingly — made it stick just a little more than usual.

You pushed off Mikey’s bike and walked slowly toward them, stopping right in front of Baji.

He was still grinning until you flicked his forehead. Hard.

“Ow—!”

You smirked. “You wanna test if I hit like a girl again, or are you still nursing that bruise from last week?”

The others laughed. Even Baji had the decency to rub his forehead with a sheepish grin.

But the teasing… didn’t really stop. Just got quieter. Lingered in the way some of the boys eyed your outfit, or nudged each other when you sat back down. Like they couldn’t quite picture you in any other way.

Mikey had been quiet through it all. Now, he was watching you again — not with teasing or judgment, just that unreadable calm of his. Dorayaki half-eaten in his hand.

“Nothing?” you asked when you caught his eye.

He shrugged and licked his thumb clean. “I like you like this.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest — a quiet kind of comfort. You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, surprising him just enough to freeze. You chuckled.

“You taste like dorayaki.”

Then you kissed him again — soft, quick, on the lips — before pulling back to sit beside him on the step.

He blinked, then smiled to himself, mumbling, “Good.”

Still, even with his quiet reassurance, the teasing hung in the air like a thin mist — not heavy, but not entirely gone either.

__________________________________________________________________________

A few days passed after the teasing at the shrine.

You didn’t let it show, but their words echoed in your head more than you expected. Not in a way that made you feel insecure exactly — but it stirred something inside you. A quiet want to remind them, maybe even remind yourself, that just because you didn’t show it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

So tonight, when Mitsuya messaged the group about another Toman meetup at the shrine, you made a decision.

No hoodie. No combat boots.

Instead, you stood in front of your mirror in a soft, flowing dress — nothing flashy, but elegant in its simplicity. The fabric complimented your frame, and the color made your eyes stand out. Your hair was styled neatly — maybe a loose wave, maybe tied back with a soft ribbon. And the shoes? Cute, comfortable, and just a little dressy. Enough to make a statement.

You looked at yourself once more.

“You are a girl,” you whispered with a smirk.

Then you headed out.

The sun was just beginning to set when the Toman captains began gathering at the shrine again — laughter echoing, engines cooling, boys lounging on the steps with drinks and snacks in hand. It was the usual chaotic calm before a meeting.

Mikey was perched on the top step, half-lidded eyes scanning the horizon as he slowly nibbled at a dorayaki. His gang surrounded him in clusters — Baji play-fighting with Chifuyu, Draken arguing with Smiley over something dumb, and Mitsuya sketching something in a small notepad.

No one noticed you at first.

You didn’t roll up with a loud voice or stomp of boots like usual. This time, your arrival was silent. Smooth. Confident.

A dress — soft in color, simple but beautifully fitted — hugged your form and flowed with each step. Your hair was done — styled softly to frame your face — and your usual boots were replaced with adorable, polished shoes. No hoodie, no slouch. Just you, in a way they had never seen before.

You walked up the path like you owned it.

Baji was the first to glance your way.

He paused mid-sentence, blinking.

“…Yo, who’s that?” he muttered, elbowing Chifuyu.

“Dunno,” Chifuyu whispered back, eyes narrowed. “She lost or something?”

Mitsuya looked up next, brows furrowed. “Wait. She looks… kinda familiar?”

“Holy shit,” Draken murmured. “That’s— wait. No way.”

But Mikey didn’t look up. Not yet.

You walked past the others without a word — straight to the steps. His gaze lifted just as your shadow fell over him.

He blinked.

You smiled softly, leaned down — and kissed him on the lips. Light, sure, confident.

He went stiff, stunned — and then blinked again, his mouth parting slightly.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes and said sweetly:

“Miss me, baby?”

BOOM.

The realization hit all at once.

“Wait— THAT’S [Y/N]?!” Baji yelled.

“No. No way!” Chifuyu’s jaw dropped.

“What the f— you’re kidding me,” Smiley practically choked, appearing from behind the bikes.

Even Draken looked halfway between impressed and shocked. “That’s... definitely [Y/N]. What the hell.”

Mitsuya just leaned back and gave you a proud little nod. “Damn. You pulled that off like a runway model.”

