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quin-ns · 5 months

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Eventually (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: Coriolanus could appreciate irony, but the one person he desires more than anything wanting nothing to do with him pushes him to new territory

Tags: (18+), cw: noncon, dark!coriolanus, deeply implied stalker!coriolanus, unreliable narrator coriolanus (boy is delusional tbh, no one is doing more mental gymnastics than him), pre-mentor era, obsession, unprotected sex, choking (only for like a second), virginity status undisclosed but as I was writing I began to imagine this being the first time for both of them—it’s not even implied tho, so do with that what you will

A/N: a character as evil as him I couldn’t conceive writing fluff for. he’s bad and guess what I’m not gonna fix him, but I also can’t make him not-hot so… hehe. please read the tags and proceed with caution <3

hunger games masterlist

You wanted nothing to do with him, and that made him crazy.

No, if anything, you were the crazy one. Coriolanus hadn’t done anything but try to be your friend, but you snubbed him without reason.

Coriolanus did a good job at keeping the financial situation of his family a secret. No one knew, and he doubted you were an exception. Yet, it was as if you looked down upon him.

Although, you’d grown fond of Sejanus, so even if you did know, status wasn’t a concern of yours. It was something he admired, yet questioned all at once. There had to be a reason for your dismissal. A reason you couldn’t bring yourself to even offer a smile back. It’s not like he was asking a lot.

It’s not like he wasn’t trying, either. He’d gotten used to trying to make people like him, to see him as better than he was, but it was never this hard. It would’ve been so much simpler if you just told him to his face what your problem was, but whenever he came around, mostly when you were talking to Sejanus—they were friends, it was the perfect excuse—you just went quiet. You’d greet him, make no effort to continue the conversation, then excuse yourself.

All Coriolanus wanted to know was why.

“You’re watching her again,” Clemensia whispered to him, eyes flicking between him and the paper in front of her.

They were class partners, but Coriolanus was beginning to think he spent too much time with her.

“Who?”

Clemensia let out a small chuckle, mocking him. The professor at the front of the class looked up, and Coriolanus quickly looked down at his paper, taking his eyes off of you.

“You’re too obvious,” she muttered, a smirk in her voice. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you. Because you stare at her too much.”

She didn’t get a response—it didn’t deserve one. Coriolanus questioned why he ever told her anything. She made him sound like some sort of stalker. Which, for the record, he was not.

His eyes managing to find you frequently wasn’t a crime, and neither was crossing your path. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence most of the time, but it’s not as if he was harming you by watching you. He doubted you noticed anyway.

Seeing you nearly everyday had been enough to keep him sated, but then Sejanus started talking about you. Through no fault of his own, Coriolanus learned things about you. What he came to know made him curious to discover more. Even if you did not seem keen to let him.

Being content with what he had didn’t keep its appeal for long. Not when you were right there, your presence taunting him. Making him want what you would not let him have.

“You just need to talk to her, Coryo,” Tigris told him one evening, when he revealed everything to her. “Not in class and not with Sejanus. Just you. Let her know the real you and I promise she’ll like what she sees.”

Coriolanus took his cousin’s advice to heart. She was much more empathetic than him, she had to be onto something, right?

Everything changed when Coriolanus sat across from you at a study table in the library.

As beautiful as you were from a distance, being up close was something else entirely. He could admire you for hours and never get tired.

You looked up at him, he smiled and said hello just like Tigris advised. The smile you returned seemed forced, and you ignored that he had spoken.

It upset him, but not as much as when you got up and walked out. It was the last straw. Coriolanus was following you into the hall before he could think better of it.

He caught up to you, dropping his hand to your shoulder to make you turn around and face him. When you did, you looked surprised. That wasn’t what made Coriolanus hesitate, but the realization that he had never been this close to you before. Not even sitting across from you compared to touching you.

His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you want?” you questioned, a level of annoyance he thought to be unearned in your voice.

His heart started again.

“Have I done something to you?” Coriolanus confronted you, feeling a familiar sense of agitation creep over him. He had to know. “To make you feel such distaste for me?”

“I don’t dislike you, Coriolanus,” you replied, calmly after recovering from your initial shock. “I’m just… indifferent to you.”

The answer confused him more than it did enrage him. He smothered the latter feeling as he observed you.

“You’re… indifferent,” he stated, not asking. His feet shifted beneath him. It hurt, for some reason. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying him. It was the same way you’d look at your books when you were struggling with a subject, lingering behind in class or the library until a triumphant smile crossed your face.

Only, that smile never came. Your expression just faded back to normal.

“You shouldn’t put so much weight on what other people think of you,” you advised, stepping closer to him. His breath caught in his chest. You smelled sweet, like flowers. “Especially not someone you don’t even know.”

It was then, he realized, you hadn’t moved closer to him with purpose. You’d been on your way moving past him. His eyes focused on your back as you walked away, figuring out what to say.

“I’d like to know you,” he announced earnestly, verbally trying to pull you back. “If you’d only give me a chance.”

You slowed to a stop, looking over your shoulder. Coriolanus felt as if he was on display as your eyes raked over him, determining for yourself his sincerity.

“You’re friends with Sejanus, aren’t you?” you wondered. It wasn’t what he expected, but Coriolanus nodded. You sighed, which irked him to think it was pity. “If you’d like to join us for lunch I wouldn’t be against that.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, but you were already turning away. He kept to himself that he had already tried in the past.

