#dust trying to be nice and failing

[what-have-i-unleashed]

Killer: *severely injured, in the infirmary for healing*

Dust:

[keeps-ache]

buttons i've made !! :D

[countlessrealities]

@mcltiples sent:

Another one of those days where he caught everyone in the main seating area of the hotel. Angel Dust was bored and well, seeing Vaggie, he had a great idea.

"Heya, Vag, wanna come shoppin' with me? I got no one else and ya don't seem busy at all."

{ To Vaggie from Angel Dust // he's trying to be nice fdhsjk }

The question was met with a pointed glare, which left no doubts about how not appreciated it had been. Not that there was something wrong with the offer. Vaggie hardly had any friends besides Charlie these days and, deep down, she would have loved making some, just as she had done in Heaven.

What had rubbed her off wrong was the way Angel had worded it. Honestly, she shouldn't be surprised. The sinner's social skills sucked as much as hers whenever he was trying to be genuine.

"Wow, I'm so flattered to know that I'm not just your last choice, but also your only available option," she deadpanned crossing her arms over her chest. "Being shown so much consideration is really making me feel all fuzzy."

Despite her sarcastic answer, though, she pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning against, showing her intention to go with him.

"You're lucky I need some fresh air, so yeah, I'll come. Anywhere is better than being under the same roof with Alastor right now."

[p1astr81]

a dream

in which: Oscar has a dream. Like a real REM sleep dream. And he may just have found a pathway to make it a reality.

pairing: Oscar piastri x reader

Warnings: none, but Oscar is more whipped than whipped cream😓

next part

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Oscar smiled to himself while he watched you—his perfect wife—chase down your six year old son down the hallway.

“Jace! You can’t leave the house without bottoms on!” You shout after him. His shrieking giggle struck Oscar’s ears and he winced.

“Ugh Victoria! I just did your hair!” Oscar heard you complain from down the hall.

Chuckling, he strolled down the hallway to meet you were you stood: the intersection between the pair of twins’ rooms. Your hands were on your hips, Jace’s jeans loosely held in one hand.

A floorboard creaked under Oscar’s foot, causing you to turn. You sighed in relief.

“I’ll get Jace’s jeans on and you do Vicky’s hair? I’m hopeless at it.” Oscar proposed.

You sighed again. “Absolutely. Trying to get your son to wear bottoms is a real nightmare.” You chuckled, breathless from chasing them around the house.

Oscar took the jeans from your hand. “He’s your son, too.” He reminded, a hum of humor.

“Looks just like you, though.” You patted his shoulder, giving him a shove towards Jace’s room.

Vicky sat relatively nice for you while you did her hair. She did shift a bit, but nothing too extreme.

Definitely nothing to the level that was happening in the next room over.

“Jace, if you put these jeans on, I’ll get you ice cream. How about that?” Oscar tried to bargain, sick of the kid’s kicking after just two minutes.

“No!” He shook his head, arms crossed.

Oscar sighed, frustrated. “You leave me no choice then.” He shook his head. Oscar moved quickly, tickling the little boy’s side to distract him while he slipped his jeans on and fastened them.

“Awe no!” Jace pouted when he realized Oscar’s trick. Always worked.

“You ready Osc?” You called from the foyer, already having slipped on Vicky’s shoes. She stood, stomping around in circles playfully.

Your husband rounded a corner, failing to hold Jace on his hip. “I don’t know how you do it.” He chuckled, a shake of his head.

“Some scientific explanation.” You grinned and waved him off, taking Jace from his arms and placing the boy on the ground.

“Of to gram gram?!” Vicky asked with another hop.

Oscar’s eyes meet your own. Your grin spreads into a wide, toothy smile. He leans over to give you a short peck on the lips.

You took her little hand in yours. “Yes, off to grandmas, now.”

Jace grabbed hold of your pinky finger. A child hung from both of your hands now. Oscar stood back for a second, observing the scene.

His heart swelled with a profound feeling of love. It was new. Sure, he’s felt loved by his mom before, but this was new. Different. A good different that had his stomach tingling and his brain feeling a little fuzzy.

Or, was the fuzzy feeling because of the love? Because now a constant beep beep beep invades his ears. The sound was overwhelming. It’s volume increased with every second that passed. Louder and Louder and Louder until until he couldn’t take it anymore.

His hand shot out, and the beeping ceased.

But he no longer saw his beautiful family anymore. No, now he faced a blank white wall. That of a hotel room.

The swell of his heart became painful. A new feeling overtook the love. It’s grip on his heart was unrelenting, as if trying to squeeze it to dust.

Grief.

He was grieving people he never knew, never even saw with his own two real eyes.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath.

۶ৎ

“You alright, mate?” Lando gripped his shoulder, greeting him as he walked into the hospitality. “Lookin a bit down today.”

“‘M just tired.” Oscar shrugged him off. “I think I’m going to go get a coffee.” He muttered, speaking more to himself than his counterpart.

Oscar trudged up the stairs, weighed down by the grief. He found the small cafe bar, fiddling with his wallet while the barista’s back was turned.

“Oh! Mr. Piastri! How are you? What can I get for you?” The chipper voice seemed to pierce Oscar’s ears, familiar in a way he couldn’t place. He brushed it off as a workplace blur.

“I’m good, yeah. Could I just get a…” Oscar trailed off, the sight of your face throwing him off.

You. His wife. No, not his wife. Only his dream wife.

It startled Oscar just how similar you were in his dream. The smile. The chipper voice. The endless gleam of optimism in your eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” You asked, but the question failed to penetrate the daze he was in.

He exhaled a heavy breath. The weight of grief, because there you were. In front of his very real eyes.

And the love returned. For a person he didn’t even know, not really.

“Hi.” He breathed out. He blinked a many of times, trying to make sure you were really there.

You laughed and he felt his knees go weak. It was you. “Hi. Uhm, Mr. Piastri can I get you anything?”

“Oscar.” He spoke again.

You fought the urge to laugh once more, because maybe he was having some sort of problem with his brain. Maybe all those G forces finally caught up with him.

“Yes, I know your name,” a chuckle slipped. “but can I get you anything?” You asked again.

“No, I want you to call me Oscar.” His face was on fire. You brushed it off as embarrassment, or maybe the outside heat.

You nodded. “Noted. But again, can I get you anything?” You asked again, an edge of nervousness. A short line started to form behind him.

It seemed to get through to him that time. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Just a latte.”

When he handed you his card, you pushed it back to him. “Cafe items are free for you, Mr. Piastri.”

“Oscar.”

“Right, sorry.” You shook your head. “I’ll have that latte out in just a minute.” You gave a polite smile.

He waited nearby, trying to catch your every moment while also trying to not seem like a creep.

You turned, catching his gaze. “Oscar,” you called, sliding his cup to the end of the pick-up station. You gave him another smile. It seemed more genuine than the formers.

He went to thank you, but you already busied yourself with another customer.

Then he noticed a small, ‘good luck today! :)’ written on his coffee cup.

And Oscar thinks he just found his new favorite hang out spot. The McLaren hospitality’s cafe.

[randomshyperson]

classified love - wanda maximoff x kryptonian!reader

summary: wanda is new to the avengers, and learns the concept of a secret identity. or the one where kryptonian!reader has a secret, and a crush.

warnings: reader is superwoman; mild angst; mutual pining; nervous flirting; soft wanda; protective reader; fluff with feelings; light humor; superhero bureaucracy; canon divergence; minor ultron reference; mild language; happy ending.

a/n-> i'm going for my old drafts and this is from months ago when i was reading a bunch of supercorp fics, especially ones about lena learning about kara's secret identity. So i made my own with this two lovely dorkies. (nope, this is not related to the series with kryptonian!reader i'm working on).

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t know what a secret identity was.

Of course she did. She just hadn’t quite grasped the weight of it.

In her defense, the Avengers weren’t exactly the poster children for discretion.

Tony Stark made sure everyone knew he was Iron Man. Steve Rogers had been the star-spangled face of American propaganda since the forties. Natasha was arguably the most famous spy on Earth - and somehow still mysterious - and poor Bruce had his green alter ego splashed across news channels since his very first rampage. And then there was Thor. A literal god. No mask could hide that hair.

So maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t completely her fault when she leaned over during breakfast, bright-eyed and curious, and casually asked you,

“So… what’s your name, by the way?”

The room fell dead silent.

Wanda blinked, eyes flicking around the Avengers compound’s cozy living room. The sun spilled lazily through the tall windows, warming the hardwood floors and catching dust in the air. A pot of coffee burbled in the kitchenette, and the smell of waffles hung pleasantly in the background. But the atmosphere shifted like someone had cut the power.

Tony was the first to crack. He snorted into his mug, trying and failing to smother a laugh.

Wanda’s eyes widened further when Natasha silently reached over and handed him a crumpled five-dollar bill.

Your smile dropped. Just seconds ago, you’d been grinning at her, saying how nice it was to finally have someone around your age on the team. Now your expression shuttered. Calm, professional. Guarded.

“Uh… that’s confidential,” you said simply.

Wanda let out a short laugh, confused. She tilted her head, hoping she’d misheard.

“What?”

Your eyes flicked over to the group still half-watching from the couches. Clint was biting back a grin. Steve looked conveniently invested in stirring his coffee. You exhaled through your nose.

“I guess nobody warned you about the secret identity policy,” you muttered, not bothering to hide your disappointment. Your arms crossed over your chest - biceps straining slightly under the fabric of your suit - and Wanda was momentarily distracted by just how much muscle you were hiding beneath the armor. She didn’t think that was allowed.

“I’m not trying to be rude,” you added, your voice softer. “But I can’t tell you my real name.”

Her brows drew together. “But you know mine.”

From the couch, Natasha barked out a laugh. You shot her a look that was half glare, half plea, before turning your attention back to Wanda, a flicker less certain than before.

“I do,” you admitted. “But that’s because… everything about you is already public knowledge.” Your voice lowered a little, like you were offering her something real. “It’s nothing personal. It’s about safety. The only reason Ultron didn’t find my family was because I wasn’t in any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s databases. Not the Avengers’, either. Same way they kept Barton’s family off the radar.”

That explanation landed - she could feel the weight of it - but it didn’t soothe her. Not really.

Wanda forced a tight smile, but a bitter coil twisted in her stomach.

Of course, it still came back to Ultron.

She hadn’t fought beside you back then - hadn’t fought against you either - but that didn’t mean the past was erased. That didn’t mean trust grew overnight. Clearly, it hadn’t.

And suddenly, she was the one on the defensive. Because why should you get to know her when she was still in the dark about you?

“I don’t think that’s very fair,” she said, echoing your posture with a huff and crossing her arms. “You get to know everyone’s names, but we don’t get to know yours?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in her tone. But it only lasted a beat.

Clearing your throat, you held your ground. “They know. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

The offense hit her like a slap. She turned sharply toward the others, sending each of them a scandalized glare. They all conveniently found something fascinating to look at - the wall, the floor, the coffee machine.

Only Natasha had the nerve to smile into her cup.

“Hey, I don’t know either!” Sam piped up from the back, his voice light, trying to cut through the tension like sunlight through fog.

You cracked a small smile at that, grateful. But Wanda didn’t move.

Her arms stayed stubbornly crossed, a pout tugging at her lips, and whatever iron-clad resolve you’d been clinging to softened immediately.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation - for both of you,” you start again, your voice lighter, trying to reset the energy to what it had been before your name became the hot topic of the morning. “It’s only because I’ve known them longer. Maybe… if we hang out a little more, I’ll tell you.”

You flash Wanda a tentative smile. There’s warmth behind it - an invitation, not a promise - but she doesn’t take the bait.

She presses her lips together, visibly fighting the tug of a grin, but loses the battle to her pride. With a sharp turn of her head, she mutters, “Don’t bother,” and spins on her heel.

You watch her walk away, ponytail swaying with each step, her back impossibly straight and her jaw clenched in defiance.

And just like that, you’re certain - painfully certain - she might be the most charming girl you’ve ever met.

Unfortunately for you, Natasha doesn’t miss a beat.

She catches the way your gaze lingers a moment too long, your head tilted just slightly as Wanda disappears down the hall. The corner of the assassin’s mouth curls with amusement as she leans back into the couch, arms crossed.

You snap out of it fast, frowning in her direction. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you paying Stark when Wanda brought that up,” you accuse, tone laced with mock betrayal. “You two were betting on this again?”

Tony lets out a bark of laughter from his seat and shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Natasha raises both eyebrows, feigning innocence. The five-dollar bill is already gone, stashed away like evidence in a classified file.

You sigh, rubbing your hand over your face. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” Natasha says, barely hiding her amusement. “You’ve gotta admit - it’s hilarious when people realize Superwoman isn’t your actual name.”

Steve chuckles from the other couch, finally giving in. “That reminds me - remember that poor waiter in D.C.? The one who panicked and couldn’t decide whether to call you Miss Super or Madam Alien?”

Laughter ripples through the room at the memory. Even Banner cracks a smile. You roll your eyes dramatically, throwing your hands up.

“I told him just ‘Ma’am’ was fine,” you mutter as you start walking toward the door, shaking your head. “And for the record,” you call out, tossing a glance over your shoulder with a perfectly straight face, “I am from another planet.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “See? Knew it.”

The room erupts into fresh laughter, but you just shake your head, waving a hand dismissively as you walk off.

“Still unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, though this time, there’s amusement in your tone. The kind that sits warm and quiet in your chest, like sunlight through clouds.

-

A new bet had been circulating through the Avengers Compound ever since your disastrously awkward introduction to the team’s newest recruits.

How long until Wanda Maximoff discovers your true identity?

Clint said a few weeks, tops. Steve and Tony were betting for a couple of months. Thor, bless him, didn’t even understand the concept of keeping a secret identity and nearly shouted your actual name across the room - only to be stopped by a flying metal gauntlet Tony launched with frightening precision.

Bruce, ever the scientist, made a whole prediction chart - color-coded and everything - outlining the likelihood of various exposure scenarios. According to his behavioral analysis, you’d eventually slip up and reveal yourself accidentally. Tony called him a spoilsport but still convinced him to place a bet anyway.

Maria and Natasha, meanwhile, were curled together on the couch like shadows stitched at the hip, indistinguishable in the half-light of movie night. Natasha didn’t even look up from the screen as she muttered, “It’s not fair to bet on that. Wanda could just read her mind.”

Maria hummed her agreement. “And not tell anyone. Classic Maximoff move.”

Right on cue, as if summoned by sheer chaos, Wanda reappeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn tight in a frown.

“I would never invade someone’s mind like that,” she snapped, voice low and tight with restrained indignation. “If she wants to keep secrets and build walls, that’s her choice.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked off, her crimson flannel pajama pants fluttering slightly with the motion. The room sat in silence for a beat, then Natasha grinned.

“New bet,” she announced. “How long until Wanda admits she has a crush on Y/N?”

Laughter erupted.

It only got more ridiculous from there.

Maintaining a secret identity was hard enough with your crazy schedule, missions popping up at ungodly hours, and an internship at Oscorp that demanded more from you than legally acceptable. Peter Parker was the only one who truly understood the madness. You had a little ongoing competition: “How many times did I almost get caught today?” A point system. The winner got free shawarma.

But lately, things felt… off.

It was as if the team had collectively decided to test you. You were being sent on last-minute missions, brought back in civilian clothes, tossed into briefings before you had time to shed your disguise. It felt deliberate. Sabotage by friendly fire.

Of course, no one mentioned the bet to you.

It was one of those mornings - chaotic, cursed, and running ten steps behind the clock. You were still in your Oscorp clothes, your signature lead-laced glasses perched on your nose, hair slightly frizzy from rushing. Your dress shirt wasn’t completely buttoned, and beneath it, a glimpse of the familiar blue and red peeked through like a bad omen.

As you stumbled barefoot into the Tower’s common room, scanning for your shoes, you froze.

Wanda Maximoff was standing there in oversized pajamas, her hair a sleepy mess, blinking at you from over a mug of steaming coffee.

“Oh, uh. Hi,” you said, voice cracking just a bit under the panic.

This was it. This was the moment you’d have to change your name, disappear to the Arctic, and start a new life herding goats.

Wanda just blinked, forced a smile, and murmured a polite “Good morning” before turning back to the coffee machine, like you were no one. Like you were just some intern passing through.