Mikey stared up at you in a daze, still holding the half-eaten dorayaki like he forgot what it was. Then slowly, he smiled — lazy and warm, the kind of smile that made your knees a little weak even though you were the one with all the power right now.

“You really trying to give me a heart attack?” he muttered.

You laughed. “What? You didn’t recognize your own girlfriend?”

“I thought you were some kind of dream.” He reached for your hand, pulling you gently down to sit beside him. “A very pretty one.”

The rest of the gang was still making noise behind you, but Mikey didn’t care.

He pulled you in close, rested his forehead against yours, and whispered, “Remind me to never let anyone else see you like this without me standing right next to you.”

You smirked. “Possessive much?”

“Damn right.”

And with that, he kissed you again — this time slower, deeper, like the teasing didn’t matter anymore. Like he wanted to make it very clear you were his.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

The music pulsed low through the speakers of the small design club Mitsuya was part of — a cool, casual creative space filled with fabrics, threads, sketchbooks, and the occasional loud personality.

You usually didn’t come here. It wasn’t really your scene. But Mitsuya had left his bento behind, and you were already out, so you figured — why not drop it off?

Wearing your usual: black joggers, oversized hoodie, hair thrown up lazily, and sneakers you’d worn into far too many alley fights. You didn’t care — it was you. And Mitsuya never complained.

When you walked in, he was in the middle of helping two girls adjust a dress on a mannequin. They both turned as you approached.

One of them blinked, glanced at your outfit, then gave a tight smile.

“Oh… hi,” she said, eyes scanning you quickly. “Are you one of the junior designers?”

You smirked. “Nope. Just the delivery girl.”

Mitsuya looked up at the sound of your voice, and his face lit up instantly. “Hey, babe. You brought it? You’re the best.”

You tossed him the bento and leaned on the edge of a table, letting him finish his work. As you did, you could still hear the quiet voices behind you — whispers they definitely didn’t think you could hear.

“That’s his girlfriend?”

“She’s so… plain.”

“She dresses like a guy. I mean, he’s so stylish—”

“I thought he’d be into someone more… delicate, you know?”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look back. You just stood there, cool and unbothered, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.

Because deep down? You didn’t care what they thought.

But later, as you lay on your bed at home, a small thought slipped through:

Still… wouldn’t it be fun to shut them up without saying a word?

___________________________________________________________________________

A Few Days Later – Shrine Meeting Pickup

Mitsuya was finishing up club work when you texted him.

“I’ll meet you out front. Ready when you are, fashion prince.”

He chuckled and packed up his things, heading down the steps of the club with a light smile. You were always cracking jokes. Always casual, lowkey — always you.

So when he stepped outside and saw someone standing by the gate, dress fluttering gently in the breeze, he paused.

For a moment, he didn’t even realize it was you.

The dress you wore hugged you in all the right places, soft and flowy, not flashy — but effortlessly beautiful. Your hair was done, shoes delicate, and your usual confidence was still there… but this time, wrapped in elegance.

Mitsuya blinked.

And blinked again.

“…[Y/N]?”

You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Took you long enough.”

He slowly approached, eyes drinking you in like you were a piece of art — no, like you were the runway.

“Holy shit,” he muttered softly. “You look… breathtaking.”

You smirked, adjusting your dress lightly. “Too boyish for you now?”

Mitsuya frowned for half a second — then it clicked. His gaze darkened just a touch as he remembered the girls at the club.

“They said that?” he asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I know you love me for me. Just figured… I’d give them something to think about.”

He reached out, took your hand gently, and pulled you close.

“I love you in your hoodies. I love you with messy hair. I love you when you’re wiping blood off your knuckles.” He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “But seeing you like this? That’s not just pretty — it’s dangerous.”

You laughed softly. “Good. Let them be scared.”

He smirked, then kissed you, slow and firm — right there outside the club, where anyone could see. Not because he needed to prove something — but because he was proud.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “You're mine. And they all just realized they never even stood a chance.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

The pet shop was slow that afternoon.

Chifuyu was restocking cat food behind the counter when the doorbell chimed and a girl — older high school maybe — walked in with that confident sway that made Baji would’ve whistled at, but Chifuyu didn’t even blink. He gave her a polite nod and went back to shelving cans.