His friend was nice. Too nice for his own good, truthfully. It wasn’t as if Sejanus completely abandoned him the moment he befriended you. It was more like he split his time, attending to both friendships. The only thing Coriolanus held against him was that he never tried to reintroduce the two of you. Maybe even put in a good word.

At lunch Coriolanus found you and Sejanus quickly, he knew where you liked to sit.

“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus greeted, smiling. “About time you decided to join us.”

Coriolanus put on a smile as he sat down. “Well, I would’ve sooner, but I wasn’t sure I was welcome before.”

The comment made you smirk, in on the joke as Coriolanus looked at you.

“Who’s to say you are now?” you sarcastically replied, as if you hadn’t been the one to invite him.

Well, “invite” was being generous, but he still seized the opportunity nonetheless.

“Ignore her, she can’t help herself,” Sejanus said with a chuckle, used to your humor.

This time, when he tried to talk to you, you engaged. In between discussions of classes and assignments, Coriolanus had to dodge your quick wit.

He liked the challenge, and the next day, he went back for more. Even walked right past Clemanisa and Arachne, who tried to invite him to their table with Festus. You were waiting for him.

He noticed you and Sejanus already talking.

When he sat across from you, you raised your brows. “Seeking refuge?”

Before he could ask what you meant, you nodded your head towards the girls he’d left behind.

You knew about his friends?

“You could call it that,” he replied, a smile starting to appear.

You nodded and hummed.

“Well, what are your qualifications?”

“Excuse me?”

“You joke too much, Y/N,” Sejanus lightly scolded you, interrupting whatever path you were going down, which made you laugh. “He’s going to think you don’t like him.”

“He knows I don’t mean anything by it,” you assured, looking at Coriolanus. “I’m just trying to figure him out.”

Your tone was filled with confidence, but your face… Coriolanus wasn’t sure how to place your underlying expression. You had a shield up, he knew that much, but what did that have to do with him? Were you trying to figure out if you could let it down for him? Or something else?

“Of course,” Coriolanus answered, not taking his eyes off of you. “I’m an open book.”

“Are you, now?” You folded your arms on the table. “Your friends love to gossip, and I don’t think I’ve heard that about you.”

“It’s not my fault if they don’t know how to read,” Coriolanus quipped, proud of himself for being so quick.

None of his friends had wronged him, but the joke at their expense was worth it for what followed after.

He made you laugh. Not just smile, but truly laugh. It was exactly what he wanted, and it actually worked. Awe didn't begin to describe how it felt.

Joining your table for lunch became the best part of his day. Sometimes he forgot Sejanus was even there, far too eager to see you. He saw you all the time, of course. Watching you was a habit he had yet to break, but this was different. You were aware of his presence, and he was able to speak to you. It didn’t matter that you still seemed weary, it was enough.

Even if you didn’t like him, you still had conversations with him, so that was something.

Sometimes, if you were deep in a discussion, debating ethics—your favorite topic—it would continue beyond just the table. He’d walk you to class, wanting to hear your voice just a second longer.

“I want to meet this girl,” His grandmother declared one night, after Coriolanus drifted to the topic of you over dinner. He’d been doing it more recently.

Tigris gave him a look, a light frown. There was no way to do that without you coming to his home, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Let Coryo decide that, Grandma‘am,” Tigris insisted, patting the older woman’s shoulder.

“Well, he has feelings for Y/N,” she argued, looking at Coriolanus. He used your name enough that she remembered it. “And she likes him too—doesn’t she?”

Coriolanus gave a tight smile. “Yes, she does.”

Keeping up appearances.

“Well, that settles it, then,” Grandma‘am decided.

“I think it’s time you get to bed,” Tigris intervened, getting their grandmother up from her chair.

Later, when they were alone, Tigris asked him, “Does she even know how you feel about her?” She knew him too well. He took too long to answer. “You should tell her. From what you’ve told us, you two should be together. But it won’t happen unless you make it known how you feel.”

Coriolanus’s dreams were filled with you, as they usually were, but something was different the morning he woke up after the conversation with Tigris.

All he had to do was prove himself to you, and he knew that now.

Coriolanus found you in the library a lot, often pretending to stumble upon you. This time, he didn’t put on a facade.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he acknowledged, sitting down beside you. Often he’d sit across, but he was testing the waters. Seeing if you were put off by the proximity. “Studying for Featherly’s class?”

“I’m terrified for his test,” you confided, rubbing your temples as you hunched down at your book. “I feel like my mind has no room for anything else. I’ve memorized nothing.”

With a sigh, you sat up and pushed the book away.

“I can help you,” Coriolanus insisted, reaching for the book. He read over the page you were on, knowing he’d already perfected the subject. “You should’ve asked for me sooner.”

Maybe it was a little spiteful, but he hadn’t purposely meant it to come out that way. You still noticed it, taking your book back.

“I’m not asking for your help now, Coriolanus,” you muttered, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

You were the last of his friends to still call him that. Most everyone else called him ‘Coryo’. Not you. But you were stubborn in many ways. This too, apparently.

“I didn’t mean anything against you,” he said lightly, even chuckling a little. It was forced, but he wanted to show he wasn’t being that serious.

Using your own words on you did not have the desired effect.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hummed.

Coriolanus tilted his head down, trying to get you to meet his gaze. You gave in, facing him, looking unamused.

He wanted to wipe that look away, but didn’t know how. If he could just make you like him—

Suddenly, your watch began to beep.

“Test time,” you grumbled, taking back your book and getting up.