Your shoes sat mockingly on the far side of the room. You crossed to them, fumbling with your shirt to make sure not a single thread of the Superwoman suit was visible.

You sat down, tugging your laces tight, when her voice broke the quiet.

“Are you… Friends with anyone here?” she asked suddenly. Wanda leaned casually against the counter, but there was something soft in her voice, almost cautious.

Your mind blanked. Friends? With anyone?

“Uh yeah,” you blurted, nerves turning your brain into static. “I’m friends with Superwoman.”

You could hear your soul leave your body.

Wanda tilted her head. “Oh?”

Before she could press further-or laugh, or question the absurdity of what you just said, the automatic door whooshed open.

Bruce stepped in with a file in his hands and a furrow on his brow.

He took one look at you, then glanced at Wanda. You weren’t often in civilian clothes around the Tower - especially not so early, or without warning. His pause was subtle, but it said enough.

“Y/N?” Bruce asked, tone neutral but probing. “Didn’t know you were here.”

You jumped to your feet, trying to act casual. “Hey, yeah. I came by late last night. Needed to grab some documents.”

Bruce blinked slowly.

“I, uh, ended up staying. Superwoman said it was okay,” you added, your lie falling apart as it left your mouth.

Bruce, mercifully, decided not to comment. The brilliance in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what you were doing. He gave a slow nod. “Right. Of course.”

You grabbed your shoes, already half out the door. “Nice meeting you, Miss Maximoff,” you said quickly, voice almost too formal as you escaped, waving once and not daring to look back.

Bruce stood there for a moment in silence, then looked at Wanda.

She simply lifted the cereal box into the air with her magic, poured it with too much force into her bowl, and carried it off, pouting the whole way.

-

The worst part of the whole secret identity thing isn't the exhaustion, or the constant lies, or even the juggling act between superhero landings and corporate deadlines.

It’s remembering exactly why it's necessary.

Peter runs into an old friend - Harry Osborn - who, by some cosmic joke, also happens to be your boss. Superheroes have their own demons, their own secrets clawing behind the masks, and something serious unfolds between them.

When the dust settles, Gwen ends up in the hospital.

She’ll recover - Peter says it like a prayer - but the guilt is carved into the spaces under his eyes, and it doesn’t go away when he tells you what happened. About Harry, about the favors he wanted from Spider-Man. About how betrayed he felt when he discovered Peter was Spider-Man - and had refused to help.

You don’t sleep that night.

There's a pit in your stomach, bitter and deep. That could’ve been anyone. That could’ve been you.

There are only a handful of people who know who you really are. Your family. Carol - your lifeline, your salvation, the one who pulled you from the wreckage of your dying world. Fury - who raised you through SHIELD like some grim guardian angel. A few Avengers who found out under specific, inescapable circumstances.

Peter, of course. He understands the weight of the mask.

And then… there’s everyone else.

Your classmates. Your bosses at Oscorp. The coffee shop barista who always forgets your name. The world.

And Wanda.

Wanda, who bickered with Superwoman during missions like it were a sport. Who never let you win without a challenge and rolled her eyes so dramatically you sometimes thought she'd levitate off the ground.

Wanda, who always looked at Y/N Danvers like she was made of something softer. Who shared food without asking. Who nudged your knee during movie nights. Who once touched your badge, just to straighten it, and sent a shiver up your spine with the brush of her fingers against your neck.

Wanda, who was slowly becoming a reason to smile in rooms too quiet.

And precisely because of that… Wanda, who could never know.

You couldn’t stand the idea of putting her in danger.

Not just from enemies, but from you. From what it costs to be close to you.

By the time your distress becomes impossible to hide, the bet has long been forgotten. You walk through the Tower in pieces. The team stops whispering about when you'll slip up and starts worrying about whether you’re okay.

It’s Natasha who finally had enough.

She kicks you off the next mission.

No arguments. No chance to protest. Just a firm grip on your wrist and a silent march through the hallways until you're sitting in an empty room that smells faintly of metal and ozone. The door closes with a hiss behind you.

“Okay,” she says, arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

You glance at the wall like it might give you an escape route. It doesn’t.

You can hear faint voices down the hallway. The others are whispering about your little outburst in the briefing room. You clench your jaw.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mutter.

Nat raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you repeat. You shrug. Look at the floor. Your voice dips quieter. “It’s just…”

A breath escapes you. Heavy. Frustrated.

“…how did you know this was what you wanted?”

Natasha’s expression shifts. The sharpness in her posture softens. She sets her tablet down on the table behind her, unread.

“What do you mean?” she asks, but her voice is gentle now.

You hesitate. Your throat burns.

“I mean… back then. When you stopped being the Black Widow. When Fury gave you the option to just be Natasha Romanoff. Why didn’t you take it? Why didn’t you stop?”

She doesn’t answer at first. She just watches you, eyes trained and careful. You hate that they see too much.

You blink, and the tears well up despite yourself. You’re so tired. Of pretending. Of juggling two lives. Of wonder, which one is real?

“And now you’re living with Maria,” you continue, voice cracking. “You could’ve quit. You could be… happy. Quiet. Safe.”

Natasha sighs.

“I get it,” she says softly, like a truth you didn’t want to hear.

She sits beside you.

“But this isn’t really about me, is it?”

You shake your head, eyes shining with unshed tears. Natasha reaches out instinctively, finding your hand and resting hers over it. It's warm. Solid. A grounding force you didn’t realize you needed.

“I visited Gwen in the hospital before I came here,” you say quietly, your voice thick with guilt and fury. “Harry… he did a number on her. Four broken ribs. Internal bleeding. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Your breath shudders. “Peter hasn’t put the mask on in weeks. And I can’t stop thinking - if any of my enemies came for the people I care about…”

You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t need to.

Natasha squeezes your hand tighter. “Hey. I get the fear. I really do. But we’re not helpless. You’re not alone. We can defend ourselves.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh and nod, though there’s nothing funny in any of this.

“I didn’t want any of this to be necessary, Nat,” you murmur. “The mask, the secrets. I didn’t come here to be a superhero.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But no one makes it through this life alone, Y/N.” She laces her fingers with yours. “And, if you must know, the weight got a little easier for me when I let Maria in. Turns out, sharing the burden isn’t so bad. Who knew?”

You huff a soft laugh and bump your shoulder lightly against hers. The touch feels safe. Reassuring.

There’s a brief silence before you speak again. “I’ll get my head on straight, okay? You don’t have to bench me.”

Nat smiles at you with that knowing tilt of her head. “Look, I think you’re one of the best heroes we’ve got. But maybe - just maybe - getting benched is a good thing right now. Take a breath. A day off. Ask a girl out.”

Your face heats immediately, and you mutter something about not having time for relationships.

Nat smirks, entirely unsurprised. “Then maybe you should consider someone who gets the job. Say, another superhero?” She wiggles her brows. “Someone in the Tower who, as far as I can tell, is very interested.”

You blink. “Wanda doesn’t even know I’m Superwoman.”

Natasha bursts out laughing.

“Oh, honey. Do you really think the mind reader of the group doesn’t know?”

You stare at her, stunned. “But - she never said anything! She treats me like I’m two different people!”

Nat sighs, her smirk softening into something more understanding. “Because you asked her to. Maybe not with words, but with walls. You put this distance between yourself and everyone. Between her and you.”

You look down, guilt landing like a weight on your chest.

“She’s the new kid, Y/N,” Natasha continues gently. “She’s trying to make real connections. Trying to earn trust. And you - ” she nudges your knee with hers - “you won’t let her in all the way.”

You swallow hard, throat tight.

“I just thought… maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she liked Y/N Danvers more than Superwoman.”

Natasha throws her head back and laughs again, full and exasperated. “Wow. You really are the queen of self-denial.”

She stands and grabs her work tablet off the table, mumbling to herself as she taps through a few screens. “Well, since neither of you is cleared for the mission, it looks like you and Wanda are stuck with tower duty. Desk work, all day.”

You grimace. “Ugh, but I hate desk work - ” You stop. Catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes. Oh. Desk work.

Alone. With Wanda. In an empty tower.

“This desk work,” you mumble.

“I love desk work, actually,” you add quickly, sitting up straighter.

Natasha rolls her eyes and chuckles, already halfway to the door. “You just cost me twenty bucks, Danvers.”

It takes a second to process what she means. Another bet. Another chance. Another push.

And before the door closes behind her, you're on your feet again - chasing after her, heart hammering with something that feels a lot like hope.

-

Desk work is, without a doubt, the least glamorous part of being a superhero.

Bureaucracy. Mission reports. Intelligence logs. Inventory updates. Categorizing classified items into neatly labeled folders.

Endless, soul-crushingly boring stuff.

Boring enough that your focus slips every five minutes - though maybe that’s less about the files and more about the hum of Kryptonian energy beneath your skin, begging for movement. Or maybe it’s the presence at the other desk, steadily flipping through files, her brow furrowed in concentration.

You spin absently in your swivel chair, just to keep your body busy. One turn too far and the chair wobbles dangerously under your weight, threatening to tip. You gasp and grab the desk for balance - just in time.

Wanda lets out a small giggle, quick and unexpected. The sound makes your heart stutter.

“Sorry you got dragged into this too,” she says, trying to make conversation. Her eyes flick toward you, soft with something you can’t quite name. “I think this is just them getting back at me.”

You tilt your head, brows raised. “What do you mean?” Your voice is playful, but your mind leaps straight to the worst possible interpretation. “Wait - am I that bad to be around? Is this some kind of punishment?”

Wanda's eyes widen, and she scoffs, scandalized. “What? No! That’s not what I meant.” She sounds almost flustered, and when you give her your best wide-eyed puppy dog look, she glares, flustered but amused. “Come on, you’re not that bad.”

There’s laughter in her tone, and you offer a reluctant smile, looking away before it turns into a grin you can’t hide.

She leans back slightly in her chair, her voice softer now. “It’s because of Ultron, really. My fault he managed to compromise so many of our files. Now we have to go all analog. Hard copies for everything. Hence…” She gestures broadly to the pile of folders between you.

You pause, your smile fading a little. “You know you didn’t create Ultron, right?”

Wanda doesn’t answer immediately. Her fingers hover over the edge of a file. You can hear the shift in her breath, just slightly unsteady, before it evens again.

“Maybe it’s time to stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t yours to carry,” you add gently.

There’s a moment of quiet between you, something unspoken passing in the space between your desks. A heartbeat. Hers, steady now. Yours, skipping like it’s forgotten how to keep rhythm.

Then Wanda clears her throat. “Still,” she says lightly, “I have to admit - it’s a little funny. Seeing Superwoman stuck behind a desk.”

You roll your eyes, shifting in your seat as the poor chair creaks under your weight. She smirks. “It’s like watching Thor try to sit on Tony’s designer couch. That poor thing never stood a chance.”

You laugh under your breath and adjust your posture before the chair gives out. “It’s not so bad,” you murmur, casting her a sideways glance. “I like my work partner.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. They land in the air between you with more weight than you intended.

Wanda blinks, and her cheeks flush instantly. You feel the heat creep up your own neck in response.

“I mean - like, in a friendly way,” you stammer quickly, eyes darting back to your file. “Like… liking my teammate. Not like liking liking - ”

She lets out a breathy laugh, somewhere between nervous and charmed, and turns her attention to the stack of papers in front of her like they’ve suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

You try to listen - listen for the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat - but yours is pounding so loudly in your ears, you can’t hear anything else.

“I get it, Y/N,” Wanda murmurs.

And just like that, your mouth clamps shut. Embarrassment floods through you, hot and fast. You duck your head and pretend to care very deeply about the stack of inventory files in front of you, wishing you could disappear into them. Or, better yet, have one of those heavy boxes topple over and end this moment with poetic finality.

It takes a full five minutes for your brain to catch up - five minutes of sitting there in silence, pretending to work, heart pounding uselessly - before it hits you.

She called you by name.

Your eyes widen as realization crashes into you like a wave. You freeze, blinking at the words on the page that don’t even register anymore. Your breathing shifts, shallow and uneven.

Wanda brought it up first.

You didn’t even notice.

You’ve been so locked inside your own anxious spiral, so distracted by every small move she makes, that you missed the one thing you were most afraid of.

You’re so wrapped up in your panic that you don’t realize she’s stopped working, that she’s crossed the room, quiet as a shadow. She pulls something out of one of the drawers. It doesn’t belong to the inventory.

Your glasses.

The old pair, lost ages ago in the mess of the tower, now held gently in her hands like they were something precious.

You only catch her movement in your peripheral vision, and when she’s standing beside you, you instinctively hold your breath.

The chair shifts slightly beneath you, the telltale shimmer of her magic moving it to face her.

She doesn’t say anything. But there’s no anger in her face. No judgment. Just that patient, quiet look that always makes you feel like maybe the world isn’t such a bad place after all.

She brushes a few strands of hair from your eyes. Then, slowly, she slips the glasses onto your face.

“There you are,” she says softly.

It’s almost enough to undo you.

The contrast of the suit - the bright blue and red - and the old glasses feels ridiculous, but the way Wanda’s eyes soften makes it something else entirely. Familiar. Real. You.

“Wanda, I - ” you start, but she moves before you can finish.

She kisses you.

It’s soft, gentle - just the press of her lips to yours. Barely long enough to register before she pulls away.

Your cheeks go up in flames. “H-hm...” Your brain short-circuits. Words evaporate. You’re just... sitting there, in a slightly too-small chair, in your super-suit, with the most incredible girl in the world looking at you like that.

Wanda’s lips quirk in a smile. “Sorry. I just thought we had to get a few things out of the way.” Her fingers trace lightly down your cheek. “You’ve been thinking about it for days. But it didn’t seem like you were going to actually do anything.”

“I was going to,” you mumble, flustered. “Eventually.”

She laughs under her breath, warm and amused. “Sure. Eventually.”

Before you can think of a clever response, she leans in again - this time slower, more certain. Her nose brushes yours, a soft, teasing touch, before her lips find yours again.

This kiss is different. Unhurried. Confident. Her mouth moves against yours with quiet intent, and when her tongue brushes against yours, it sends a shiver down your spine.

Unfortunately, the chair makes a rather unfortunate groan beneath your shifting weight. You lurch slightly, catching yourself before you topple over completely.

Wanda pulls back with a burst of laughter, and you can’t help but join her, even as you cover your face in embarrassment.

Eventually, you peel the glasses from your nose and set them on the desk beside you. Your hands find hers and bring them to your chest, pressing them gently against the symbol on your uniform. Her gaze flickers down, then back to your face.

Your voice comes quieter now, almost fragile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell the truth,” you say. “I’ve never been this scared to let someone in. To risk putting them in danger just by loving them.”

Wanda doesn’t flinch. She nods, her expression softening as she wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“I do understand,” she whispers. “Come here.”

You fold into the embrace, arms slipping around her waist, grounding yourself in the feel of her - warm, solid, real. There’s a long moment where neither of you says anything. You just breathe each other in.

Then, voice low and almost conspiratorial, Wanda murmurs against your ear: “I love Mexican food, if you ever get brave enough to ask me out.”

You laugh into her shoulder, breaking the hug. “Oh my God, stop reading my mind.”

“But it’s so fun,” she teases, her smirk blooming again.

You roll your eyes, but the grin stays. “I can think of something better for you to focus on.”

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

But she’s the one leaning in first, closing the distance with a wicked little smile and a kiss that promises a thousand unsaid things.

[cute-sucker]

rafe with a girl who’s very studious and serious about school and one day she fails a big test after studying for it for hours and she just sobbing while he’s trying to calm her down :(

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ "THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE...I FAILED RAFE! I FAILED," you sobbed into the phone, holding the phone to your chest. you can hear a slight sigh at the end of the phone, and then his soothing voice.