But she didn’t move on. Instead, she leaned on the counter, elbow propped up, voice just a bit too sweet.

“You work here all the time, right? You’re kind of cute.” She smiled. “Are you single?”

Chifuyu paused. “Ah, no. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head. “Where is she?”

Right on cue, the bell chimed again, and you walked in — hoodie, old jeans, sneakers. Comfortable, like always. You noticed the girl at the counter but didn’t think much of it. You headed toward Chifuyu, ready to hand him the drink you grabbed for him on the way.

The girl turned, eyeing you. Up. Down. Then smirked.

“This is your girlfriend?” she asked, not even trying to lower her voice.

You raised a brow. “Problem?”

She laughed, like it was a joke. “No, no... it’s just surprising. I figured he’d go for someone, I dunno— more feminine? Prettier?” She added, “No offense,” in a voice meant to offend.

Chifuyu stiffened behind the counter. “Hey, that’s enough.”

You just sipped your drink, unfazed. “You done?”

The girl rolled her eyes and walked out, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, “Should’ve been me.”

Chifuyu turned to you, brows drawn tight. “I’m sorry. That was—”

You cut him off with a grin. “Relax. It’s not the first time someone judged a book by its hoodie.”

Still, something in your chest twisted. Just a little.

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu was waiting outside the little soba shop near your usual meeting spot, playing with his phone when he heard your footsteps. He looked up casually — and froze.

You were wearing the cutest outfit he had ever seen on you.

A soft, flowy skirt that hit just above your knees. A cozy sweater tucked in neatly. Delicate earrings. Your hair was styled, face softly made up — nothing over the top, just enough to look effortlessly beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

Chifuyu just stared. Like you’d punched the wind out of him.

“Babe?” you tilted your head.

He blinked. “You’re... holy crap.”

You smirked. “Still think I’m not pretty enough for you?”

His whole face turned tomato red.

“No—! I mean— You’re always pretty, it’s not about the clothes— I just—damn.” He looked like he short-circuited.

“You okay, Chifuyu?”

He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, nodded quickly, and looked away like he needed to reboot. “Y-Yeah. I just wasn’t ready. You look like… like you stepped out of a movie or something.”

You laughed and leaned in to fix the collar of his jacket. “Good. I wanted you to see what ‘not pretty enough’ looks like.”

He finally turned back to you, eyes soft and serious now. “You didn’t need to prove anything. But... I’m really glad I get to be the only guy who sees you like this.”

You gave him a wink. “Only if you stop turning the color of your fish tanks.”

He groaned and muttered under his breath: “Too late for that.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The Bonten hideout was buzzing that evening — sharp suits, low voices, and tension like cigarette smoke in the air.

You were never one for flashy entrances. Hoodie on, hair tied back, combat boots heavy against the concrete floor as you made your way toward the back, where Sanzu was seated on one of the couches with a drink in his hand and a bored expression on his face.

There was a girl sitting next to him — one of the newer affiliates, clearly trying to climb the ranks by any means necessary. She laughed too loudly, leaned in too close.

Sanzu didn’t move. But his eyes flicked to the door the moment he sensed you.

The girl noticed. She turned too, eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of you.

“That her?” she asked, low. “The girlfriend?”

Sanzu hummed, swirling his drink.

The girl’s lips twitched. “Huh. I expected someone more... polished. She kind of looks like she works security.”

You reached the edge of the couch just in time to hear it.

“I do,” you said dryly. “His.”

The girl blinked.

Sanzu gave a wide, lazy grin — not even hiding how much he loved that.

The girl stood up fast, murmuring some fake apology and brushing past you.

You didn’t chase her.

But your fingers lingered a little on Sanzu’s shoulder as you walked by. “You free tomorrow night?”

He looked up at you like you were made of gold. “Always, baby.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The restaurant was private, upscale, drenched in dim lighting and heavy marble tables where the core Bonten members were already gathered. You were running a little late — intentionally.

Because tonight, you weren't wearing a hoodie.

You stepped into the room in a dark, body-hugging dress that split at the thigh, delicate chains brushing your collarbone, your makeup sharp and your heels clicking softly as you walked.

Conversation halted.

Rindou blinked. Ran actually coughed. Kakucho whispered something under his breath.