Coriolanus followed you down the hall and into class. The tests were already on the desks, waiting. You two were early—he noticed that because of the clock on the wall.

He walked you to your seat and wished you good luck. To his surprise, you offered the same in return. Then, he went to his own. Other students filed in quickly after, professor Featherly being the last to enter the room.

The professor declared, “Begin,” then sat at his desk in the middle of the room and began to read.

The test wasn’t easy, but Coriolanus knew what he was doing. One look around the classroom and he saw that wasn’t the case for most other students. He felt a sense of pride, until his gaze landed on you. You were one row down and four seats to the left. He’d counted before. You were fiddling with your pencil, struggling to come up with what to write down.

While he could’ve been the first to finish, Coriolanus let other students turn their tests in before him. An hour passed by, but it moved quickly.

There were only a few students left when you finally got up. You radiated an anxious energy, much like the others, but Coriolanus didn’t care about the others.

Clemensia stuck her hand up in the air, waiting for the professor to notice her, distracting Coriolanus briefly. When the professor looked up and noticed her, Clemansia got her wish.

Coriolanus considered himself lucky, convincing himself with his own mantra frequently. As he watched you leave your test on Featherly’s desk and rush from the room, he realized how he could help you.

He quickly marked down the rest of his answers, having stalled so he could leave when you did. The professor was making his way away from the desk, while Coriolanus got up and went in the opposite direction.

With a swift, hard kick to the leg, the professor's desk wobbled and papers spilled off on the other side. It looked like an accident.

Featherly looked over his shoulder at the noise.

“Sorry,” Coriolanus apologized, kneeling down behind the desk to collect the papers.

Without anyone watching, he found your test. He had no time to change the written questions, but he made quick work of erasing and re-doing the multiple choice, with his own test and knowledge as reference.

He had to give you credit for getting a decent amount correct, but not enough for a passing grade.

When Coriolanus fixed that, he stacked together the papers and placed them back on the desk and exited.

Everyone was waiting in the hall. Against tradition, the professor graded tests directly after and would call students in to give the results. It was time consuming, and kept everyone on campus after hours, which was against the rules, but perhaps he’d gotten some kind of exception.

You were leaning against the wall opposite of the classroom, talking to some girl from the class—Coriolanus didn’t bother to learn her name. He wanted to go to you, but Sejanus got to him first instead.

“How do you think you did?”

Coriolanus shrugged, looking down at his friend. “Fine, I think.” That was the humble answer, right? “How about you?”

“Not perfect, but I passed.”

Clemensia trotted out then, a confident look on her face.

“What was so important you had to ask during the test?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but wonder. She’d unknowingly helped him, after all.

“Just clarity on a question, wanted to make sure I got it right,” she answered with ease.

“And did you?”

She gave Sejanus a look.

“Yes, of course.”

The last person exited the class, and professor Featherly closed the door. And so the grading began.

One by one, the professor called people in. There was no method to the order, it seemed likely he shuffled the papers or chose which one to grade next at random.

Time passed, Coriolanus didn’t know how much exactly, but it was beginning to get dark outside. Tigris would be worried until he got home, but she’d understand. His studies came first.

Eventually, Coriolanus realized it was dwindling down to be just you and him left. He was lucky today.

The third to last student was in the classroom, leaving you across the hall from one another.

You pressed your lips together before speaking.

“Do you think you did alright?”

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip twitched up at the sound of your voice.

“Yes, I think so,” he answered humbly. “What about you?”

You let out a self deprecating laugh. “When I said I was terrified, I wasn’t being dramatic.” You sighed, accepting your fate. “I’ll have to do perfect on the next one, I guess.”

“I can help you with that,” Coriolanus offered.

The smile he gave you spawned a mirror reaction. He knew he was charming, he had to be, and this time you actually seemed receptive to it.

“Maybe you can.”

The sound of a door opening made Coriolanus turn. Arachne was leaving, a smug look on her face as she thanked the professor.

Then the door closed, and the professor graded another test. There were only two left.

“I wish he wouldn’t do it like this,” you filled the silence. “The others don’t make us wait like this.”

“It builds suspense, I suppose,” Coriolanus mused. “Keeps us on our toes.”

“That’s not something I need right now.”

“At least you have good company,” he noted flirtatiously. He couldn’t help but grin at his own words, especially when you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling.

“Could be worse, I supposed,” you retorted.

More time passed. The door opened again.

“Coriolanus Snow,” the professor addressed him next. “Your turn.”

As expected, Coriolanus did close to perfect. One answer off. Best in the class.

Back in the hallway, when he was done, Coriolanus waited with you. He didn’t announce he was staying, he just returned to his spot against the wall.

“Don’t keep a girl waiting. How did you do?” you asked, departing from the wall.

Coriolanus wondered where you were going, but then, you stood next to him, leaning back against the wall. There was still an arms length between the two of you, but it was something. You’d gone to him for once.

“You’ll think I’m full of myself if I tell you,” he teased lightly, which made you roll your eyes.

“Maybe I already think that, so just tell me,” you insisted.

The comment made him falter.

“Best in the class,” he divulged.

You almost looked impressed. “Good for you.”

The door opened.

“Y/N L/N, you’re up.”

“Wish me luck,” you said under your breath before following Featherly in.

“Good luck.”

Coriolanus waited for you, just like before. He tapped his foot. The professor didn’t actually go over the answers, he just told you the grade. You’d have no way of knowing what he did for you, but he’d be there to share in your excitement when you discovered how well you’d done.

Or, how well he’d done for you.