"fuck. is that the one you studied for hours on end? the one i had to test you during our date?"

you hiccup, swaying from side to side as you wipe your eyes, "yes rafe. that's the one. i studied so hard, and i got a sixty percent." you can hardly get yourself to say the number, nevertheless look at the wrinkled paper that you checked over and over again. when you got it, you believed that there must have been something wrong. wrong marking, different grade, switched up grade, sabotage, but once you made it to the teacher and they told you what it was...you couldn't help but gulp with despair. it truly was a bad grade, there was no mistake except the one you made.

that was a d. that meant that your shiny gpa was down the drain. you couldn't think straight as you stared at the red-marked grade. and you got it in history. even worse. the one class you couldn't even keep up. your grades were everything that kept you together, you studied everywhere—the bus, the grocery store, the bookstore, and the fancy country club that rafe brought you to—

but it hadn't worked. so what could you do? you just held the paper, tears dripping down your chin, you heard rafe's voice again, "i'm coming over."

suddenly you're scrambling for the phone again, "no, forget about it. i'm a mess, and i failed, and you have an important meeting probably."

then you hear a slight shuffle on this side, almost as if he's moving papers around.

"nah' i'll be there in ten."

before you can tell him that it's fine, he hangs the phone and you're left with trembling hands on your phone. you get up, dusting yourself off, swallowing your pride as you look at the paper again.

rafe's always been so supportive of your studies, thick eyebrows furrowed when he hears your rants about your grades. see, you knew he wasn't the brightest, but he held on his own with you. he let you spend his money on different tutors, different college club things, different textbooks and apps you needed to get the best grade. yet...here nothing had worked.   

so there you were, pathetic and sniffling as you leaned near the doorway. after a few minutes you heard the key turn, and in came rafe cameron. he was in a nice polo shirt, biceps straining, and a concerned look on his face as he looked down at you.

you couldn't even hold yourself together, as you crumbled around him, "i failed rafe. i failed. i—"

"shh, shhh," he muttered, eyes flickering around the cramp space you called home. your papers were sprawn on the floor, and a soup that you'd made earlier was laid cold and forgotten. dishes were stuffed in the dishwasher, and there was one dim light on.

he was almost too big in your small apartment, but you could see the earnestness in his eyes as he treaded carefully. picking you up, he muttered softly to you.

"now, i don't even know what to do rafe! i don't know what to do."

"the grade doesn't define you'know? that's all bull," he started passionately, and then gestured to himself, "i mean look at me. barely passed high school but i'm doing fine. more than fine." rafe muttered, scratching the back of his head as he watched you sniffle.

you let out a soft wail, "but it does matter! i—" then you just shake your head and grab him by the shirt. then you decide that it's not worth it. it's not worth to scream or fight. you're too tired for that, instead, you just lean into his warmth.

"i just want to be close to you, forget about it all."

suddenly rafe softens, "yea. c'mere," then he bundles you up, and you feel yourself succumbed to sleep

EXTRA:

"hey and if matters at all, you're a 100% for me,"  rafe muttered into your hair, as you woke up. you rubbed your eyes, before you squirmed away from him, scowling at him. "i think that's an a+"

you groan. "too soon?" he murmured, pulling you in closer.

"way too soon.

"yea, shoulda known. sorry."

[freyito]

ʙᴀʟᴅᴇʀꜝ ⨟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you notice the little things they do for you/around you.

✧ a/n: a little something ive been thinkin about U_U and something to tide my followers over while i work on strawberry season! (and unfortunately fall victim to The Inspiration and The Motivation.)

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, short n sweet, old man welt. actual old man welt, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.4k

⎯ Aventurine

One of AVENTURINE’s habits at the table is holding onto your hand, or even just linking your pinkies. It’s his way of waning himself off of clutching his chips behind his back. You’re his good luck charm, of course. It’s not just at the table or machines, though. He does this at the arcade, as well. He’ll make you stand close by, even wrap your arms around his arm as he messes with the claw machine. He swears up and down that you really are his lucky charm. If you step away, he does his very best to fail miserably. Unfortunately, he’s still somehow able to get some plushies. But he won’t let that ruin the magic.

⎯ Dr. Ratio

RATIO, while he doesn’t seem the sentimental type, really likes to take some of your jewelry with him to work. He prefers necklaces most of all, something easy to tuck in if students dare to ask about it. He loves to keep some part of you close, especially when he’s away. He won’t outright say why he likes it, but it’s something along the lines of keeping you very close to his heart. He asks politely, although a little sheepishly. He’ll lie for his pride, saying it’s simply something nice to hold on to. It’s odd, really, he’s not so shy with his declarations of love, but something so little has him pretending that he’s too shy to say it.

⎯ Boothill

There’s a lot BOOTHILL does. Too many to count. One thing he really seems to enjoy is triggering his censor on purpose. Before he had gotten serious about making you his partner, he’d get annoyed when you’d snicker and chuckle at his censor. He’d pitch a fit, huff and puff and curse you out even more. But it’s that same snicker that made him fall in love; at least, that’s what he believes. He was head over heels the minute he met you. But that's besides the point. After all he’s seen, the blood on his hands, and much more, he’s realized he’d do anything for that laugh. So he “swears” as much as he can around you, his Synthesia Beacon somehow slipping in new words. Where the hell did ‘banana’ come from…?

⎯ Gallagher

One of GALLAGHER’s favorite things to do when he gets home is cuddle. He’s busy as is, and some time to decompress with his lover always sounds like heaven. Oftentimes, he’ll drag you to the bed or the couch, even when you’re in the middle of something. He loves to bury his face into your shoulder. And moreso, he loves the way you giggle when his stubble tickles your neck. When you squirm and try to break free, he only tightens his hold, pulling you up against his chest as you laugh and swat at him, telling him to stop. He doesn’t. He’ll poke at your sides and squeeze at your hips as well, anything to keep you laughing.

⎯ Sunday

SUNDAY is so sickeningly sweet when it comes to you. His affections aren’t subtle, bringing you a bouquet of flowers when you’re at work, taking you out on fancy dates, and so much more. He is a textbook romantic. No act of love is little from him, he makes sure not to skip out. He wants you to know just how much he loves you, grand gesture or not. However, one thing you have noticed is the way his wings flutter just a little when he sees you, or hears you. A light blush always dusts his cheeks, followed by a smile and a tilt of his head. When you visit him while he’s working, his wings flutter just a little bit longer. You aren’t sure if he is aware of this, but you don’t want him to stop, so you decide to keep it a secret.

⎯ Argenti

Oh, ARGENTI, sweet Argenti. He’s so… princely, when it comes to you. Such a gentleman, really. He follows the sidewalk rule almost religiously, places his hand on the small of your back when the two of you are walking, grabs your hand so tenderly and kneels in front of you to kiss it, everything and anything that can come out of a fairy tale. One of his favorite things to do, however, is letting you do his hair. While he quite likes letting his long hair down, he loves nothing more than your hands running through it. He allows everything short of cutting it. In fact, he loves it so much, he practically runs to you before he trains, so you can put his hair up in a ponytail. If you want to braid it, however, he won’t mind. As long as you don’t yank his hair.

⎯ Mr. Reca

MR. RECA is all for the theatrics, on and off the set. Sometimes, it feels like he can’t turn off his whole director persona, even with you. Not that you mind. While he’s packed full of movie and media references, some that barely make him sound coherent, there are moments where he’s a completely Normal Guy with you. Sometimes it makes you think he’s lost his mind. However, one of your favorite things that prove he wasn’t abducted is when he acts like your life is a movie. He’ll bring his hands up and frame your face with his fingers, ramble on about how the main actor is just ‘too perfect for this role’, and how you're ‘born for the screen, born for my heart!’. He’ll add some sort of dramatic flare, clutching his chest or pretending he’ll pass out. While Memokeeper’s are quite odd, you don’t think you’d give up this one for the world.

⎯Sampo Koski

Whatever you need, SAMPO has. He even established this before the start of the relationship. He’s like… a penguin. While him showering you in luxurious gifts is not uncommon, it’s truly the smaller ones that count. Random trinkets he found somewhere, most were a little dusty and dirty, but ones that had provoked the thought of you, making them so meaningful. He presents all sorts of things to you, really. Rings he just ‘happened’ to find, necklaces and bracelets too, gears that were in such very oddly pristine condition, and his favorite: shells and rocks. He really does live up to the actions of a penguin, finding the prettiest rocks he can to give to his lover. Perhaps he is proposing…? It’s hard to say.

⎯ Jing Yuan

As the Divine Foresight, JING YUAN doesn’t get as much time as he’d like to enjoy the little things with you. A stroll once in a while is nice, or perhaps sitting down for at least ten minutes and chatting will do. He’s a simple man, and seeing your face for a fraction of a second is enough to tide him over for the next month. At least, that’s what he says. When he does get to spend time with you, he has a habit of bumping into you ‘accidentally’. He leans in close whenever you’re inspecting the fruit at the market, tends to bump into the two of you when you’re just walking, and actually prefers sitting on the same side of the table most of the time. All to enjoy those brief moments of contact. You’ve told him countless times that he could just ask to hold your hand, and he does, but somehow he always finds a way to come impossibly closer…

⎯ Blade

There’s not much BLADE does that isn’t small. He’s not necessarily vocal about his love for you (however he does love you, very much), nor is he good at expressing it. You’ve learned to translate the little things into big things, even something as simple as an ‘i thought of you’ when he comes back from a mission is a big deal. There’s one thing you’ve noticed that you’ve gotten to hold over the other Stellaron Hunters, though. He hates shopping, unless it’s with you. With Kafka and Firefly, he groans and acts uninterested most of the time, but with you, he’s quiet. Perfectly content to hold your bags, no matter how much things you have bought. No complaining, not even a grimace. Don’t point it out though. He’ll start pitching a fit if you so much as suggest that he loves you. (He does. But it’s hard to say or express for a man like him.)

⎯ Luocha

LUOCHA’s good with physical contact. With his profession and secrecy, sometimes it’s hard for you to remember that. He’s often gone for so long, doing Aeons knows what, that you tend to miss him, and especially his physical affections. Somehow, he’s also terrifyingly good at coming back just when you start to miss him too much. By then, you are craving a warm hug from him by the very least. But he always does more. He treats you, a nice date, either a day out or a day inside, before he’s off again. Somehow, his hands always find your hair, playing with it absentmindedly. You could be on the verge of sleep, and here he is, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers idly. Running his fingers through it, scratching your scalp, the list goes on. You start to wonder if it’s you he missed, or your hair.

⎯ Jiaoqiu

Now, JIAOQIU doesn’t like feeling helpless. Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean anything, he’s still a great healer, and an even better cook. Before he lost his sight, he’d cook terrifyingly grand meals for you, practically a whole feast for twelve. And if you can’t handle spice? You’re the only one he would turn down the heat for. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t let you off the hook. No, he chose to build your spice tolerance, instead. Adding more and more to each meal, even if you struggled with it. Now, without his sight, he’s only a little more hesitant to cook. He’s gotten all sorts of aids that help, of course. But knives are still knives, and he can be as careful as he wants, but they’ve somehow made him just a little antsy. So, he likes to guide you through chopping vegetables and the like. It doesn’t matter if you can do it by yourself, he likes to stand behind you as he ‘guides’ your wrists, smiling and snickering all the while.

⎯ Moze

It comes to no surprise that what MOZE enjoys best is cleaning. With you, he’s amped it up a little. When he can, he likes to do all the chores he possibly can before you get home. It’s something you’re used to, but even if you tell him you’d like to have a few to do, he acts like he takes it to mind. Really, he’s just telling himself he’ll have to do more. Days off aren’t exactly existent for him, but if he’s not keeping his hands busy, he gets anxious. So he’s resorted to making your life easier, sweeping the house, cleaning the dishes, doing laundry, and much more. You can’t argue, because who wants to do chores, anyways?

⎯ Dan Heng

While DAN HENG can be quite romantic, that doesn’t stop him from being what he is, an introvert. Some of his best days are spent holed up in his room on the Express, kicking back and ignoring what he can, unless it’s urgent. A nice quiet day and some tea are his true peace. And you, of course. He likes spending those quiet moments with you, especially when the two of you are just… doing your own thing. He could be reading, and you could be playing a game on your phone or watching something right next to him. He has no qualms if you aren’t doing something together, as long as you’re right next to him. ‘Parallel play’, he’s heard March call it. It fits, truly.

⎯ Gepard

GEPARD is truly a gentleman. He almost fits the Golden Retriever standard to a T. Kind and gentle, protective yet oh so sweet, almost knightly. While his work hours hold him hostage most of the time, he cherishes the time he gets to spend with you. Even when he’s tired and worn out, he simply can’t say no to a date. He’s the definition of royalty treatment. Holding your jacket, helping you zip up your clothes when need be, following the sidewalk rule, switching out your shoes if they’re uncomfortable, opening doors, and making sure your chair is pulled out before he sits down. No gesture of love is too small for him, or at least, he makes sure the small ones culminate into something bigger.

⎯ Caelus

To be honest, you still really can’t get CAELUS, even as his partner. He’s a bit quirky, maybe a tad too adventurous (stay out of those trash cans, you beg of him. But he does not listen), and perhaps way too into it for the bit. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. He’s silly and goofy and quite profound when he’s in the mood, although with his own sort of charm. Massive bouquets, massive credit bouquets, oddly cliche dates, and the like. But his most defining moments are the smaller, almost mundane ones. Sitting in the parlor car, laying on his belly and kicking his feet while you go through his nail polish collection, picking out what colors you want him to wear. He’s oddly… sparkly, grinning ear to ear as he holds his fingers out, waiting oh so patiently for you to color them. Paint his nails like one of your french girls… or something.

⎯ Welt

Unfortunately, while WELT is sweet, his habits can be a little bit annoying. For the first month or so when you started sleeping in his bed, his snoring almost drove you crazy. Perhaps you should’ve expected this for a man his age, but at the same time you can’t help but scold him in your mind. Fortunately, it is something that you get used to, and even see as white noise. You could complain all you want, and he’d apologize profusely, figure out any sort of way to at the very least quiet himself during the night, and then apologize some more. Not only does he snore, but he moves a lot in his sleep. He likes to fall asleep holding you… however throughout the night, he gets too hot, which means he pulls away, then it’s too cold, so he’s rolling back over to you, then he can’t quite find a comfortable way to sleep… it’s never ending. And charming, kind of.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server (16+) | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[fataleliebe]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — ♥︎ a jackson!Ellie & fem reader story. (Part II)

This work is +18. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

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Content Warnings: smut, top!Ellie, angst, mentions of alcohol & weed, tension, subtle jealousy, cheating, if you close your eyes you might feel the concept of fluff! (You literally will not!), word vomited & now this is way longer than anticipated. Oops! Enjoy! #FirstFanfic #Sorry

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Ellie can’t escape you.

She discerns the faint melody of your voice in her guitar. You haunt her mind whenever she glances at the dusted, piled collections of her interests—those nights replaying like a film she never should’ve lived. She’d go off on awkward tangents, talking without a moment of breath when Dina and Jesse would fade off into the background. Your eyes would never leave hers.

You’re in the poems she writes. The curve of her letters always, without fail, morphs into the delicateness of your irises, the curve of your nose, the mercy your lips never dared to spare. All consuming, intense and sickening.

She was selfish for keeping you in her life for so long.

──────────────────────

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

She knew Jesse was just trying to be a friend, tossing around the idea of a party for the past week. And yeah, Sure, maybe sitting in the isolated corner of her garage until kiss of the morning glow invited a new, unwanted day—articulating every thought and fucked-up feeling as scribbled poetry and unfinished songs, only to tuck it all away like she did with everything else—was not an ideal way to spend the night. Especially when she’d need to get ready for patrol the moment her eyes started to feel a little too heavy.

“Ellie,” Jesse’s voice was low, a small smile playing on his lips. “Listen,” he started, taking the joint from her. “If you wanna ditch after a while and just go smoke, we can do that. But you, me, and Dina? With alcohol? Don’t really see anything wrong with that.”

Ellie looked down, her eyebrows furrowed, lip caught between her teeth. She didn’t need to—couldn’t—think about it; she knew Jesse would not let up until she gave in. She sighed, ran a hand down her face, and glanced at him—his smile all pearly whites. “If I go, will you please shut the fuck up?”

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She hated Jesse.

You stood with Dina at the bar, drinks in hand, eyes wide and bright as the two of you caught up. The soft strains of music and laughter surrounded you, but withdrawn from the groups and brashness, it was just the two of you.

“So…” Dina tapped her fingers against the mahogany, eyebrow arching slightly. “How’s it going with… you know who?” She gave a knowing smirk, gently swaying into you.