And Sanzu? Sanzu froze — eyes locked on you like he’d just watched a cathedral rise from the floor.

He stood up slowly, like in a trance, pushing his chair back with one hand and licking his bottom lip like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered.

You smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Miss me?”

He grabbed your waist — not gentle — pulling you flush against him in front of everyone.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice low and ragged at your ear. “And it’s working.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his cheek. “Still think I look like security?”

He growled something under his breath and kissed you, hard, in full view of the Bonten table, like he was branding the moment into the timeline.

Later, as you sat on his lap while he lit a cigarette with shaking hands, he whispered against your neck:

“Next time someone says anything about you… they die before they finish the sentence.”

You laughed, sipping his drink. “Relax. I just like reminding them you’re mine.”

He pulled you closer, breath hot at your throat. “No one could ever forget.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

The Bonten meeting was already heating up when you walked into the lounge.

You weren’t dressed to impress. Just your usual look — hoodie, cargos, clean sneakers. Comfortable, low-effort. Just how Ran liked you.

You spotted him instantly: sprawled lazily on a black leather couch, legs crossed, one arm draped over the backrest like he owned the room. (He basically did.) He looked up the moment he felt your eyes on him — and smiled.

That lazy, lethal grin that said “Come here, baby.”

You were halfway across the room when a girl — tall, glossy, and clearly not from your side — stepped right into your path and shoulder-checked you hard enough to knock you off balance.

“Oops,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

You steadied yourself, shooting her a cold glance.

She turned to Ran with a syrupy voice. “Ran~ I didn’t know you were into ugly girls now.”

You blinked. Excuse me?

The room quieted just slightly. Someone muttered “damn” in the back.

Ran didn’t stand. He didn’t raise his voice.

He just leaned forward with a slow, sharp grin. “Huh. I didn’t know I was talking to a corpse.”

The girl blinked, confused.

Ran stood in one smooth, terrifying motion, walked straight past her, and stopped in front of you. Without a word, he slid one hand around your waist, tugged you flush against him, and kissed you — full, possessive, leaving-no-room-for-doubt.

You barely had time to gasp before he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You good, pretty girl?”

You nodded, slightly dazed. “Yeah…”

He looked over his shoulder at the stunned girl still standing there, and with a light but pointed tone, said, “Next time you try to talk, don’t.”

Then, as if she no longer existed, he turned, led you over to the couch, and sat down — pulling you right onto his lap, tucking your legs over his, one arm still firm around your waist like you were made to fit there.

The girl stormed off, flustered and silent.

Ran kissed your temple and whispered, low, teasing:

“I dare someone else to try that again.”

You chuckled softly. “You really like making a scene, huh?”

He smirked. “No, baby. I like reminding everyone who you belong to.”

You leaned into his chest, grinning. “You’re lucky I do.”

He gave a little laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m the lucky one.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The warehouse was buzzing low with tension — Toman and Bonten finishing up a deal that had taken longer than expected. Everyone was watching, waiting, half-expecting trouble.

And trouble had a name — the same girl from before, standing near Ran with that smug look like she thought she’d won last time.

But this time, you weren’t the hoodie-and-sneakers girl.

No, today, you owned the room.

You stepped inside wearing a sleek black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, a daring slit running up the side. Your makeup was flawless — smoky eyes, deep red lips, hair cascading in soft waves. Your heels clicked confidently on the concrete floor.

Heads turned. Even the roughest gangsters paused. Ran’s eyes darkened as he caught sight of you.

The girl near Ran’s side froze — mouth open, completely caught off guard.

You smiled, slow and cold, as you walked over to him like you owned the place.

Sliding onto Ran’s lap, you leaned in and smoothly stole the cigarette from his lips, holding it between your fingers, and locking eyes with the stunned girl like she was beneath you.

“Miss me?” you purred, voice low and sharp.

The girl’s mouth snapped shut, and she took a step back, powerless.

Ran’s grin was wide, full of pride and amusement. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear.

“You look dangerous tonight, baby.” His breath was warm. “Good luck trying to forget who owns me.”

You gave a little laugh, flicking ash from the cigarette as you turned your eyes back to the girl, who was now fully retreating.