Not long later, you and the professor exited the class together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Featherly addressed Coriolanus. “You should get going. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Then, he left you and Coriolanus alone in the hall, presumably leaving the building.

“So,” Coriolanus began with a smile. “How did you do?”

“He asked if I’d been studying with you. Apparently we had all the same answers,” you told him, crossing your arms. “Except when I asked him to show me my exam—which I did great on, apparently—I saw answers circled that weren’t mine.”

Coriolanus hadn’t expected you to find out so quickly, but a part of him was relieved you did. It meant he got to take credit, and he could show you that he really did want the best for you.

Or, he could always lie.

“You weren scared of failing,” he finally admitted. He offered a sympathetic smile. “So I helped.”

“No, you cheated!” you accused, causing his eyes to go wide. “You’ve implicated us both. If anyone finds out…”

“Don’t be so loud,” he hissed out in a whisper, stepping closer to you. The professor could still be in the building. He doubted anyone else would be. “I just wanted to help you, okay? You needed it, so I—“

“You helped, I get it. But I didn’t ask you to do that for me, Coriolanus. I have never asked you to do anything for me,” you sneered, somewhere between offended and betrayed.

He saw the way you scanned his face—his eyes. The pleading was beginning to seep through.

A wave of realization washed over you before he even opened his mouth.

“You didn’t have to ask me to,” Coriolanus said meaningfully, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to. I wanted to help you.”

You back hit the wall. The hallway was so empty it seemed as if the subtle sound still echoed.

“I’d do anything for you, don’t you get that?”

The sound of a large door closing carried from a distance.

Coriolanus reached for your face, wishing he could take away the concern that riddled your expression. Instead, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face.

You swallowed. Why did you look so nervous around him? You were friends now, weren’t you? You never looked scared around anyone else. Why him? Why now? His own questions frustrated him.

“We’re not supposed to be on campus after hours,” you said calmly. It was the same tone you used when you first described your indifference to him. Coriolanus thought about that moment a lot. “Featherly already left. We should leave before we get caught.”

The corners of his lips twitched down.

“We’re still talking, though, aren’t we?”

You let out a shallow breath. You had no reason to look as scared as you did.

“I think we’re done.”

Coriolanus thought back to his cousin’s advice. He could’ve followed it better if she’d written it down, perchance.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Coriolanus pondered, smiling to himself at the sight of you. “You caught my eye from the beginning and I—I couldn’t figure out why you wanted nothing to do with me.” You watched him carefully. He wondered if you could sense the dejectedness brewing. “Did you see something in me? Is that it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted under your breath. “People like you, and you’ve been making an effort to be my friend, so I don’t know what told me to stay away from you, but something did. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I still…” you swallowed. “I don’t know.”

The confession should’ve been a relief. That’s what he imagined it would be. That you would admit the truth, and he could fix whatever misconceptions you had.

Coriolanus did not know what to do with “I don’t know”.

Staring down at you, Coriolanus noticed your back was against the wall. Literally. He hadn��t meant to put you there, but he had.

It got you to listen, didn’t it? He’d gotten an answer?

“Can we start over?” Coriolanus suggested, even throwing in a smile that would charm most anyone. It worked on you before. “We can forget all this mess.”

You blinked. You didn’t believe him.

For most people, he wouldn’t simply let numerous slights go, but for you, if it would fix whatever this was, if it meant the two of you could have a real chance, then he’d overcome his instincts—old and new.

“I’m afraid my memory is too good for that,” you finally said, looking up at him with defiance.

Defying what, was the question. It wasn’t as if you were enemies.

The thought made his jaw clench. He let out a laugh that was sharp. It lacked any sense of humor.

“Why can’t you just accept my apology?”

Your brows arched up, questioning him.

“That was supposed to be an apology?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But it’s not as if I owe you one.”

“I never said you did. I never said anything. You took it upon yourself to insert yourself into my life and now you are not happy with your place in it. You’ve overstepped, and you need to let me leave.”

Coriolanus frowned.

“You act like I’m keeping you here by force.”

You look up at him, silently telling him you believed he was.

That frustrated him further.

In an act that jarred even him, Coriolanus pressed his palms against your shoulders and pushed you back against the wall when you tried to move away.

“This is force,” he declared sternly, leaning down, making you maintain his gaze.

Everyone liked control, but he hadn’t used it in such a physical way before. It thrilled him in an odd way.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Why should I? You already think so poorly of me, why not let you be right?”

You moved again then, trying to catch him off guard and squirm away. But Coriolanus was quick to shove you back against the wall.

“We can still start over. If you would give me a chance, I think we can be good together.”

He let one hand rise to rest on your cheek. Your skin was so smooth. He inhaled deeply, resolve slipping further as his eyes fell to your lips.

If Coriolanus could just prove it to you, he was sure you’d understand what he meant.

He leaned in cautiously, gauging your reaction. You didn’t flinch away. You tilted your chin up, even. That familiar skip of his heart returned.

Coriolanus’s lips only just brushed against yours before you reacted. He had a second of relief before you brought your knee up, jabbing him in the lower stomach, although he doubted that was where you were aiming. It was still enough of a shock to throw him off his game. He stumbled back, and in a flash, you were gone. You were running down the hall—trying to get away from him, like usual.

Only this time, he didn’t feel like letting you go.

Something he had slowly come to learn was when he wanted something, it wasn’t just going to be handed to him. Vying for the Plinth Prize highlighted that, alongside his childhood.