With a titter and a nod, you looked down at your half-filled glass, swirling the liquid absent-mindedly. “I mean… y’know… It’s good. It’s really new,” you said softly, the remnants of whatever smile you had managed now faltering.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, setting your glass down after a numbing sip. “She’s nice to me… and, uhm… she gifted me a bracelet yesterday. I like her.” The words came out frigid, awkward—not at all how you’d anticipated. But Dina, the angel she was, didn’t make anything of it. Her hand moved to squeeze your shoulder, a small gesture filled with an understanding you refused to acknowledge.

“That’s good to hear,” Dina hummed, attention focused on the lively gathering. “I mean, I’d call myself a pretty good matchmaker.” She hesitated, then her expression shifted. “Does she—uhm. Oh shit… Ellie?”

Ellie?

It took everything in you to not follow Dina’s eyes—to not turn your head. Even stealing a glance, you knew that whatever this was, was not good for you. That every time you saw her in passing, for the past six months of sidestepping unspoken words and assumptions, it destroyed you.

It was harmless that night. When Dina and Jesse had decided to turn in, yawning loud and stretched in ridiculous fashion. And then it was just the two of you, sat at a comfortable distance on her bed—shy eyes refused to meet one another. It was harmless when she pulled out the joint, smirk tugged on her lips. She waved it in the air with all its glory. It was harmless.

It didn’t hurt anyone when you both laughed at the dumbest things—you remembered gossiping about your coworkers in heated passion, while she nodded along. Ellie lazily cracked jokes, just to shut you up about people that weren’t her. Paired with that lopsided smirk and the tease of teeth, she played the fool until you were nudging her shoulder and snorting. And Ellie? She invited those touches. Craved them. And you? When her hand lingered a little too long on your thigh. You burned with desire.

When the laughter had eventually died down and the taut eroticism in the solitude of her garage—ensconced to her bed—grew feverish, she didn’t pull away when you started to lean in.

You were distraught.

“What’s up, guys?” Jesse said, arm slung around Ellie’s shoulder as they walked over, using his limb like a leash. “Hope you guys don’t mind, but we had a few drinks before we came,” Jesse said to Dina, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Dina chuckled, rolling her eyes with a playful ease. “Mhm, sounds like fun,” she started, eyeing you before looking between Jesse and her.

“We were actually just talking about how,” she stretched it out for dramatic effect, taking a quick sip of her drink, then pointing the glass towards you. “Well, how I got my dearest friend here, a girlfriend.”

It grew too quiet much too quickly, the air heavy with Dina’s admission.

For the first time since that night, she broke the silence between you.

“Congratulations.” What the fuck?

When you finally looked at Ellie—and really looked at her—she wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were heavy with intoxication, gaze intense and unrelenting despite being completely unreadable. Her shoulders were tense, carrying baggage drenched in caramel whiskey. Her flannel was smoothed out, de-wrinkled, adorned by black ink that stretched up her arm to where she’d rolled the sleeves. She looked so good it made you angry.

But you knew Ellie, you really did. She was your favorite read. You’d known her since Dina first introduced her to you and Jesse years ago, and you had slowly read every page of her—sometimes rereading just to make sense of her.

But what you didn’t get? Was this. Was her, fidgeting with her fingers as she looked off to the side as if you were a damn afterthought.

“Thanks,” you murmur. Jesse and Dina must have been sick of the two of you, because when the song faded into something that wasn’t a melancholic country tune, they abandoned their drinks to dance. They walked away hand-in-hand, sharing awkward smiles and concerned glances.

You had almost forgotten that this was a party.

“Who is it?” Ellie asked after a silence that stretched on, torturous as hours. Both your backs were pressed into the polished wood, your glass refilled while Ellie finished hers. Her voice was low, sensuous with a rasp that made you shift on your feet. She was electrifying, and you hated her for that.

You parted your lips with a disbelieving scoff, turning your head to glance at her. She kept her gaze forward, eyes darting around the room as teens danced and drunken old men laughed.

“No one,” you whisper, eyes shifting back down to your glass.

Ellie nods, lips twitching into an empty smile. “Right.”

You swallowed down the thick feeling in your throat, your stomach aching, the questions you couldn’t voice attempting to claw their way out. Too scared to ask, too afraid to live with the answers.

With another sip, you decided to bite back, welcoming the burn that emboldens. You’re blaming Ellie’s impact on the glass in your hand, turning away your affection. It wasn’t Ellie. The whiskey-warmth that flushed your cheeks wasn’t her.

“Why’re you suddenly so curious about me? As if I were your friend? I mean, it’s not like you completely shut me out for no reason… oh right, you did.”

Maybe that was too much. Maybe, just maybe, it was too mean. It felt deserved. God, did it feel good to say, too—the pulse at your wrists thumping with excitement as you down the burning liquid that was therapeutic to your heavy heart.

“For no reason?” Ellie queried, the question lingering, challenging you. Her shoulders shook with a lazy, hollow laugh. She took the last sip of her drink, setting the glass down with abandon, the clink loud with her growing irritation.

Ellie was disgusted with herself for knowing you were right. You were so painfully right—but also, in a way, so fucking wrong. All she needed was to protect you from herself, from the curse of who she was. But fuck, you got too close, and that was her fault; she knew that. However, if she could avoid destroying you, she would. And she did, because you were alive and okay.

She knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to do for others. Because of him.

She was damned to suffer the consequences, forcing out every breath she wasn’t supposed to be taking—because Joel made that choice for her. And Ellie? She would have to live the rest of her life knowing that with every death, with all the suffering that bedevils this world, it would be her fault. It was her fault, because she wasn’t dead.

She knew it.

But God, there was a part of her that wanted to ruin you. Just for being you, Ellie needed you in ways that terrified her—that left her powerful and powerless. It was selfish, and maybe a part of her could empathize with Joel. To crave and claim the greed of wanting to make decisions for others while simultaneously taking those choices away. She was infected with it: the sickening desire that bubbled beneath and burned into her soul. And she couldn’t give in.

She could keep you safe. That was it. Nothing more.

Your skin burned with the ache of absence, your eyes downcast as you chewed on your bottom lip. Time ate at you and spit you out. Days, weeks, and months of Ellie refusing to look at you the way she used to. Months of only speaking to you in sentences of three words or less, if she even bothered to entertain you at all. She abandoned you; left you to lick at the emotional wounds she’d inflicted.

She acted as if nothing about you mattered—as if every moment you got to see Ellie Williams, every chance to delicately map the labyrinth of her heart with patient hands, simply became a memory. And eventually, those memories became myths.

“I didn’t… nothing happened that night? I don’t get it, Ellie.” It sounded pathetic.

“If Jesse hadn’t walked back in,” Ellie starts slowly, before letting out a frustrated exhale. “Yeah, I'm not doing this…”

Silence ate at you the same way time did. Time, space, silence. She left you to pick up what she broke on her way out. For six months you begged and clawed for revelation. You didn’t know you were stumbling through the crowd until Dina called your name from the dance floor, your eyes stinging and breath shaking.

The darkness of the night greeted you with empathy, and the frost of Jackson’s winter kissed at your skin—inviting goosebumps to clash with the liquor’s heat that ran through your veins. Mindless and broken, desperate to escape yourself and your heart, you walked.

It wasn’t long before Ellie called out your name, but you walked faster, hugging yourself for a sense of reprieve. “Shit, just listen to me!” You stumbled, your pace faltering. When she caught up to you, you shook your head, laughing in bewilderment. “You can’t do this! Ellie… Ellie, you can’t…”

Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. Taking you in, analyzing you. It was a sobering sight. “Did I—did you not…?” You didn’t realize you were crying until the shake in your voice cut off your incoherent pleas, until your throat closed and the words got stuck. Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together, her movements hesitant and unsure.

“Let me… dammit. Let me walk you home, okay?” You shake your head, letting out a small sob. “You’re drunk. Let me walk you home.” It wasn’t a question.

The walk back was silent. Time. Space. Silence. It itched beneath your skin and gutted you, leaving you high and dry. The faint crunch of the snow beneath your feet threatened like a ticking time bomb.

You watched the back of her head, gaze drifting down to the expanse of her neck, where baby auburn strands—free from her bun—danced gently in the breeze. Your chest felt heavy with the change Ellie insisted upon your being. How she had completely altered your life. You felt each shift, leaving you alone with your hands up.

And for all that you needed, it was having her back in your life.

Somehow, along the way of surviving, she made it feel like living. That living was worth it. That it wasn’t out of spite for the dead who roamed like roaches. Your face twisted at the realization, guilt sitting low in your stomach—because, goddamnit, you have someone now. Someone who isn’t Ellie.

But when your hand finally lands on the door handle, you force it all away. “Come in,” you whisper, eyes meeting hers. “Please.”

Ellie should say no. Oh, she really fucking should. She should draw the line and respect the person who calls you theirs. But her legs move, and she comes inside anyway—the small house always a sanctuary amid the chaos, a place Ellie knows too well.

The door shut you away from everything—everyone else. Just you and Ellie. You were lightheaded. Silence expanded the room. With silence came distance.

Ellie’s back pressed against the kitchen wall across from you as you leaned against the sink. “If Jesse hadn’t walked in,” you start, and Ellie’s breath hitches. “If he didn’t come back because he forgot the joint we smoked…” a weak smile gracing your lips, but you’re not looking at her.

“You don’t know,” Ellie decided.

You look at her, hurt and confusion adorning your features. She stares back, eyebrows furrowed, mirroring the hurt. There’s a distant gleam in her eyes that keeps you out, though, and longing clashes with frustration. “What do you mean I don’t know?”

She huffs through her nose, arms crossing over her chest. She says your name as if it’s an answer, as if it’s a ‘you know.’ It’s a ‘you know’ as to why you shouldn’t know.

“No, Ellie. Tell me. Why don’t I know? Why don’t I know that I would’ve kissed you? That I would’ve wanted you to kiss me?” As silence expands, the eruption—accusatory and heated—shrinks. You’re standing in front of her, finger pointing at her chest, so close you could count her freckles, smell the whisky on her breath, feel the ghost of her breath. And she’s quick to get away, create that distance that’s been haunting you. Uncrossing her arms and stepping away from the wall, Ellie moves past you, walking toward the door.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do what? Give me fucking answers? Finally recognize that you hurt me?”

Ellie turns to face you, raising her hands in both defense and defeat. Her cheeks are flushed, the tips of her ears red. “I fucking know!” You flinch at her tone—loud and breaking. It pitched with desperation, filled with regret and impatience.

She hesitates, hands falling to her sides as she shuts her mouth and looks down, collecting herself before speaking in a hushed tone. “I know what I did. And yeah—shit, yeah, it wasn’t okay. But you don’t… you don’t fucking get it.”

“Then explain to me,” you whisper, begging. “Please, Ellie. Please tell me what I don't know.”

She looks wrecked: strands of hair loose from her bun, skin flushed, eyes glossy. The emotions flashing across her face represented more than words ever could. She walks back to you slowly, stopping right in front of you, so close she can see the details of your irises—the eyes that she’s immortalized in the pages of her journal more times than she would ever dare to admit.

Her eyes flick from your nose to your lips, your eyes, your cheeks. And your breaths mingle, the first time you’ve been this close since the night you got high. Her voice was a low murmur, as if she was wary of being heard by her heart. As if she shouldn’t even acknowledge it.

“You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know…” Her hand moves to her face, fingers pressing away unshed tears. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. “It wouldn’t—I would never be able to stop with you. You don’t understand that. A kiss? If Jesse hadn’t walked in? Fuck…”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, and she looks back at you, shaking her head. “Ellie…”

“No.”

“Ellie, I would never want you to stop,” it’s breathless, painfully true—and Ellie is fucking dizzy. She blinks as if hallucinating you, unable to trust herself. Her breath is heavy from her outburst, from you—and God, her hands are on you.

The burn of skin on skin is maddening. You bite your bottom lip to keep yourself together as her fingertips ghost along your wrists, moving slowly up to the cuffs of your sweater. “You can’t,” The words are warm, fanning against your lips, teasing you.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Ellie has to look away, at her wit’s end, her fingers twitching against your wrists. Her chest falls up and down with broken breaths, with shaky exhales. She shuts her eyes—fuck. She can’t do this. You look at her, taking her in as she fights a war in her mind. Your own breaths come fast, lips parted, and you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Ellie’s jaw clenches, and she opens her eyes to see you as she’s always imagined during sleepless nights—perverse thoughts of drawing you like this eating at her.

“Fuck,” she rasps, and your lips are so close. It’s hard for her to not take you apart with her eyes, admiring every movement and twitch—every second of it. Of you. She mutters your name, strained and thick. “What about ‘No One?’” And the fact she’s even asking, even considering staying, is enough to have your knees weak.

“She’s not you.”

And, shit—maybe you’re a horrible person, but no one else is Ellie. She’s always had you. That’s something you’d have to think about tomorrow, not when you finally have her.

Ellie almost breaks. The pressure builds up inside of her. And it has been for years, quiet and quick; she feels like she’s going to crack, to explode. But Ellie knew this. She should have realized that the burning desire bubbling inside her for so fucking long, far too long, would eventually erupt. “Yeah?”

You’re quick to nod, letting out a small and needy ‘mhm’ that went straight to Ellie’s cunt. It was heated, confronting months of pent up demand from one another that left you both messy and aching.

You lean in, impatient with a need that has your heart pounding. Her lips softly brush against yours—chapped and plump—and your eyes flutter shut at the touch. It was hypnotic, a divine marvel, as your lips grazed against each other. Teasing each other with taste. “Tell me to stop,” Ellie begs, and you swallow her words. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Your eyebrows upturn at the sound she makes against your lips, a quiet moan that reflects her turmoil—her hunger and greed.

Her hand cups your cheek, and she finally presses her lips against yours. It was something that satiated a deep hunger within you, something you always knew you’d need. And you needed her like air, like she was the only thing that gave life in this hell of an earth. She was a fucking life source. And Ellie? She was breathing you in, consuming you.

She ripped noises from you that further frustrate her, her chapped lips rough against yours. You grip her flannel only for her to pull away, shrugging it off. Her eyes are intense, deep with unspoken feelings, ones you reflect; your eyes doe-like from the sheer depth of longing that shucked you.

She was on you again, your back pressed into the wall, her body caging you in. Ellie kissed with fervor. It was wet, hungry, sloppy, and reckless. It was Ellie. When she pulls away for air, your lips are left tingling, the room filled with heavy, short breaths.

“I need you,” you say, breathless and whiny, and Ellie can’t think straight. She has her hands on your sweater, gripping the fabric as she pulls it over your head. It’s hard for her to think she shouldn’t do this when you’re looking at her like that—when she finally has you in the position she’s always craved. Her lips meet your jaw, trailing gently down your neck. Your skin burns beneath her fingertips, her hands gripping and pulling at your hips.

“Ellie.” It’s a plea that’s broken, that shakes when she bites your shoulder. And Ellie can’t hold her own noises back—muffled against your skin. Her hands move to the button of your jeans, undoing you slowly, then slips her hand beneath the fabric that tests her will—plays with her moral compass. Fuck it.

Ellie needs you.

It was that first touch that had you arching off the wall. Ellie’s fingers slid between your folds, her digits soaked in you, your need, and fuck—her own breath is catching. Her hips press forward, as if she could feel it all. And she swears she feels it, your pleasure in her own skin.

She braced her free hand against the wall beside your head, anchoring herself to the moment. Her gaze flicked up, taking in every shiver and gasp that sang the prettiest of songs; every crease of your brow and tremble of your lips. When her fingers found your clit, circling in slow and sloppy movements, she kissed you to steal the sounds that slipped out. Ellie’s ministrations were disorganized, but she was mapping the shape of you. She was memorizing you. “Fuck,” she whined against your lips.

You nearly blackout when her knee slips between your legs, forcing them further apart for access. The stretch of two fingers slipping inside of you left you dazed, your hands grabbing at her wrist for a sense of reprieve. “Oh, my God—” the words tumble out, your eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back. You felt feverish, your legs suddenly feeling insubstantial beneath the weight of your sensation. “Shit—oh… You…” the words fall short from a moan, gets lost with an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, and completely forgotten when you hear her voice.

“D’you want me to stop?” She asks, fingers pressing deeper when you fist at her shirt instead—knuckles whitening as you clench the flimsy fabric. No, you want to scream, but could only manage a weak head shake. Ellie’s exhale shudders against your jaw, mouthing at the skin without intent. To just feel you, to taste you; have you on her tongue and revel in it long after you’ve slipped from her hold.