Ran cupped your face, kissed you deeply, and whispered, “You’re mine. Always.”

The room was electric. Everyone knew the message.

And no one dared to challenge it again.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The Bonten hideout was shrouded in cigarette smoke and low conversations, a familiar haze that settled like a second skin. You were leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the usual dance of power and strategy between gang members.

Sanzu was there, of course. Always watching, always sharp. And tonight, he had his sights set on you.

He flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes gleaming with that sly, dangerous amusement only he could pull off.

“Never seen you dress up before,” he called out, voice dripping with mockery. “Do you even know how? Or are hoodies the only thing you’re comfortable in?”

The room shifted slightly; some chuckled, some glanced your way, waiting for your reaction.

You just smiled — a slow, confident curve of your lips that promised something different.

___________________________________________________________________________

The street was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as you stepped out of your building.

A sleek black luxury car waited at the curb, the engine humming softly. Behind the wheel, a professional-looking driver sat, eyes forward, ready to go.

But it was the man standing outside the car who caught your attention.

Rindou — sharp suit, cool and calm — leaned casually against the door, his arms crossed. His dark eyes locked on you the moment you appeared, a slow smile spreading across his face.

You were wearing a dark red dress that hugged your figure beautifully — the fabric silky and smooth, accentuating your curves and tone with elegance. The slit on the side revealed just enough to turn heads without saying a word. Your hair fell in loose waves, your makeup perfect with smoky eyes and matching red lips.

Rindou pushed off the car and approached, his gaze hungry and possessive.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “You look like trouble.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “Exactly what you need.”

He opened the door for you with a flourish, then held your hand as you slid into the backseat. The driver started the engine, and the car pulled away smoothly into the night.

The restaurant was dim and classy, the kind of place that made everyone sit up and notice when you walked in.

Sanzu was already there, leaning against a pillar with that cocky smirk. His eyes flicked over you and Rindou.

“Never saw you dress like that before,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you walked over to Rindou, sliding onto his lap as if you owned the place.

After you slid onto Rindou’s lap, the room held its breath.

You locked eyes with Sanzu and coolly said, “Hope you learned to shut up now, Sanzu.”

Without hesitation, Rindou grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. His lips crashed onto yours — deep, fierce, and full of possession.

He kissed you like he was marking his territory, like the whole world was watching and he wanted to make sure no one could miss it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes burned with fierce pride.

“Sanzu doesn’t know how hot you are,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “And he sure as hell doesn’t know that you’re mine.”

His hands held you tight, as if letting go was unthinkable.

You smiled against him, heart pounding.

“Good. Let him think whatever he wants. I’m right here.”

Rindou’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

“Exactly. And I’ll make sure everyone remembers that.”

The room was silent — the message clear.

You were his. And no one could take that away.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

Shinchiro was behind the counter of his shop, focused and calm as usual, fixing a bike with his sleeves rolled up.

You leaned casually against the doorway, dressed in your usual comfortable, boyish clothes — hoodie, jeans, sneakers — because, honestly, that’s just how you liked it.

A couple of gang members were hanging out nearby, watching you both with that teasing smirk.

One of them nudged the other and said loud enough for Shinchiro to hear, “Man, she’s like one of the guys, huh? Hard to believe she’s even his girlfriend.”

Another laughed, “Yeah, kinda forgot she was even a girl sometimes.”

You just rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything.

Shinchiro glanced up and smiled softly at you, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe he was the lucky one.

__________________________________________________________________________

The sun was dipping low, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet street as you approached Shinchiro’s shop.

This time, you weren’t wearing your usual hoodie and sneakers.

Instead, you stepped out in a soft cream blouse with delicate lace trimming at the cuffs, tucked neatly into a flowing navy skirt that swayed gently with each step. Your hair was styled into loose waves that framed your face perfectly, and your makeup was subtle but glowing — just enough to highlight your natural beauty.

You walked with quiet confidence, the soft click of your polished flats echoing slightly on the pavement.

The gang members leaning against the walls outside the shop immediately noticed.

The conversation around them froze. One of the guys stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide.

“Is that… her?” another whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

The usual teasing smirks vanished, replaced by stunned silence.