He caught you easily, hand snapping out like a snake to grip your arm and yank you back to him. You collided with his chest. It was like you weren’t even trying. Not really. Just toying with him.

“Am I a game to you?” Coriolanus hissed into your ear, wrapping you in his arms. “Something for you to play?”

“I haven’t done anything to you! I hardly even know you!” you defended, but it just made him hold you tighter.

“I know you,” he implored, fighting against your squirming. He lost balance and when you fell to the ground, you took him with you. Coriolanus got you onto your back, sitting on your thighs, gripping your wrists in his hands to keep you from swinging at him. You let out panicked breaths, staring up at him. “I know more than you think.”

Something about the position made the front of his pants begin to feel constricting.

“Coriolanus, you’re frightening me,” you enunciated, as if trying to reason with him.

“I’m not being unreasonable,” Coriolanus grit out, working to maintain his composure.

“What?” you questioned, brows pinching together, a deep frown on your face. Confused and scared. Coriolanus used to feel that way. “Just let me go.”

“And then what? You go back to ignoring me? No I can’t… I can’t go back to that. If you just give me a chance I can show you.”

Coriolanus didn’t know what happened next.

Tigris told him it was like he left his own head, sometimes. She said he’d get so caught up, he wouldn’t notice things. At the time he had laughed. If anyone stayed aware, it was him.

It wasn’t that he left his head, but got lost in it. Lost in his own inner monologue to realize what he was doing.

In this case, what he’d done.

Far too busy thinking of ways to convey everything he wanted to say to you, how to make you understand, visualizing your reaction, he’d already acted.

Maybe there were two people living in his mind. One with a conscience, one without. Or perhaps that was just something he used to justify his less than decent actions. An excuse. He’d never let himself know the truth. Not really. Not yet.

What he did know was what he could see. You, beneath him, clothes torn from your body. The only thing left was a shirt. Too much effort, apparently. Your wrists were snatched together in one of his hands.

The power stirred something within him.

One might say he was out of excuses when he reached for the zipper of his pants, but no one else was here, were they?

Your mouth was moving. Speaking. Maybe even yelling. Looking at him, looking around the room. He couldn’t hear a sound but his own heart thumping in his ears paired with his own eager breaths. Was that normal?

He moved, wedging himself between your legs, nudging them apart to make room for himself.

“It’s just us,” Coriolanus spoke, loud enough to hear himself. You flinched. “No one’s here.”

He gripped himself, stroking his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. His patience was running incredibly thin.

Tears pricked in your eyes. You stopped struggling at his words, accepting it for what it was. Good.

“Why are you doing this?”

He heard your voice clearly, that time, despite the strain in your tone.

Coriolanus observed you carefully, squeezing your wrists together in one hand and lovingly caressing your hip with the other.

He finally understood the answer you’d given before. He found it fitting now.

“I don’t know.”

To him, it was the truth.

The moment Coriolanus pressed himself inside of you, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. After so long of wanting you in every way, shape, or form, this was long overdue.

“You’re perfect for me,” he breathed out. Coriolanus gave a shove of his hips, his gaze falling to your mouth as an unwilling yelp slipped out. “I knew you would be.”

You were tight, too tight, even. Unwelcoming. Yet still, you felt like home.

His hand—the one that was on your hip—drifted between your legs. He found your clit, running his thumb in small circles, trying to ease the pressure you must’ve been feeling.

Coriolanus did not want to hurt you.

He looked into unfocused eyes. Where were you? Were you trying to be somewhere else?

He let your hands go. You didn’t move to slap him or shove him or anything. You were learning.

He leaned over you more, reaching for you face with his now free hand, and ran his thumb over your cheek, encouraging your gaze to actually meet his. He smiled softly when you did. You got more beautiful every second he looked at you. It was even better when he could see you were present.

Coriolanus found himself unable to resist it, so he gave into the urge to press his lips to yours. A real kiss, this time.

Your lips were softer than he’d imagined. You made a noise when his tongue tasted your mouth. His kiss was hungry—aggressive, even. But he’d waited so long he didn’t know how to contain himself.

Your body reacted to his touch. Your bent knees inched up his hips to accommodate him, and your walls were becoming slick, accepting the invasion.

A deep moan escaped him, cock throbbing inside you at the feel. The sound was muffled by his lips pressed to yours, but he still felt vulnerable, giving himself to you in this way.

Coriolanus pulled back from the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours and breathe out a small puff of air from his lips.

“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not even the Plinth Prize,” he confessed in a whisper.

“What’s the difference?” You finally spoke, voice wavering. “You have to earn the prize?” The accusing tone felt like a slap.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Coriolanus muttered, eyes boring into yours. “You’ll see.”

He gave you one more searing kiss before moving his hips.

A gasp that morphed into a moan clawed its way up your throat. The sound was like music to his ears. He wanted to hear it again.

He began to move more consistently, finding a pace that suited him. Rough enough to keep you present, but not so harsh as to hurt you. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, even if you were trying to avoid it.

Still figuring you out, Coriolanus found your sweet spot with a hard thrust, causing you to wince. Instinctively, you tried to push him away, just like you had before, not wanting to surrender.

You stilled when you felt his hand. He hardly realized how he’d reacted until he felt your throat bob beneath his palm.

Coriolanus retracted his hand, like your skin and shot a volt through him. His movements slowed to a stop.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized earnestly, brushing the hand through your hair gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your chest heaved as you breathed shaky breaths through your nose. Your lips pressed together in a line.