She curls her fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, before sliding them out—just enough to make you ache for more. Your eyes fly open, and she pulls away to meet your gaze. Only then do you actually see it, and it’s afflicting. The unadulterated captivation, the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like she is simultaneously the most powerful and powerless woman who has ever lived, and you’re irrevocably bewitched.

And yet, there’s still the gleam. The one that keeps you out—leaving you at arms length despite holding her in your own. Your mouth falls open in a whine when she presses deep and her pace quickens, her eyes searching and serious and disconnected. She won’t let you in.

“Please,” you beg, but it’s for more than just lust. “Please—Ellie, I… Ellie, I lo—“ Her hand covers your mouth, gentle but insistent, fingers trembling against your skin. She won’t let you, refusing to hear it. The words she aches for, yet fears in equal measure. The pace of her fingers didn’t stop, technique disjointed with conflict. “Shhh… I’ve got you, okay?” She whispers, nodding slightly. She ignores the way your eyes gloss over, trying to focus on the rhythm. Ellie didn’t love herself. Fuck, she couldn’t. How could she let you love her?

Her forehead pressed against yours, cheeks flushed and stomach aching with regret. “You don’t get it,” Ellie whispers between the two of you, her vulnerability a confession of her self-condemnation. It was impossible to stop the tears from falling, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned against her hand.

“C’mon, baby.” It was unrelenting, the power she held over you—and Ellie molded you effortlessly beneath her touch, her fingers pressing in all the right places. The heel of her palm ground against your clit with enough pressure to have you trembling.

Muffled moans and broken sobs vibrated against her hand, each noise a confession that she’d pleasure herself to for months. She was selfish, finally understanding—empathizing with him. The hand over your mouth was replaced by the burning collision of Ellie’s lips, pulling a deep groan from her throat, all teeth and mess.

She fucked like she felt. Kissed like she was running out of time.

She poured every ounce of frustration into it—the tunes of her guitar that sounded like you, the poems that felt like you, and the nights where you’d be the only one who listened. Mind-bending, in a sex-fueled haze, was her—it was her touch and her lips, her voice and her gaze. She bent and twisted you and your heart like a puppet on strings, and you were at her fingertips willingly.

And Ellie knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to avoid giving in to.

Her lips ghosted against yours, breathing each other in, eyes downcast and avoidant. You’re shuddering—tears still wet and skin burning—the touch of her scarred your soul, insisting upon your being. Your lips move but nothing can come out, hesitant. The silence was a revelation that sat low in your stomach as Ellie began pulling away.

It was a moment that stretched into an echoing reminder of what had led to the end of what could have never began. Silence expanded what was. You almost wanted to laugh, bitter and broken and bare. You and Ellie, it was the catalyst for both of your destruction. But no one was Ellie. No one was you. She picked up her flannel, avoiding your eyes, knees weak and shoulders heavy.

She was at the door, back facing you—her hand flexing at her side, to be torn like a handheld from its first love. “I really fucking hope she treats you good.”

Time. Space. Silence.

It’s a strange, cruel thing. When one moment, she could have her hands up, then on you. And the next, she’s gone.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

hiii, how are u? for the 7k bingo could you do Joel Miller with sex pollen? hope u have a nice day :)

.⋆｡Blooming｡⋆.

7k Follower Bingo

Joel Miller x plus size reader

During patrol, you come across a weird-looking plant and can’t help but to check it out, though you’re not the one that gets in trouble when you touch it

Warnings: sex pollen, SMUT, older man and younger woman (age not specified), unprotected sex, pull-out method, guns, feral!Joel, reader is a tiny bit bratty, mention of spores, dub-can because of sex pollen, some amount of mutual pining/yearning WC: 2k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Rules— you stay close, you stay silent and you-“

“-Run as fast as I can if things go south. Yeah I know Joel. It’s not as if I’ve dealt with this bullshit for almost my whole life.” You rolled your eyes as the older man in front of you shot you a glare that would’ve had anyone else cowering in fear but you just huffed in return. The derelict home that loomed in front of you had been marked by Jackson’s scouts earlier in the week for potential farming equipment given the impressive if not run-down greenhouse at its side.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He grumbled and shouldered his rifle but you caught the twitch of his full lips as he turned away from you and into the doorway of the (hopefully) empty building you were planning on ransacking. His broad shoulders lifted as he shot you one last glance before stepping inside, trusting that you would follow close behind.

“When am I ever not a smartass according to you?” You whined quietly from behind him as the stale air of the building closed in around you. It was obvious that nothing living had passed through here in years, infected or otherwise. A thick layer of dust coated every surface that you passed, muffling the sounds of your footsteps down to dull thumps. 

Joel lifted his left hand from the barrel of his gun, signalling you to go left as he turned to the room on the right. You grunted under your breath at his overabundance of anxiety but obeyed anyway, it would do you no good to argue with the man now. The soft yellow of your flashlight beam cut through the small sideroom, illuminating a workbench and a collection of tools that would be perfect for the farms. 

You holstered your pistol so you could pull the battered backpack off your shoulders, dropping it onto the bench next to a terracotta pot that held a quite impressive flower that looked to be on the edge of blooming. You ignored it for now, instead focusing on shoving seed packets and tools into your bag. Underneath a rusty trowel, a water-logged notebook sat, opened up to pages of now illegible notes. 

The pages crunched with decades of exposure to the elements but it still captured your attention. Blurry images of flowers and plants had you turning page after page, slowly revealing the story of the person that poured so much work into the notebook. It seemed like they were trying to breed some new type of flower, and had eventually succeeded given the still living specimen beside you. The last two pages were stuck together with age, threatening to rip as you attempted to seperate them. You gave up after a couple tries, instead closing the book with care and dropping it into the bag with everything else, you hadn’t noticed the petals beginning to fold out from the large bulb of the plant.

“Clear!” Joel’s voice rang through the house causing you to jolt and drop the backpack.

“Jesus man!” You spun just in time for him to stride through the doorway, a scowl on his face that only seemed to add to his attractiveness. It was his usual look with you; disappointed and annoyed but also somehow a little amused and it never failed to get your heart racing with the way his brows would draw together, his jaw tightening, and his dark eyes practically glowing with frustration. 

“How many times do I have to remind you to say something when you’ve finished checking your bit of a house?” Thick arms barely contained by rolled up sleeves of his flannel crossed over his chest.

“‘Bout twenty more times should do it.” You countered with your own withering look. His frown deepened and his muscles bulged. You swallowed back your drool. “Found some seeds for individual gardens so the community ones aren’t overloaded.” You offered up, reaching back to produce one of the packs you hadn’t picked up yet, but instead your knuckles bumped into the pot, causing it to rock back precariously.

Joel’s arms dropped back down to his sides as the pot righted with a clink. You breathed a sigh of relief but it was short-lived. The heart of the flower opened up, delicate red and black petals stretched outwards revealing a dense ball of pollen that looked like it was going to fall apart with the slightest touch. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Joel darted forwards and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t touch it.” His tone wobbled as he spoke, sending a spark of panic through your lizard brain that you chose to push down.

“I wasn’t gonna. Besides, it’s just a flower, not spores. I doubt a fungus has worked out how to evolve into a flower contained completely inside a pot.” You didn’t sound convincing as the words left your lips but you tried to keep a neutral expression. “The owner of the house was breeding it, probably before the end of the world if his little notebook is anything to go by. It won’t kill us.”

His grip tightened. “You don’t know what it’s going to do. Stop being so innocent.” 

You couldn’t help it, the thought popped into your brain and sprinted out of your mouth before you could even think to stop it: “I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you Miller.” 

You watched as his breath hitched, suddenly at a loss for how to deal with you before his hand loosened and fell to the workbench. The tips of his fingers caught the top edge of the pot, finally toppling it over. The flower’s thin stalk bent with the weight of its head, aiming directly for him. The pollen burst onto the bare skin of his forearm, staining his tanned skin a radioactive yellow before the whole thing clattered to the ground.

There was a beat of silence, then two, then your brain finally kicked into gear.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Joel I’m so sorry I didn’t- fuck!” You scrambled for something, anything, in your bag that could rectify this as fear sprinted through your system. The water bottle in your bag was half-empty, something you were saving for the long walk home, but you splashed it over his arm without a second thought. He tugged his shirt sleeve back down in an attempt to scrub it off his skin.

“Leave!” He turned away from you, his shoulder trembling as he redoubled his effort. Guilt struck you square in the chest.

“I’m not leaving. This is my fault, I need to help you. Don’t- don’t make me go.” You knew better than to try and reach out and touch him, even if your spirit screamed at you to try and comfort the possibly dying man. His breathing began to pick up before he swallowed.

“Then check the book.” His chest rumbled, refusing to look back at you. The pollen wouldn’t budge, even when he stripped the shirt off completely to use as a rag. You forced your gaze away from him and back to your bag.

“Right yeah. I’ll um do that.” The notebook shook as you frantically flipped through the pages, desperately scanning the ancient scrawl for anything that could soothe the blinding fear that had wrapped tightly around you. The final brittle pages ripped as you tore them apart, but the writing remained clear. “What the fuck.” 

Sweat was now beading along Joel’s hairline, his muscles screwed up like his body was preparing itself for something. “Tell me.” His voice was empty, his mind already going to the pistol tucked into your waistband.

“It-“ For probably the first time in your life, words escaped you.

Joel whipped around. His pupils were blown so wide that you couldn’t find a trace of the deep brown of his irises, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Tell me!” 

Heat shot through you at the revelation of what exactly was wrong with him, something you could beg on your knees to fix. The notebook dropped back onto the workbench as you reached for the buttons on your shirt. Joel’s eyes follow your movements with deadly precision, his body winding even tighter as your body was revealed.

“It’s an aphrodisiac. Supposed to make you go crazy for sex.” He stepped closer, crowding you against the bench. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your soft stomach, it was huge.

“What. Else.” The air between you had suddenly shifted, no longer was there the simmering undercurrent of tension that may or may not have led anywhere, but there was now a fire growing in ferocity, threatening to consume you entirely if you turned away now. 

You popped open the button of your jeans. “It’ll be in your system for hours, maybe days, if you don’t-“ 

“If I don't, what.” The heat of his body was almost unbearable.

Your eyes dropped down to his lips. “If you don’t fuck it out.” A large hand wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you into a kiss. Your teeth clacked together painfully while Joel pressed you further into the table. You tugged at his white undershirt, whining into his mouth. 

He ripped himself away from you, looking as crazed as you felt. “Turn around.” He left no room for resistance or questions, already turning your body to the bench. He pulled your jeans and panties over your ass, just far enough for access. 

“Joel-“ You knew he wouldn’t stop, not when you could feel the fever running through him as he pressed himself to the soft fat of your ass and thighs. He fumbled for his belt, hands trembling against you. 

“Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this.” He kissed your shoulders, your neck, anywhere he could reach. You wiggled back into him, blissfully feeling his bare cock finally released from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Wet pre-cum smeared against the tops of your thighs.

“Just be careful, don’t want your heart to give out old man.” The growl that escaped him was entirely inhuman and before you could make another sound, he slammed into you. Your cunt burned with his size, by far bigger than anything you had ever taken before and given the smirk you felt against your shoulder blade, Joel knew it too.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned, his forehead falling to your back as he struggled to control himself. He rolled his hips against your ass, immediately sending a flare of pleasure through you. He took a deep breath and pulled back, letting his cock almost completely leave the warmth of your pussy before he finally succumbed to the pollen.

“This is your fucking fault. Not doing what I tell you.” Your hands scrambled for something to ground yourself as he punched into you.

“‘M sorry!” You cried.

“Fucking driving me crazy with those fucking tight pants and constantly gettin on my nerves.” You tightened around him, pleasure licking at your nerves like nothing you had ever felt before. “You like that? You like knowing you piss me off? Damn fucking brat, I should’ve known.”

You felt him in your throat, stealing any attempt at speaking or even catching your breath. “Shoulda known you just needed to be fucked by a man to get you to listen.” The table bit into your stomach but the pain only sent you higher along with the growling of his voice. Joel thrust downwards, the fat head of his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“You gonna cum? I can feel it. Do it. Fucking cum.” He snarled into your ear as you shattered beneath him, losing yourself to everything Joel. “Fuck!” He groaned, ripping himself from you only second before he came onto the battered flesh of your ass. 

Your body went limp as his cum began to cool on your skin. “Holy shit Joel. I did not think you had it in you.” You went to turn back around but Joel’s hand returned to your shoulder blade, keeping you still. “What?” 

His cock prodded at your wrecked pussy once more. “We’re nowhere near done.”

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Sovereign of My Heart

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: He’s ruthless with words, unbothered by the world, and crowned with a superiority only he could wear like armor, but around you, Theodore Nott is all reckless devotion and quiet adoration. Loving him is like loving a storm, dangerous, all-consuming, but utterly, irrevocably beautiful.

There were few things Theodore Nott cared about in this world.

His black ink quill, sharpened like a dagger, moving lazily across parchment. The precise art of making someone cry from a single, sarcastic comment. And you.

Mostly you.

At first, it was subtle—the glances when he thought you weren’t looking, the way he gravitated toward the seat beside you even when the room was full. His friends teased him mercilessly, calling him whipped under their breath. Theo only answered them with a slow, impassive blink that said say another word and die.

Today was no different.

You sat cross-legged on the grass near the Black Lake, finishing an essay for Potions. Theo was sprawled beside you, an arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily twirling his wand between his fingers. His tie was undone, shirt slightly rumpled, and he wore the air of a king surveying a kingdom far beneath him.

“Tell me again why you think Felix Felicis is unethical?” you asked, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

Theo smirked, the slow, dangerous kind that always made your stomach flip. “Because it’s cheating, darling. You should know—I don't need luck to get what I want."

His gaze flicked to you pointedly. You pretended not to notice how his fingers stilled on his wand.

You shoved his shoulder lightly. "You're unbearable."

"And yet," he drawled, voice like molasses, "you’re still here. Fascinating."

You rolled your eyes, trying (and failing) not to smile. Theo noticed, of course. He always noticed. Every twitch of your lips, every glance, every heartbeat that stuttered in your chest because of him.

When you bent over your essay again, he leaned up on one elbow, studying you openly, shamelessly, as if you were something rare he was entitled to admire.

There was a sharp cry from across the lake—Pansy Parkinson, whining loudly at Draco about something. Theo’s eyes didn’t even flicker toward the sound.

Instead, he muttered, almost to himself, "Pathetic."

"Be nice," you teased, scribbling a line of notes.

"Why?" Theo said, deadpan. "They're exhausting. You, on the other hand—" He let his voice trail off deliberately, watching the way your cheeks pinked. "You're the only decent thing about this cesspool."

You lifted your head, laughing. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re naive if you think I'm joking," he said simply.

The thing about Theo wasn’t that he loved softly. He didn’t. He loved the way he did everything else—with deliberate, searing intensity. There was no hiding it, no masking it. It was in the way he stood too close, how his scathing remarks melted into almost reverent affection when they were aimed at you.

Theo loved shamelessly.

It was terrifying.

It was beautiful.

You packed your things as the sun dipped lower, golden streaks lighting up the lake. Theo watched you in that unbothered way of his, but you caught the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you.

Finally, he stood and offered a hand.

You took it without thinking.

His fingers closed around yours—long, calloused, unyielding—and for a second, the whole world faded into something simple and bright.

You stepped closer, so close you could see the faint freckles dusted across his sharp cheekbones, the careless tumble of dark hair over his forehead.

"You're staring," you murmured, breath catching.

"And?" he said, tilting his head like he dared you to call him out.

You shook your head fondly. Theo Nott had never cared about rules. He only cared about you.

Suddenly, his mouth curved in a slow, devastating grin—the one that always preceded some cutting comment that would destroy anyone else in his path.

"You're lucky you're pretty," he said smoothly. "Otherwise, I'd have crushed your spirit by now like I do everyone else's."

You laughed out loud, stepping into his chest without hesitation. His arms came around you immediately, fitting you against him like you were the one thing he'd protect in a world he otherwise found utterly worthless.

"You’re awful," you whispered into the soft cotton of his shirt.

He pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. "For everyone else," he murmured. "Never for you."

And that was the terrifying truth.