Shinchiro, coming from inside the shop, stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you.

His eyebrows lifted, and his breath hitched for a second.

“Wow,” he murmured, voice low and full of awe.

You smiled softly, stepping closer until you were just beside him.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

“You look… incredible,” he said quietly, his eyes shining with something tender and proud.

From the corner of the street, Wakasa leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene with a sly grin.

He called out loud enough for everyone to hear, voice full of authority and humor:

“And this is why you shut the fuck up when it’s about Shins girlfriend.”

The group exchanged embarrassed glances, knowing better than to argue.

Shinchiro pulled you into a quiet embrace, his hand resting protectively on your lower back.

“I still don’t know how I got so lucky,” he whispered into your hair.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words.

“Well, lucky’s on your side,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

Wakasa lounged against the cracked brick wall outside the usual hangout, a cigarette lazily perched between his fingers. The dull orange glow pulsed rhythmically as he exhaled smoke, eyes half-lidded in that usual relaxed, cool expression. The world around him seemed slow, the evening light casting long shadows as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

You approached quietly, your footsteps soft on the concrete, but this time something was different. No hoodie. No oversized jacket. No boyish jeans.

Instead, you wore a summer dress — soft and flowing, the fabric light as air, with gentle pastel hues that caught the fading sunlight and seemed to shimmer. The dress hugged your waist just right, flaring gently into a skirt that fluttered softly with each step. Your hair was styled simply, but in a way that made you glow with a delicate, feminine beauty that Wakasa had never really seen before.

His cigarette suddenly slipped from his lips and hit the ground with a soft clatter, forgotten.

Wakasa’s dark eyes flicked up, wide with surprise and something raw and unguarded.

For the first time, the usual calm, almost indifferent mask faded.

His breath hitched, and the slow, lazy smile he usually wore vanished as he stared at you, his gaze tracing every curve, every detail of this new, stunning version of you.

He straightened, pushing off the wall with a sharpness that made the air between you crackle.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he closed the distance, like he wanted to savor every moment of this surprise.

When he reached you, he lifted one hand gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly, reverently, across your skin.

His voice came low, rough around the edges, but filled with a possessive warmth:

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and fierce — like staking a claim on you in a way words never could.

The cigarette smoke seemed to disappear entirely as you lost yourself in that kiss, feeling the heat of his desire and the protective intensity behind it.

When Wakasa finally pulled away, his dark eyes burned with pride and something softer — admiration, awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Always have been. But this… this is something else.”

You smiled, heart pounding in your chest, knowing this was a moment neither of you would forget.

Wakasa pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, and added quietly, “No one else better even think about it.”

The streetlights flickered on, casting a soft glow around you both, but all Wakasa saw was you.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

The pulsing lights of Hanma’s club cut through the smoke-filled air as music throbbed from every corner. The usual chaos of the night buzzed all around, but Hanma’s eyes never left the entrance.

He was leaning casually against the bar, a glass of something dark in his hand, his signature devilish grin playing on his lips.

Normally, you’d stroll in like always — hoodie up, jeans, sneakers, blending into the rough crowd with that boyish comfort that Hanma secretly loved.

But tonight was different.

When you walked through the door wearing a tight, sexy dress that hugged your body perfectly, showing just enough skin to drive him wild, the entire room seemed to dim.

Your heels clicked confidently on the floor, turning heads left and right — but Hanma’s gaze was locked on you, sharp and hungry.

Without breaking his gaze, Hanma pushed through the crowd and pulled out the seat next to him.

As you settled down, he didn’t just let you sit quietly.

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His fingers pressed possessively against your hips, tracing slow, deliberate circles.

Then his other hand moved to your thigh, fingers grazing up and down with a teasing, almost electric touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Not some hoodie-wearing kid tonight.”

You smirked, leaning into him, your lips close to his ear.

“Thought I’d shake things up,” you teased.

Hanma’s grin widened, dark and dangerous.

“You do more than shake things up, baby.”

He tightened his hold on your hips, pulling you even closer as his eyes sparkled with wicked amusement.

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you out of my sight tonight.”

The tension between you crackled like electricity, the wild energy of the club fading into the background as you two owned the moment — fierce, unstoppable, and utterly magnetic.

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