You weren’t going to dignify him with a response. In a way, he understood.

Coriolanus locked his arms under your body and in a surge of strength, pulled you from the ground and into his lap. He hugged you against him, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Forgive me,” he requested softly.

You shifted in his lap, adjusting yourself to find comfort in the new position. You did not speak.

He slammed his hips up, forcing a gasp from your lips. That was something, wasn’t it?

You pulled back, and he did it again. And again. And again.

You fell against him, jarred by the change in his movements as he thrust into you. He liked it, feeling you in his lap, your chest against his, leaving you no choice but to hold onto him.

His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he moved, barring his teeth and nipping the skin. You reacted as if he were venomous, straining away from him, but he’d left his mark.

You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t like him, but Coriolanus could feel your body reacting to his. He could feel the way your walls squeezed around him, drawing him in, and how your body quivered as he pushed you closer to your edge.

“Just let go,” Coriolanus whispered, holding you tighter. He cradled the back of your head against him as he moved inside of you. Soothing and rough at the same time. “It’s okay, I know you want to.”

“Shut up,” you hissed into his neck, hands finding his chest.

Were you really going to try and get away from him? It was a bit late for that.

Coriolanus moved his hand between your bodies, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb, speeding along the process.

“What was that?” he taunted, feeling your legs start to shake.

A moan tore from your throat as you came around him, body slumping against his as he shoved himself deeper inside you. He wanted to feel your body tensed around him.

“That’s it,” he drawled, pressing his face to the side of your head. He inhaled, letting your scent flood him. Every sense was overwhelmed by you and if anything, it made him hunger for even more.

You became more pliable in your daze, going easily when Coriolanus laid you back down on the cold ground. He planted one hand on the ground near your head, where he held most of his weight, while the other rested on the base of your neck. Not squeezing, just resting. Reminding you of before.

Now that he’d taken care of you, made you realize the pleasure he could inflict upon you, it was his turn. Coriolanus was relentless with the thrust of his cock inside you, stretching you around him, groaning with nearly every movement. You felt so good, he never wanted to leave the warmth of your body.

You shifted beneath him, squirming as the intense feeling. Coriolanus was tempted to drag it out, to watch your face as the pleasure became too much for you to handle.

If it wasn’t for the desire to fill you, to claim you, he would’ve. There would be more times after this, he’d ensure it. He didn’t own a lot, but he treasured the things that he did.

“I can’t let you go, not now.” He meant to keep it inside his head, but the words spilled out. “You’re the only thing I want.”

At that moment, it was true.

Coriolanus gave one final shove of his hips before spilling inside of you. It crashed over him in an unexpected wave. His whole body shivered with pleasure at the feel of your body milking him. You wanted him. Your denial would eventually fade. He was sure of it.

Coriolanus let out a heavy sigh of your name as he watched your face. You’d turned your head, wincing as he filled you to the brim.

“Hey,” Coriolanus said when he finished, voice low. He ran a delicate hand over your face, persuading you to open your eyes. “We’re okay.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Coriolanus withdrew from you. You’d given up fighting against him, so he took the opportunity to help you redress. You were so pliant, it was like dressing a doll.

You rested your arms on your knees when he made you sit up. He wasn’t keeping you from moving from the floor, you chose not to.

Coriolanus watched you cautiously, searching for the same fire in you before, trying to figure out if he’d somehow snuffed it out.

There was a nagging in his gut. It was only for a brief second, but his confidence wavered.

“Can you talk to me?” he pressed, laying a hand on your shoulder and he knelt across from you, pants readjusted.

It was as if nothing happened, but you both knew that was untrue.

“Why should I?” You wrinkled your nose as you focused on the ground.

“Because, I care about you,” Coriolanus replied without thought, gaze softening. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t think you care for me,” you said in a tone so hushed, Coriolanus wasn’t sure if you even meant for him to hear. Then, you met his eyes. The fire had only been dulled, not put out. “I think you’re a liar, Coriolanus Snow.”

His hands fell to clasp yours. He brought one to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of your palm. You eyed him as if he were some sort of predator, but he managed a smile nonetheless.

“Let me prove it to you, and you’ll come to learn you’ve been wrong about me all along.”

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #yandere coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #quin-ns writing

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angelltheninth · 9 months

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PLEASE I am begging for some wanderer shit or wjayever or anything with camgirl/boy/whatever the guck fuck reader I think that would be nice☠️🇵🇱🔝🙁🔥🥰🤪😭😢😱😉🤭🥱🖕😐🖕😋🤬😈⁉️😔🫶🥳💔🥳🤨😉🤨✅😍😉❤️

I feel like... I had a stroke while reading this and I have no idea what you want exactly? I'll wing it.

Pairing: Scaramouche x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, modern au, cam au, blowjob under the desk, desk sex, recorded, toy use, praise, cum eating, camboy!Scaramouche

A/N: I think Scaramouche would be a good camboy actually. He's super cute.

Camboy!Scaramocuche who was beyond embaressed when you walked into his room while he was pumping his cock with his toy, his legs spread in front of his camera. He almost wants to stop but that would let his followers know he has someone to fuck every day, that he's not as pent up as he seems. So instead you motion for him to keep going and not say anything.

Camboy!Scaramouche who falters as he watches you drop your panties and slowly rub your fingers over your pussy and your clit. You're just out of the camera shot, but enough for him to see you, to see the way you bite your lip. Fuck, this is his job, he has to do this but he also needs to fuck you, not this stupid toy. He needs to finish quickly, so he can be selfish and get what he wants.