In a world Theo ruled with sharpened words and a superiority complex he wore like a second skin, you were the exception. You were the axis he spun on.

Everyone could see it—the way his eyes softened for you, the way he became almost reckless in his devotion. His protectiveness wasn't loud. It was brutal in its quietness.

Later that evening, you walked back to the castle, hand in hand. Several people stared—whispered.

Theo didn't blink.

He only lifted his chin higher, daring anyone to say a single thing.

No one did. They wouldn’t dare.

Because Theodore Nott didn’t fall for anyone. And everyone knew—he’d fallen for you so completely, he hadn’t even tried to catch himself.

[littleapplle]

let's make this bed get squeaky!

after an unexpected wanderer attack, you show rafayel how fun it is to be a girl. - 2.9k w. - not proofread.

cw.: fem!rafayel, very implied fem!reader (srry!!) feminization (if you squint), raf isn't a woman but does get turned into one temporarily, porn with a bit of plot, nipple play, worshipping (if you squint), face sitting, so cunnilingus, 69, scissoring? humping... something in between idk... kinda subby raf too... self indulgence. alot of that. i'm the pervert here.

note: this was vv inspired by this art by @.beechu-beechu !! one of my fav artists here on tumblr and twt, pls check their work out!! <3 as soon as i saw fem!raf my brain MELTED. also this was a bit rushed, sorryyy !!><

“Love, you don’t have to freak out! The Hunter Association will find a way to revert it in no time. Relax!” — To be honest, you were too calm about it.

“Relax!? How am i supposed to- Oh, my bodyguard failed to save me from this catastrophe and now i have to pay the price with my beautiful body!” Rafayel cries in response, his voice far too dramatic and feminine.

And what has really happened? Well, a few hours ago. you and your boyfriend went out for an outdoor date in the middle of a small forest in Linkon City so Rafayel could, maybe, find inspiration for his next work.

It just so happened that the area you both decided to visit was a dead zone, your hunter watch was malfunctioning and did not warn you the area had wanderers nearby. Luckily, you were still in your hunter uniform and armed so it should be no biggie. The wanderer, a small creature you’ve never seen in any of your missions, had its back covered in pinkish spores that once Rafayel shouted out for you, exploded on his face, making him cough for air.

Wanderer defeated and your lover safe, you’re left with an… unique form of Rafayel.

“...Rafayel?” You call out for him cautiously, worried for his safety while waving your way through a cloud of pink dust.

To a few choked coughs, your ears perk. You’re alone with Rafayel but it’s not his voice you hear. Or so you thought.

The mist slowly dissipates in the air, and you’re finally able to see more than just the shape of his body choking for air dramatically. With narrowed eyes and a hand covering your mouth and nose – still concerned the mysterious dust is toxic – you call out his name once more before a gasp escapes your throat.

“Rafayel…? Wha- what is wrong with you?!” Comes out a little too harsh but your shock is genuine. Was this caused by the wanderer? Offended, he is quick to frown and bite back. “Wow cutie, i get seriously attacked and the first thing you ask me is that? What a great bodyguard i have! How can i file a complaint?” 

“That’s not what i meant!-” You stutter, “Uhm…” struggling with your words and confusion bubbling in your system, you move your hands to your boobs, trying to move his gaze down to his chest. Oh. Oh. His blouse did feel a bit tighter after all.

“What the fuck?!” 

Yeah… you’re sure that he spooked every single animal in the little forest with his scream.

Back to the present, you find yourself back in Rafayel’s home, trying to convince your boyfriend that being transformed into a woman by a wanderer isn’t the end of the world and that yes, it is temporary. 

“Raf, you’re gonna be fine. I heard Tara say something about a new type of wanderer lurking around earlier this week. We’re gonna find a way to turn you back, m’kay? You assure with more confidence now that your confusion over the situation has dissipated completely.

To your words he — she — does not answer, too busy sulking while staring at his new face in the pocket mirror you carry in your bag. 

“Besides… you’re quite the pretty girl, raf.” The sweet giggle that escapes your lips makes him frown.

 “Can you quit bullying me? Those cheap journalists are never going to shut up if they see me like this!” Rafayel cries. “I wanted to have a nice day out with you. ow… can’t have a single normal day in this city.”

That makes your ears perk and your body scoots closer to his form on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder after kissing his puffy cheek. “Aww! ‘S no biggie, baby. We can still have fun indoors. I’ll just have to show you how fun it is to be a girl.”

You spend the day doing things you’d already do with him while enjoying quality time together but with some additional goodies. His purple hair is so long now and even softer! You take your time brushing it, massaging your nails on the scalp before trying multiple hairstyles.

Pigtails, buns, fishtail braids, boxer braids, ponytails… oh, you’ve tried every. single. one. Which he can’t really complain about! Who doesn’t love having their hair played with?

Rafayel is already used to the next activity, so he doesn’t even bat an eye when you ask him where he placed the nail polishes you bought a few months ago. 

“Pick a color baby!” You chirp, holding the tiny bottles in your hands. 

He does just that. Picking a lilac shade and offering his cold hands to you, Rafayel scoots closer to you on the couch. “You’re enjoying this too much.” He points out.

For a moment, you don’t answer, busy with the tiny brush between your fingers and trying not to smudge the milky paint in his short nails. “Hmmm maybe i am.” You giggle, “Can you blame me though?” 

It’s his turn to not answer, he thinks he’d sound too petty if he did. Rafayel loves the pampering, and even though he’d rather drown in the deepest and darkest waters of his long forgotten home than to admit this right now, he’s obsessed with you showering him in affection. Nothing is new, you’re sweet as ever and like a sea sponge, he absorbs all he can happily. 

Rafayel isn’t an insecure man, especially with his body. He knows he was sculpted by the seas with care and passion, born with the body of a god, something worthy of unending worship. So you eyeing him up and down was never a problem, but now? Oh, he feels small, he wants to dig up a hole on the hot sand and stay there for eternity, accompanied by the sand crabs.

Shame is a feeling he’s no longer used to and hates the taste of, he notes.

Noticing his silence, you put the brush down to look at him. 

“You okay, raf?” Genuine, innocent concern. 

“It hurts.” Puffing his cheeks, he frowns and closes his eyes.

“What hurts? Are your wrists sore agai-” — “No! Not that.” Rafayel whines, peeking at you through his long(er) lashes.

“Well, i’m not in the mood to play guess with you, fishie.” Arching a brow at his dramatic discomfort, you chuckle as he whines once more, “Heavens- they’re sore!”

And you have to bite your lip to not burst into laughter. Having the pleasure of seeing Rafayel, usually confident and sharp with his words, blushing like a literal girl was truly a sight you’d never thought you had to see.

“Your boobs?-” — “Don’t say it like that!” You swear that the big and tall windows of his home could’ve shattered in an instant with his horrified scream. 

“Awww, babyyy! Don’t be shy! We’ve all been through that, ‘s just part of girlhood!” You poke his cheek, aiming to tease him just a little more. Leaning in closer, you sit on his plump thighs.

Oh and he looks so done. 

“Stop acting like i’m a woman!-” He basically cries out in embarrassment.

“Oh but you are!” Interrupting him, you continue, “And as your girlfriend, and girl best friend, i’ll help you with your girl problems, raffy-”

“I’ll spit bubbles on you!” Rafayel interrupts back and you finally break down laughing on his lap.

Rafayel swears to himself that he wants to bite your head off so you stop teasing him, he hates how he can feel the tip of his pale ears get warmer each second and something inside him growing hotter. He’d bury your face on hot sand right now and yet he doesn’t move you from his lap.

As your laughter settles and you breathe in to calm down, you place a kiss on his burning cheek. A silent apology. “Seriously though, you’ve turned out to be quite… busty!” You giggle but continue before he can throw a fit again, “Can i massage you baby? Would you let me do that f’you, raf?” Whispering against his cheek, you nuzzle the bridge of your nose on his skin.

He just nods, still frowning in shame and with eyes closed shut. 

Your fingers trace his collarbones in sickly light touches, hands snaking down to the foreign feeling on his chest. 

He shivers and twitches under you once your hands cup his tits through his white blouse, the absence of a bra making your touch feel a little too intimate for his already overwhelmed brain. Your fingers feel him in circular motions, gently applying pressure to where his nipples take place.

Rafayel squirms, throwing his head back and trying to hide his face in his long, purple hair. “You’re so responsive, baby.” You coo, purposefully brushing your thumbs on his nipples, which ignites a yelp from his tight throat. 

The sensitive pebbles grow hard not so long later, making themselves visible under his light shirt. He curses you in his mind, the innocent and sweet way you talk to him could get him going anytime. Rafayel bites his glossy lip hard. 

Fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, you give him your sweetest smile. “Your body hasn’t changed at all baby. You still melt down when you have your chest played with.” You lean in, closing the space between you two and press a kiss on his trembling lips. “The only difference here is that you’re the prettiest,” kiss, “most whiny,” another kiss, “and cutest girl i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” and a last peck to seal your words like a spell.

Your lips leave his but the phantom sensation of your mouth against his stays. Your lips find home on his jawline, placing featherlight kisses on the milky white skin. 

“Can i take this off, raf? I might need a more serious inspection if you’re sore like that, hm?” Pinched by your fingers, the first button of his blouse comes undone, exposing more of his cleavage. “Y-yes.” Is all Rafayel answers, not much more than a shy whisper.

And that is the only sign you need to keep going. Your hands work gently but still eager to finish the job and reveal what’s under the expensive fabric. He helps you with the sleeves, accepting his fate and that even if he tried to shy away and hide, you wouldn’t let him. And how could you? Not now. Not when his perfect, spotless skin is exposed to the cool air of the living room, the sea breeze guided inside by the open windows making his nipples react at the temperature and stand tall.

Your lips, never far from his neck, kiss down his collarbones and the fat of his tits. His reactions are exactly what you’d expect, low whines and nonstop squirming under your touch. With open mouthed kisses to his areola, a cute light brown you note, you’re quick to give his nipple a playful lick, igniting a squeak from him. 

“D-don’t- do that-!” Rafaye’sl protests are ignored by your ears, while your lips suck on the sensitive pebble, your fingers pinch the other one, rolling it gently yet teasingly between your thumb and index finger.

Pop! – Is the sound your mouth makes as you let go. “Fuck..”, you eye him with hunger, and even though his eyes are squeezed shut, he seems to notice by your silence. “Stop staring. You’re ridiculous.” Of course he has to try and bite back.

“Am i now?” You kiss the corner of his lips, interrupting any petty answer he was about to give you. “Shit- need you to sit on my face. Can you do that f’me, baby? Please?” 

Rafayel feels like a virgin again, the foreign, weird and achy feeling between his legs makes his brain foggy. He wants to say no and shy away, spit a thousand bubbles at your face as he promised but he just can’t.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t freak out anyway. 

“N-no! That isn’t even your thing- i’m like, twice your size-” Before he can continue his protests, you’re already lying on your back on the big couch of his living room. “Please? Jus’ wanna let my girlfriend know how good it feels, mhm?” It is your turn to whine, beg.

He stares at you in horror but the pathetic look you give him wins. He kicks his pants and boxers off but his judgemental stare doesn’t falter. You can’t help but moan at the sight of his new, bare body. 

Rafayel was surely the prettiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and now, prettiest woman too. He sits on your lap, facing you, testing the waters, hoping it’d be enough to quiet you down. “Closer, ‘fayel.” You urge.

This time he finally gives in with no complaints, shifting on your lap and closer to your shoulders. There, he turns on his back, hovering on top of your face before you grab his plush hips and push him down impatiently.

“A-ah!- don’t just do that-” He mewls.

You taste Rafayel before you can’t even see how wet he is. Spreading his ass with both hands, you pepper his cunt with eager kisses. He trembles at the new feeling, squirming and accidentally grinding against your lips, only igniting more whines to leave his pretty lips.

Your head spins at his sounds, brain mushy with how submissive you could get him to behave, at how fucking hot he sounds and how good he tastes. 

Finally diving in, your lips suck on his folds gently while your hands, once on his ass, help his hips move against you for more constant stimulation. 

“Fu-uck!- Dun stop. Please.” Rafayel squeals before a tiny lightbulb lightens up on his head.

Rafayel leans down, trembling on top of you as he pulls down your shorts just enough so he can have access to your panties. He doesn’t take it off, doesn’t have the patience to, only pulls them to the side and greets your awaiting pussy with a kiss. 

In this whole mess, you didn’t even realize how your arousal started to build up during this whole time. Too busy with Rafayel, looking at Rafayel, teasing Rafayel. You’re sure that he — she — is the siren that will drag you to the bottom of the sea with pretty mewls and then consume you. 

As he should, you think. You’d die happily.

To the kitten licks on your clit, you shiver, parting your legs open to help him. “Getting- mgh- bold now, baby? Thought you’d let me do all the work.” Muffled by the weight on top of you, you tease anyway.

You don’t give him much space to speak, wrapping your lips around his clit and sucking at  a steady pace. You’re not able to see his reaction but his mouth lets go of your cunt, his lashes tremble and close shut in pleasure. “Gonna cum, rafe? Oh- mgh- y’er such a sweet girl, raf.” You praise sweetly. 

Rafayel really tries to keep up with you but with his mushy brain, his head only rests against your thigh while he moans lowly. His clit throbs on your tongue thanks to your gentle words, you laugh mockingly under him. “Fuck- dun’ like when i call you pretty girl  but your body tells me otherwise, love. You don’t get much from lying here, raf.”

Shut up. Is what he really wants to tell you, maybe flick your forehead and say all the petty things he can think of. His thighs shake violently and with another loud and melodic cry, Rafayel cums. 

You keep going for a little longer, kissing his folds and clit and sweet affection before a strangled whine makes you pull away. 

He helps himself out of your face, sitting on the couch with his head resting on a blue pillow with the face of someone who just came back from pound town. Rafayel doesn’t bat an eye when you manhandle him closer to your body.

His lips find yours in an instant, kissing you with need, like he just came out of the ocean for the first time and his lungs aren’t used to the summer breeze on the beach. He sucks on your tongue, swiping his own on your under lip in a sloppy kiss.

You two fight for space on the couch, now feeling a bit cramped. Rafayel’s legs tangle on yours messily and he finds himself on your lap once again, grinding and humping against you like this is exactly where he was meant to be. Smiling on his mouth, you can’t help but tease him. 

“Insatiable much? Pretty girl can’t take her hands off me hm?” You chuckle but are quickly interrupted, moaning loudly when his clit accidentally bumps on yours, which Rafayel takes advantage of.

And you let him, your only guidance being the phantom touch of your hands on his waist. “You can’t really ever keep your mouth shut, can you?” He sighs, “Not near you, ever.” 

You’re quick to cum too, with hitched breath and hips buckling under his in search of more stimulation, any moans are silenced by his lips insistently glued to yours.

Noticing your body melting on the couch cushions, Rafayel lets himself relax on top of you, too. With a last kiss to your neck, he buries his face on your shoulder blade.

“I’ll file a report about what happened later, m’kay? Dun stress.” — “Hmmm.” Is all he’s able to answer while your free hand massages his scalp, slowly drifting him off to sleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[layaispunk]

good enough

description: after a tense moment at the dance, Joel spirals into old guilt and doubt — but in the quiet of your shared home, you remind him he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. unprotected P in V. submissive joel if you squint. no y/n used. established relationship, fluff, insecure joel

wc: 2.4k

a/n: i'm still practicing at writing smut and i thought what better way to practice than with a little bit of old jackson joel ... he's got me feeling some type of way. but i am extremely sensitive and overprotective of him rn because of whats to happen, i jus wanna lock him in a room and protect him

You saw it happen before anyone else did.

The moment Seth raised his voice at Ellie and Dina, you immediately noticed Joel’s body language’s sudden change and his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

The whole hall stilled. Your chest tightened. It hurt, seeing Joel stand there - you could see the hurt behind his eyes as if he’d been slapped. Your body moved before your mind could think and immediately followed him outside. 

You found him outside, teary eyed with hunched shoulders like he was carrying a huge load of guilt and shame. Embarassed. Ridiculed. 

“Joel,” you said softly.

He exhaled through his nose, low and tired. “She hates me.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to ground him.  “She doesn’t. She’s just angry because she wanted to handle it herself.”