Camboy!Scaramouche who is pissed off at you and pulls you onto his cock when the stream ends, spreading you open on his cock and pumping the rest of his cum inside of you while you lick the hole of the toy, eating his cum right in front of him. So many people who watch him would pay good money to do this. You get to fuck him for free, consider yourself very lucky.

Camboy!Scaramouche who sometimes has a hard time getting hard for the camera but he always gets hard for you. The solution is simple, record the two of you while you're fucking, have you look right into the camera as you take his cock from behind, or as you're leaning back against him while he plays with you're tits or your clit, looking as you come, so he can see your face caught in that high of pleasure. Of course this is a recording for him only and it really does help.

Camboy!Scaramouche who has an almost permanent scowl on his face as he jerks off and looks into the camera. When someone pays and asks him for a smile the most they'll get is a scoff and a mean smirk. They're looking at him but they're not worthy of him. He's constantly degrading the people that watch him and he knows its part of his appeal, so why stop.

Camboy!Scaramouche who lets you control his toys while he streams. It's the only time he lets you have control over him when it comes to anything sexual. It's also the only time when he'll get louder the grunts, because he knows that you're watching this time, he knows that you're masturbating too, waiting for him to finish, he can almost hear you begging for his cum.

Camboy!Scaramouche who talks to his followers while you're giving him a blowjob under the desk. If anyone asks about the noises he tells them its his pretty new toy but he's not ready to show it just yet, he needs to test it out first. But out of all the toys he's ever used this one is by far his favorite. He doesn't let you finish him off that's for after the stream, when he puts you on his desk and ready does use your pussy like a toy to pleasure himself with.

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tteokdoroki · 9 months

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✩࿐TRACK 03: WAR WITH HEAVEN. izuku midoriya (2K)

about. upon spending time apart from your pro-hero fwb, deku, for a work trip — he quickly realises he wants it all with you. heaven, hell and life on earth.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, sneaky links, long distance relationships, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, friends with benefits to lovers, journalist + fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

things to note. another saturday is upon us and so is another instalment!! i really like this one n can’t believe we’re half way through already !! anyways i hope you enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

whether you believe it or not, izuku midoriya has never been hopelessly in love.

like most people with an overexposure to romance saturated media — the number one hero has always had that nagging feeling, craving for something more. the person to come home to, the partner, the kids and the dog that chews through the white picket fence or makes a mess on the freshly cut lawn. he wants a family like most individuals. but with a schedule as busy and a lifestyle as reckless as his…there’s hardly any time for izuku’s dreams.

dreams were for losers, anyways.

after high school, izuku quickly learned that dreaming wasn’t enough to get by even if it had motivated him to become a hero. reality is harsh and full of hard truths — bearing the responsibility of future number one and being all might’s prodigy had taught him that. so his rose tinted view of the future he had planned for himself quickly collapsed, the stain glass window shattering above him while its shards nicked at izuku’s youthful, hopeful skin.

he wasn’t so pure and good after leaving U.A — at least not in front of the public. behind closed doors izuku was a pessimist. he was sly and maybe a little sleazy, always on the prowl for something or someone to toy with. little deku was all grown up, no longer baby-faced and bright eyed but instead buffer with an unfairly tiny waist and an angular sharpness to his jaw that could cut diamonds.

he was attractive and he knew it — his new found confidence bled into his sex appeal and sky rocketed his popularity and now…the number one controls the whole of Japan in the palm of his hand. everybody wants a taste of the new and improved izuku midoriya.

everyone including you.

mindless hookups, despite being easy stress relief, always left izuku with a sour taste in his mouth. conservations with the elite that happened to stumble into his bed never went further than superficial talk and the odd ‘lets do this again sometime’s. he hated how people would change around him, clinging onto him after a night in the sheets like deku owed them a piece of his soul.

being the number one was no longer enough for hungry mouths. sex no longer satisfied those in his circle.

that was until he met you. the first time deku encountered you (at a hero press junket), you had been a shy intern journalist forced to follow around her mentor with an extreme lust for the green haired hero. he felt bad for you, you were obviously there to learn and do your job but the senior professional they’d stuck you with couldn’t help but slobber all over him instead of teaching you.

half-way through the junket, izuku had managed to sneak away from the pestering paparazzi to get a moment to himself — and it seemed, you’d had similar ideas. his initial assessment of your character was way off too. you were quiet, sure, but observant and snarky as well. a realist just like him. and somehow, you’d managed to convince him to leave to conference; get drinks at a secret roof top bar for only the highest members of japanese hero society, and talk and talk for hours about everything and anything. from quirks to the best snack combinations at the only kombini open past three AM on your street.

izuku liked you, he hadn’t felt such a spark for someone since his rookie days. you were cute, he couldn’t stop looking at your eyes and how they sparkles. your lips when you sipped the drinks he ordered for you and the way you instinctively leaned up to deku just to hear what he was saying.

the way you ended up in his bed that night was no mystery to either of you.

except the sensual and sultry night you shared together didn’t end there — at every event, every occasion, where journalists were required to be present, you found yourselves gravitating towards one another. one moment you’d be sharing bedroom eyes with one another from across the room and the next deku would have you bent over in bathroom stalls, his hushed moans in your ear and his fingers deep in your mouth to keep you quiet.

months went by and the sex didn’t stop, neither of you wanted it to. you made izuku feel a little bit whole again, you made him feel good and made him laugh all in the same breath. he didn’t just like it when you left your claim on his neck bordering the line of keeping your rendezvous a secret and letting the whole world find out — but he liked it when you stayed over and wore his shirts around his luxury apartment. or came to hang out with him at his private gym with a bag of cheat-day take-out katsudon and an earful of gossip from your office.

deku really liked you, more than he should’ve for a girl who was meant to be just a fling, more than he should’ve for someone who didn’t have time in his day for a lover.