He finally looked at you then. “I just wanted to keep her safe,” he said, voice thick. “Always do.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, honey.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his. He let you. “We already talked about this, Joel. I know your first instinct is to attack,” you whispered, reaching for the grey curls on the back of his head, combing through them slowly. “I know how you feel, but you’re not going to fail Ellie too, I promise, Joel.” 

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief that never learned how to stay buried. But ever since Sarah, Joel had carried this silent promise within himself -  that if he couldn’t save Sarah, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to save someone else’s.

Trying to save Ellie. Even when she didn’t want him to. Even when it cost him. 

He didn’t respond. You kept your fingers threaded through his hair for a moment longer, just breathing next to eachother was enough. Then you leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and whispered against his skin, “Alright, cowboy. Let’s get you home.”

The weight in his chest had lifted just a little when he left out a soft laugh. Your fingers stayed laced with his as you turned and started walking together, boots crunching lightly over snow-dusted dirt. He stayed close, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing grounding him and not making him think about the mess he'd left behind.

The walk home was quiet. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often. In the way he kept glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. He didn’t quite understand how someone could stay after seeing all his broken pieces.

He sighed a little when the porch light came into view. When you stepped into the house, it was warm from the fire you'd left going. Familiar. Safe. You slipped off your jacket, turning to look at him, but he just stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now.

“Come on,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “Let’s get you ready for bed, hm?”

He didn’t argue. Just let you lead him to the bathroom to take a nice warm shower and wash the day off.

The steam rose quickly as the water warmed under your hands, making sure the temperature was perfect for him. Warm enough to loosen the knots on his shoulders, but not scorching. You undressed him slowly, letting your fingers linger over each scar, each line that marked his survival.

He undressed you too, hands rough and calloused but soft, brushing down your arms like he was doing sensory grounding exercises you taught him for when he’s feeling anxious.

When you stepped under the water together, he exhaled. You reached for the bottle of floral shampoo he secretely liked - soft lavender, and poured a little into your palm. He closed his eyes when you started working it into his hair, letting himself lean into your touch like he hadn’t let himself do all day.

“Don’t know how you put up with me,” he mumbled, voice thick.

“Easy,” you whispered. “I love you.”

He cracked one eye open, looked at you like he didn’t quite believe it. You smiled and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then cupped his face in your hands. “You’re always takin’ care of everyone around you, Joel. Let me take care of you for once.”

When you were done, you dried off slowly, wrapping Joel in one of the thick towels you always made sure were clean and folded. He let you fuss over him, didn’t even try to stop you. He just stood there, heavy and quiet, letting your hands do the talking. That alone told you how tired he was.

In bed, he lowered himself on his side with his back turned to you at first — not because he was upset, just.. used to holding things in. Used to thinking he had to process it alone.

But you weren’t going to let him. You never did. You slipped in behind him, resting your chest against his back, one arm curling around his waist. And after a few minutes, he turned toward you. Slow, hesitant. Your hands immediately found his hair once again, running your fingers through it gently, still a bit damp and smelling like lavender. He closed his eyes, jaw finally resting. “I’m proud of you, Joel,” you whispered. “You did what you thought was right. You always do.”

His hand found yours beneath the sheets. Gave it a squeeze. He’d gone quiet again, always noticing the smallest changes in his body language when he has something going on in his head. You gently nudged his chin up so he’d look at you. 

“What’s wrong?”

He hesitated. “Jus’ thinkin’.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Wanna talk about it?”

Joel looked at you for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, eyes dropping to the space between you.

“I don’t feel like I’m good enough for you. And for Ellie.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, voice rough. “Ellie’s growin’ up. Don’t want me stickin’ my nose in her business anymore. It’s not even about that, it jus’ feels so sudden, y’know? And you…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “You’re still young. Strong. Capable. Still got so much life in ya. There’s things I can’t… do, anymore. Not like I used to.” 

You quickly realized he was referring to the intimate moments you shared together. Sometimes, when his shoulder starts to hurt, he can’t last a long time on top of you. You absolutely adored being on top and taking control, but he thought he was just being a burden. There were times where he couldn’t keep his dick hard, or couldn’t orgasm at all. You didn’t think anything of it. Not at all. As long as he was comfortable and safe, that was all that mattered to you. But that’s not what his mind was telling him. 

He glanced at you then. “And I know it ain’t all about that. But it matters. And I just—” His voice cracked. “—just want to be good enough for you.” 

You let the silence hold for a second before you touched his face again, guiding him gently to meet your eyes.

“Joel,” you said softly, “you are more than enough. There’s not a damn thing about you that makes you less of a man. Not to me. Not to Ellie.”

Joel’s eyes dropped to where your hands rested against his chest. His voice was quieter this time. Barely there. “I don’t even know how you still want to be with me.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?” He shook his head slowly. “We were different ten years ago. My back hurts. I’m slow. My knees ache, I got lines on my face I don’t even recognize. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I barely see myself anymore.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. “I look at you,” he said, eyes flicking up to yours, “And you’re still so... full of life. Still got that light in you. And I feel like I’m lettin’ you waste it on an old man you gotta take care of.”

Your heart cracked. You knew he had some issues with his self-esteem recently, but you didn’t expect he’d open up to you this way. You reached up and cupped his face again, your thumb brushing the scar on his right temple.

“You’re still my Joel,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

He tried to shake his head and look away, but you didn’t let him. You leaned in, close enough that your forehead touched his, your voice gentle but sure.

“When I say I love you, I mean I love all of you. I love massaging your back, I love crushing up your medication. I love every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair. You think that time made you less, but it’s only made me love you more, Joel.”

He let out a shaky breath, trembling through his chest. You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair again.

With your voice low and warm, you added, “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t look at you and feel it. I still want you. All the damn time.” He smiled. 

You wanted nothing more than to please him and show him just how much you wanted him, despite what he thought. You tilted your head. “Move back, cowboy.”

Joel raised a brow. “What’re you—?”

But you were already climbing on top of him, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world - because it was. 

“I like it here,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Feels good.”

Joel’s hands found your hips automatically, like a reflex. His shoulders relaxed beneath your touch, and his eyes fluttered shut when your fingers threaded gently through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You rested your forehead against his, noses brushing, and began to softly grind on him — slow, soft motions, making sure he wanted this just as much as you do. Just enough to remind him that yes, you loved being on top.

His grip on your hips tightened slightly, like he needed that contact to hold himself together.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Your hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his pijama slowly. You undid them one by one, not looking away from his eyes when they finally opened again. He watched you like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he blinked.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered against his skin. “Just let me love you.”

When his shirt was open, you let your hands rest over his heart for a second, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your palms. Then, still straddling him, you reached down to the waistband of his briefs, asking for permission with your eyes. You helped him shift enough to slide them down his hips, leaving him with nothing on, the rest of his body warm and solid beneath yours. Then your hands reached for the hem of your own shirt, pulling it off over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you with nothing but your now soaked panties, and still rocking your hips back and forth, grinding on his length.

Joel’s hand came up to touch the scar on your chest, grazing it with his thumb with featherlight care. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to it — slow, lingering — his beard scratching gently against your skin, his lips soft with admiration, which sent a pulse of heat between your legs. He continued to press light kisses all over your chest, softly grazing your nipples. You opened your mouth slightly and let out a soft moan to let him know he was doing good. You were trying to get his self-esteem back. The thought of him being insecure was eating you from the inside.

His breathing had grown shallow and uneven, each exhale a silent confession, “Can I touch you a lil’ bit?” he begged as he reached for your white cotton panties, waiting for your consent to pull them to the side. You nodded, leaning down to kiss his neck, “Yes, baby.” 

Your pleasure was his pleasure — and ever since you’d teasingly confessed how much you loved the way he touched you with his fingers, it had driven him wild. 

You were moaning softly against his neck as his soft fingers were rubbing small circles on your clit. He adored the way your body reacted to him. “Jesus christ, darlin’,” he rasped, “Look’t you, so beautiful.”

The words hit you, feeling like electricity in your belly. Without hesitation, you lowered yourself onto him with practiced ease, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His eyes were shut, “so warm,” he muttered, as you kept the pace gentle, sensually kissing him from his chest all the way to his forehead. 

His breathing was uneven, moaning softly as you rocked on top of him. His hands were gripping your waist and he was whimpering beneath you. His hips lifted beneath you, jerking forwards to match your pace and fuck into you. 

“Jus’ like that, Joel. Fuck,” you moaned, your voice coming out hoarse as your fingers gripped the curls on the back of his head.  Your hips moved in a steady rhythm, breath hitching as you moved your hips and sunk deeper into him, the air turning warm and heavy. His eyes were shut, mouth slightly open. You loved seeing him fall apart like this. 

Your head tilted forward, touching his forehead, “i’m so close, Joel,” you gasped, as he was moaning softly beneath you. He continued to rub slow circles on your clit, knowing you don’t always climax when it’s just penetration. So sweet, and so considerate.

You lost your steady pace, hips now moving with a desperation you couldn’t control, and your orgasm hit you like shockwaves. Your release came at the same time, bodies trembling in perfect synchronization. You collapsed against him, both of your breathing erratic as you tried to catch up with gasps as the waves of pleasure slowly faded. 

Your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heart still fast paced. His arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of you yet.

You sighed against his skin, one of those quiet, contented sounds that only came after being seen, touched, loved in full.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of Joel’s head. “I’m right here,” you mumbled, voice low and gravelly with sleep. “M’not goin’ anywhere, alright?”

ty for reading! check out my masterlist!

[ochacoca]

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED

♫ now playing - everything has changed by taylor swift

bakugou x reader

word count: 1,605 words

IN WHICH the school festival makes your childhood friend see you in a different light

y/n was surprised at how quickly it took to convince katsuki to join her and the rest of the class. usually, the blond goblin would whine and complain if she tried dragging him anywhere and would flat out refuse. it was almost pointless to even waste her breath trying to ask, but he barely even put up a fight.

“how much damn time does it take you to get ready?” a gruff voice called out from behind her. y/n let out a short yelp, turning around to see the intruder that made himself into her room. katsuki was sat on the bed, elbows on his knees as he stared at her with an unimpressed gaze.

she huffed at the audacity of him. “god! have you ever heard of knocking?! you made me mess up my eyeliner..” y/n whined, lightly whipping the part that trickled against her eyelid.

“i DID knock! you just didn't hear it with this lame music you got on.” he argued back with her and got up from his place on her bed to turn off her radio. “seriously, why do you have this thing blasting?”

y/n rolled her eyes as she continued to get herself ready. “well sorry... let a girl do her makeup in peace.”

katsuki rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the 5 minute span he'd been in her room. he knelt down beside her and put his face directly against hers, making eye contact with her through the mirror. “we're gonna be late y'know? to the event YOU helped plan.”

“you didn't even wanna go!” she argued back with him.

“and YOU made me,” he said while pointing an accusatory finger at her. “so let's go waste time at this stupid festival than waiting for your slow ass.”

“it all came together so perfectly!” ochaco exclaimed, spinning around as she took in the nicely decorated festival. the group had been planning this event for quite some time, so seeing it all unfold just how they imagined took some weight off their shoulders.

the street was filled with stalls and different games, decorated with a number of balloons and lights strung across.

“i know, right?!” mina agreed as the bright light made her eyes look like stars.

denki, already distracted, was the first one to run off. shouting incoherent words of excitement as a couple others followed closely behind him.

shortly after the class had arrived, they quickly dispersed to do their own thing. izuku was pulling off todoroki to the goldfish scooping stall, sero and kirishima sprinted to the haunted house, mina and jirou went to the ring toss game, ochaco and tsuyu were eyeing the mochi stand, and the rest did god knows what.

which left y/n and katsuki together in the bustling street.

“so…” she started. “whatcha wanna do?”

katsuki shrugged as he took in the sight. the lights were making his head hurt and the loud noises were irritating him. if it's to make her happy, i guess.. he thought. “i dunno. what can we do?”

she glanced around, taking in every spot before listing off their options. “well, there's a lot of stuff we can do. we go play the water gun game, ring toss, yo-yo tsuri..” she elongated everything she listed, counting each activity on her finger.

y/n barely took a breath as she continued her ranting. “oh, and the food! i’m starving! they have takoyaki, dango, yakisoba..”

katsuki opened his mouth to reply, but failed to get a single word in as she gasped and belted—

“candied fruit!”

and ran off to the stall with a trail of dust following her.

he blinked, frozen in place from how quickly she bolted off and how far she'd gotten in just 2 seconds. “what the hell‐ wait up!” he huffed then started following the path she took, grumbling watered down insults to her.

by the time katsuki caught up with her, the street vendor was already handing her the candied fruit. her eyes gleamed as she took it in her hand and gave the person her money.

“i didn't know if you were gonna like it so i got one for both of us.” she explained then held up the caramalized strawberry up to his lips. “try it.”

looking at the fruit with an unimpressed glance, katsuki bit down, the sugar cracking between his teeth and melting into a smooth caramel. he jerked his head back with a look of disdain as he harshly swallowed.

“ugh..” he grumbled. “way too sweet.”

“really?” y/n questioned, titling her head as she eyed the skewer. with no hesitation, she takes a bite, from the exact same place katsuki had bitten it from.

he froze.

the way she chewed it so innocently after showed that she was completly oblivious to what she had just did.

what the-

that was basically a-

what the fuck?

he felt an intense heat rising up his face, his eyes blown out wide and an unfamiliar knot tightening his chest as he struggled to form a sentence. “it is pretty sweet.. still good though!” she said as she continued to eat it.

katsuki was still trying to process what happened when y/n took a longing gaze at his face, her eyes flickering to his lips. “you have sugar all over your face.”

“hah?”

“i said you have sugar all over your face.”

she stuck out her thumb, reaching up and gently wiping the corner of his mouth. he barely even had time to react before she licked the crystals off her finger.

what the fuck

katsuki felt paralyzed, and the heat that already overtook his face inflamed his whole body. the warmth of her touch still lingered on his skin, sending his heart racing to a pace he couldn't control.

is this what it felt like? is this the feeling that those stupid rom-coms y/n made him watch were talking about? the one that those shitty love songs she listened to sang of?

but before he could grasp whatever the hell he was feeling—

“suki, the lantern releasing is starting! let's go!” she exclaimed happily, lightly taking his wrist and dragging him through the crowd of people.

usually when y/n would grab onto him, katsuki would throw a fuss and demand her to let him go just for her not to listen. y/n's fingers were tied so firmly yet so gently around his wrist as she dragged him to the lanterns.

but the feeling in his chest was so different this time. it wasn't annoyance but… admiration? he wasn't seeing the chubby cheeked 5 year old he knew before, the one who constantly had a scraped knee from the playground, or the girl who was missing almost all her baby teeth, the adult ones just barely growing in.

no, he was seeing her.

the glow of the golden lights reflected off the waters as hundreds of lanterns floated away towards the night sky. the festival was full of life; laughter was coming from every direction and small chatter of the people surrounding them filled katsuki's ears. but due to his recent discovery of his feelings, it felt like he and y/n were the only ones there.

y/n laid on her stomach as she lightly traced the brush over her lantern, still deciding on what she wanted to write on it. katsuki finished his ages ago, slightly tilting it so she wouldn't be able to see what he had written. “would you hurry up? everyone's leaving already.” he grumbled impatiently.

she rolled her eyes and looked at katsuki with a frown on her face. “hold on, would you? i'm almost done.”

katsuki involuntarily drank in all of her features. the luminosity of the candles hugged every crevice of her face, making her look ten times alluring than she already does.

as y/n focused on her writing, there was a certain piece of hair on that kept going into her eye. she continued to move it behind her ear frustratingly. maybe if he moved it out of her face, just carefully—

“done!” she said cheerfully, and katsuki quickly retracted his hand before she could notice.

“finally,” he sighed. “let's get it over with.”

the pair grabbed their lanterns and made their way to the edge of the lake. most of the lanterns had already floated away, but there were still a couple of people who were just sending away their lanterns. “see? we aren't the only people here. i didn't take that long.”

katsuki let out a light scoff and fought an inner battle to keep the growing smile off his face. “whatever. you ready?” he asked as he lit the small candle inside the lantern, leaning over and lighting hers up too.

they released them, and the lanterns slowly drift off in the distance. they lightly wobbled in the air before eventually catching the rhythm of the wind and rising up, making their way to join the countless other wishes that had been sent off that night.

“i hope my wish comes true.” her gazed was stuck on the way the lanterns floated around, looking like bigs stars in the sky travelling on their way to become part of the universe.

but katsuki's gaze wasn't on the sky, nor on the fireworks that shot up far in the distance. it was on her.

“yeah,” he agreed “me too.”

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms

A/N: sometimes your guys' blog don't pop up when i press @ so if it doesn't notify you I'M SORRY

TAGLIST: @babycheech @bangersplusmash @kalulakunundrum @sypnasis @forkfullofsugar @miaeluvrr @themultifandomgirl @charlotterosea13 @boojaynaqueen @slutforsturniolo @supernerdycookietrashblrr @wonubby @00heartless @zaiban2989 @ita606 @saturna03 @toriiee @g-cf2020 @plutoxxxworld @idolcncert @zombiitchslife @katsuisbaby @secretlilli @un-limit-edd @lilac-heartz @iridescencefae @emmab3mma @supremeleader24 @speedydonutbailiffclod

[kyri45]

Kyri!!

I am fucking vibrating!

In my FanFic serious The Westward Sun.

(Still a WIP so it's not posted)

MK finds out he's Macaque and Wukong's son by, and lets run through the list here:

1: accidentally manipulating his shadow, 2: finding a second pair of ears while washing dust out of his mane after training his monkey form, and 3: realising that practically speed running through the training that THE Sun Wukong spent literal years learning isn't really possible if you don't already possess the magic.

So he confronts Nüwa.

(Haven't figured out how, again, still a WIP)

And, after quite literally screaming at her for answers, she goes on to explain the nature of Order and Chaos.

(Because he definitely needs a culture/ history lesson whilst in the middle of an existential crisis.)

One can not exist without the other.

To have true Chaos, you must maintain a semblance Order. To have true Order, you must maintain a semblance of Chaos.

There must be a Method to the Madness and a sense of Madness within the Method.

It's the Balance of the Universe, so to speak.

So, to create a true Harbinger of Chaos. She'd have to combine the two elements of that balance.

The nature of Order and Chaos is:

Energetic and Calm.

Impulsive and Rational.

Open and Reserved.

Bold and Soft.

Careless and Cautious.

Optimistic and Pessimistic.

Abrasive and Gentle.

Like the Sun and the Moon

Now, after that explaination, MK points out that, since she doesn't need exsisting life to make new life, she easily could've done all of that combining the elements thing without actually using the energies of two monkey men with the biggest "divorced couple" vibe in the Universe.

So why?

(Actual exerpt from the chapter below)

~~~

She hummed at the question, raising a hand and tapping at her chin, just under her bottom lip, with her index knuckle as a thoughtful expression graced her face. Her eyes, curious and gentle, examined the little monkey before her, studying him in a way that, for some fucking reason entirely unbeknownst to him, could only be described as sympathetic.

After what seemed like years, her eyebrows flew to the nonexistent ceiling above them, as if she had reqched an unexpected epiphany. Eventually, a chuckle left her, followed by another, then another, and more until Nüwa's voice had disolved into pleasant laughter. It was warm and sweet, wafting through the empty air like the scent of fresh bread.

MK felt his shoulders relax, feeling at ease with the sudden change in atmosphere as the Goddess' laughter increased, every giggle and snort bouncing against the nonexistent walls surrounding them.

"You know-" She paused, allowing a bubble of laughter to pass her lips "-it's the funniest thing!" Another giggle.

She placed a hand on her chest, smiling at him.

"I... I don't really know myself!" She didn't even try to bite back the giggle escaping her, eyes once again studying him, this time with care.

"It just felt right."

Mk went to respond, mouth opening and closing in confusion, like a fish.

Only to find himself back in his room in the blink of an eye.

Literally.

"Holy shit... Mei's gonna flip."

~~~

I've been working on The Westward Sun ever since S3 came out and did a whole lot of rewriting after S4 & 5, so I was super proud of that idea.

And then I got distracted, and a little overwhelmed, and worried that it might've been a bit of a stretch.

You have no fucking idea how excited I got when reading this and the previous chapter! I was vibrating!

Like:

"Yes! I'm not the only one who had this idea! It's not as far-fetched as I was worrying it was! I'm so fucking excited!"

And now here I am.

Also, just reading the comic has helped me improve my drawing skills. Do you have any idea how easy it is to draw clothing wrinkles now? I used to have so much trouble getting wrinkles to look nice, and failing because they ended looking too detailed, then I experimented with the way you draw them (which I assume is roughly inspired by Studio Ghibli films)

And it's fucking easy now!?

You're a beautiful human being.

Have a nice day.

❤️🧡💛���💙💜

This is an absolutely beautiful explaination on how Chaos can work!! I wanna steal that (joking, I wont of course) but I'll definetely tag you and link this post if anyone ask me how chaos magic work because you describe it beautifully!

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤtutoring seshㅤ﹏

NOW STARRING : adrien x bottom m!reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤtutor sesh w/ your deliquent situationship but he can't focus on the studying, only you!

✙ warnings — parents are home , manhandling(?) , obsessive 'n a little pervy adrien , slight hair pulling , bodyworship(?) , Adrien is a little silly in this fic

notes ,, this was supposed to be short but I got carried away ^^;

Adrien had called you over to his house for a "tutoring session." For past few weeks, Adrien has been near-failing practically every single class except for gym class and whatnot. Realising he needed to improve his grades or he'll never graduate with you, he called you on one faithful evening to come over and help him study.

Obviously you complied; it was nice to see Adrien showing some sort of motivation to improve, so you changed into some casual clothes and began to walk to his house. You had prepared your laptop, pencil case, and textbooks, all ready to put in a few hours of tutoring. When you arrived at his front door, you grazed the back of your knuckles against the wood and knocked once or twice, expecting Adrien to show up with a proud smirk like he always did.

But it wasn't Adrien. When the door swung open, you saw his mother. You've only seen her once or twice but never up-close like this. The words caught in your throat as you clutched the straps of your bags, trying to find the words that never came. As if heaven answered your prayers, you saw Adrien jogging down the stairs and to the door, leaning on the door frame with his arm held above his head.

"You came," He grinned, taking the bag from your shoulders as he pulled you inside by your wrist. He helped you take off your shoes cinderella style and neatly placed them beside the doorway. He was awfully caring right now. Your hands felt crammy as you took a glance at Adrien's mother watching the two of you interact, a small blush dusted your ears while you quickly turned away. It must've looked like you were dating with the way she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, mom, we'll be in my room if you'd excuse us," Adrien flashed a toothy smile at his mother before snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. As he walked you up the stairs, Adrien found an opportunity to tease you, "You nervous meeting my mom?" He asked, squeezing your sides playfully. You shoot him an unamused gaze and he lets out a hearty chuckle from that. Adrien's hand wrapped around his gold doorknob, twisting it before he halted for a second. "Uh, wait here for a second, I gotta clean up my room," he didn't even wait for a response before slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

"Shit," Adrien muttered under his breath as he quickly shoved the polaroids and photos of you from his desk and into his drawer. He couldn't let you see how god damn obsessed he was about you. He couldn't let you see the photos of yourself stained with a white sheen, no, he wouldn't want to scare you off.

Adrien finally emerged from his room, pushing the door wide open for you to come in with a smile. You didn't question it. As you walked in, you were instantly hit with the scent of his cologne and natural musk. It wasn't a strong enough scent to burn your nose but it would still take you awhile to get used to it. Besides the scent, Adrien's bedroom was relatively clean for a guy who was titled 'the school deliquent.' He had a few sports posters plastered on the walls and his shelf had a few trophies from his childhood. You spotted the baseball bat leaned up against the wall alongside with the volleyball and basketball resting next to eachother. Adrien was sure athletic.

As you two sat down beside your desk, you pulled out all the equipment needed for studying and turned to Adrien, "What do you wanna study?" You asked him and got a small shrug in response. Well, why not start with biology since you conveniently happen to have a textbook that covered the subject.

Around 30 minutes pasted and you were diligently teaching him about human anatomy, glancing over to see him nodding once or twice. You thought it was going well but Adrien on the other hand... He was too focused on the way your hands glided against the pages, tapping the pen against the paper rhythmically, and how your eyes fluttered to him ever so often. Shit, he was horny as hell right now. Just the thought of those hands intertwining with his as he fucks the intelligence out of you is enough to get his blood pumping to the wrong places.

"Adrien? Are you listening?" Your voice snaps him out of his twisted fantasies and he leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping down to a whisper, "You know, I'm a hands-on, visual learner..." That shit-eating grin spread across his face as Adrien pat his lap enticingly, trying to draw your attention to the print in his sweatpants. But knowing you, you wouldn't give in so easily — you were called here to tutor him, not anything else.

"Just answer one more question and I'll—" Before you could even finish your sentence, Adrien's arms wrapped around your waist and he hoisted you up from the chair, practically slinging you over his shoulder. His forearms flexed around you, making sure you didn't fall before placing you on his bed, the mattress dipped from the sudden weight. "Try to be quiet 'kay? My parents are home," He nipped at the shell of your ear before hastily undoing your belt and sliding your pants off. Did he care that his parents could come in at any moment? No, but it was much more exciting to see you try and keep quiet.

"Can we kiss?" Adrien's voice was almost whiny, his eyelashes batted at you innocently — even though he was far from innocent. Nonetheless, you didn't respond, you've set certain boundaries that prevented you and him from getting attached (even though you may or may not have broken it a couple of times). "No," it was a simple, sharp answer that Adrien grumbled at. He understood where you were coming from, he was a bad influence and you were this goody-two-shoes. But he couldn't deny the part of him that wanted something more than just meaningless flings. He huffed, murmuring a small, "How can I study the muscles of a tongue then?"

Scooping you up back into his arms, Adrien ignored your small protests and shifted your position so that your stomach would lay flat against his bed. His hands met the back of yours, pinning you down as he slotted each of his fingers in the spaces between yours. "What happened to studying, Adrien?" Your scolds were muffled by Adrien's pillow and seemed to fall short of his ears. As he held you down, he grinded his hips against your ass, groaning softly from the pure excitement he felt. It had been a few months since he was about to get his hands on you, your pictures just wasn't as good as the real thing.

"Calvin klein hm?" Adrien chuckled softly, trailing his hands from the back of your palm, to your shoulders, down your spine, and to the waistband of your boxers, "Next time don't wear anything." His fingers hooked the elastic before pulling it down and off your legs. You couldn't see what he was doing from your position, and every touch made your skin jump, he was so unpredictable. His fingers traced the curve of your ass before spreading them apart to see your hole. "This is the anus right?" He asked, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"—Yes," you hesitated to answer him, he was obviously playing games with you, but there was no harm in humoring him. You heard the faint rustling of clothes before you felt something prod at your entrance. You sucked in through your teeth, was he seriously going to do this with no lube? "Sorry, don't got any on me right now." It was like he read your mind and instead dipped his head down to lick a stripe over your hole. It tickled, and your body naturally jerked away from it before he grabbed your hips and held them down one more. Weirdo.

He shuffled behind you, placing two knees on either side of your legs and his fingers angled your hips a little bit up. The slight burn of Adrien pushing into you made your fingers curl around his pillow, gripping it like your life depended on it. He slowly pushed in, filling you up until his hips met your ass. Even if your skin was flushed against his, Adrien pushed impossibly deeper inside of you until he could feel his tip press against your prostate. His hands tightened around your waist, stopping you from squirming and forcing you to take it.

"Is this your prostate?" He asked, his voice slightly trembled from the pleasure that coursed his veins, he was trying so hard to control himself. This time you ignore him, you know well that he knew. From the lack of a response, Adrien let out a breathy laugh before he finally decided to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming into you. Your eyes flew open and your knuckles grew pale from how hard you were holding onto his pillow, your whines were muffled quite well, thankfully.

Adrien groaned ruggedly as he pounded you into his bed, the headboard knocked on his wall with every thrust. "You're being so quiet," He chuckled, reaching a hand out to ruffle your hair affectionate before moving to grab your hand. You couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic enough with the way he kept slamming into you like it was a punishment. Everytime he pulled out, he cooed at the way your hole would suck him back in like it missed him. "Fuck, I just can't with you," He let out a shaky breath as he rolled his hips against you, pushing further and further, trying to reach places he couldn't before.

He was reaching so deep that tears began to blur your vision, everything felt so overwhelming but numb at the same time. He leaned down to press kisses on your knuckles as he held your hand tightly under his own. His hips were relentless, slapping against yours, you were sure he'd leave your bruised and sore tomorrow. It was like he completely forgot they weren't alone in his house. In fact, Adrien's fingers moved from your hand to your hair, threading them through each strand and grabbing a handful, tugging it gently so your head would lift from the pillow.

"Kiss?" He asked once more, his lips already ghosting over yours. At this point you didn't care, all you could feel was how Adrien was throbbing inside you and how your dick rubbed against his white sheets with every thrust. "Fine," you exhale and he took the opportunity almost immediately, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss as he pulled your hair back for more access. His tongue pushed past your lips, exploring your mouth while simultaneously keeping your moans contained.

The dim lighting, the way your eyes fluttered and threatened to roll back, his dick pulsing inside you, it was all too much for his perverted brain. "Gonna cum," he muttered against your lips, biting on your bottom lip. He his hands return to your hips and his head falls over your shoulder. You could feel your own orgasm building up as your body started to squirm, you cock growing sensitive from the constant rubbing against Adrien's sheets. Adrien paused his thrusting just to pull out completely and shove himself back in, causing a loud whine rip from your throat and you body jolting.

Your cum splattered across the bed as Adrien smiled against your shoulder, keeping you from squirming as he came inside you, filling you with his semen. With a few more wet thrusts, Adrien finally stilled, watching as his own cum bubbled around his dick as he nestled deep inside you. "We should do this again, hm? Next time we can study our chemistry," his arms snaked up your body to wrap them around your shoulders, capturing you in a bear hug as he looked up at you with a goofy smile.

"What's with you and being so corny?" You groan, pushing his face away from you.

a/n: i luv adrien sosososo much ... wish he real ,, also not sure if he was a bit ooc here ,, a bit sillier than usual but I hope you guys like it ♡

[charchev]

Blue Lock characters when the reader runs their hands through their hair!

bllkxgn!reader

Nagi Seishiro

Nagi leaned into your touch like a lazy cat, his eyes half-lidded as you combed your fingers through his silvery locks. “Mm, feels nice,” he muttered, voice drowsy, as though he was seconds from falling asleep. He didn’t move, except for the occasional tilt of his head to guide your hand to where he wanted. “Keep going,” he murmured, utterly relaxed. “It’s too much of a hassle to stop now.”

Rin Itoshi

Rin stiffened the moment your fingers brushed his hair. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sharp despite the faint redness dusting his ears. But when you didn’t stop, his gaze softened ever so slightly, though his expression stayed guarded. He sighed, barely audible. “Just… don’t mess it up,” he mumbled, his eyes flicking to the side as if to hide his face from you.

Sae Itoshi

Sae arched an eyebrow as you ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re awfully bold, huh?” he teased, though there was no malice in his tone. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he leaned back slightly, allowing you better access. “I guess I’ll let you, just this once,” he said, his voice smooth, though the way his eyes lingered on you suggested he was enjoying this far more than he let on.

Yoichi Isagi

Isagi froze, his face flushing immediately as you started playing with his hair. “W-what are you doing?” he stammered, trying but failing to hide how flustered he was. When he realized you weren’t stopping, he gave up, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I guess it’s fine,” he mumbled, his cheeks still pink. But he couldn’t stop the small, shy smile that tugged at his lips.

Bachira Meguru

Bachira practically purred, tilting his head into your hand like he was starved for attention. “Hehehe, this is fun!” he giggled, his golden eyes shining with delight. “Go on, more! I bet you can make me fall asleep like this.” His grin widened as he reached up to tug at your wrist playfully. “You better not get bored, okay? I wanna keep this up forever!”

Reo Mikage

Reo blinked in surprise when your fingers slipped through his hair, but he quickly adjusted, his confidence kicking in. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a playful smirk, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his composure. He leaned closer, resting his chin in his hand. “You know, if you like my hair so much, I wouldn’t mind you doing this more often,” he said casually, though his eyes were warm and earnest.