“did you get over me?” the hero pouts into the FaceTime call, watching you struggle to grab your luggage off of the conveyer belt in baggage claim. if he were there, he’d have gotten it for you by now.

despite not being anything serious to one another, izuku had made it a habit to weasel his way into your everyday life. you sent cute little good morning and goodnight texts to one another, along with other messages like ‘get home safe’ and ‘have a good day’ too. those text messages quickly escalated to phone calls once the green haired number one admitted to you that it’s hard to fight crime whilst looking for the right kao emoji to send you.

you roll your eyes, coy smile budding on the edges of your lips. “it’s only been two hours, izuku.” you say, finally managing to grab your bag before you head out to the main lobby of the airport.

one thing about that man, is that he’s clingy as fuck. all of your attention has to be on him or he’ll feel like he might die. with you being away for the weekend at a journalism conference instead of in his arms, izuku feels like he might burn the whole world down from the ground up. just to be near you.

either that or he’s just extremely pussy whipped.

“streets are sayin’ you might sleep with that guy from your team while you’re there, is that true?” deku fires back, running a scarred hand through the mass of curls atop his head. he lets it run down to smooth over his face, peach fuzz starting to grow through — but you made him promise not to shave until the day after you got back. apparently his light stubble against your inner thighs made you cum so much—

“—i don’t even like him like that, you big baby,” you tell him matter of factly, cutting through his train of thought and bringing your phone up to your face once more to let emerald eyes peek down your sweater. “and i think he’d get the hint if he saw all these damn marks on my neck.”

pink blooms underneath the freckles on midoriya’s cheeks at the sight of the purple hues decorating your neck and shoulders. he remembers the extra turtlenecks you had to pack because of it. “couldn’t help it, i needed to give you a reminder of what you’d be missing while you were away from me.”

“you’re so dramatic, deku.”

“oh, you wound me, angel.” he purrs into the mic with a sly grin, knowing that he’s affecting you just as much as he misses you. especially when you give him a pointed glare. izuku let’s the conversation wither out as you order yourself an uber that’ll take you the hotel. he can’t help but chuckle when you perk up and notice the amount of money he’s sent you to cover the costs of it. “yanno…” deku mumbles, resting his cheeks on his knuckles. “you’re like heaven away from hell to me.”

you won’t admit how sexy he looks, even if izuku is all googly-eyed and soft for you. even if his forest green locks curl over his pretty eyes and hide them. it almost pisses you off. that he’s so blissfully unaware of how fucking pretty he is and how that mere fact manages to ruin you you even though you’re miles apart. “what’s hell, then?”

“my work. this city. this apartment, without you.” he says smoothly, filling your stomach with butterflies. izuku has a away about him that makes you feel like you’re his entire world and only his — but there’s never been any strings attached, you’ll never fully be his and he’ll very much be the nation’s hero (and dick) until someone manages to tie him down.

“are you asking me to move in with you, izuku?” there’s no expectancy in your voice — you say it mostly as a joke because you have no idea how much the number one pines for you. how tonight, he’ll drink himself into a stupor with his friends and whine to them about how much he misses you. izuku may have changed on the outside, may be stronger and faster but he’s still that insecure teenager on the inside.

he has to force his knees to stop knocking whenever you’re around. he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat whenever he thinks about the possibility of you being with someone who isn’t you. he feels sick to the stomach and panics at the thought of losing you. you mess with deku’s head in the worst of ways and yet he finds himself wanting more. nevertheless, he smiles, loving how his name sounds on the sweet glaze of your lips.

“you’ve got a place in my bed. you’re always here anyways.”

“you’d never let me leave it, if you had a say in the matter.”

“you’d never have to work again if you let the number one hero take care of you angel.” izuku sighs longingly, giving you his cutest pair of puppy dog eyes that never fail to make you swoon. “but you love your job.”

“i do.” your uber pulls up and you reply curtly so you can properly greet your driver. they aid you with your suitcase and you slip your headphones on while in the back seat to keep your special conversation private.

“do you love me?” he can’t help but ask. izuku is hopelessly enamoured by you, you’re like a virus that’s spread across his brain and controls his every thought or action. he needs you like his lungs need oxygen to breathe — you’ve changed him for the better, shown him that maybe he can have both work and luxury. a family and foundation. with you, if you’d want him.

“izuku.” you warn, but playfully.

“so it’s true,” the hero drawls across the line in faux disappoint though his eyes speak mischief. “you only like me for my cock ‘n my money.” you can practically hear the pout on his pretty plump lips.

a fondness takes over you and you can’t help but squirm happily. “and your pretty boy smile,” you squeal cutely, filling midoriya with the same amount of fondness “don’t forget.”

“so you do love me.”

“i can’t answer that until you ask what you want to ask me properly.”

“alright then,” sitting up, deku grasps at his phone between shaky fingers and holds it above his head — giving you the perfect view of his freckled and scared (and chiselled) body. he chews on the swell of his lower lip, dancing around the question he knows he wants to ask. “angel. i want you. more than just a fling. i want you to be mine.” he blurts, closing his eyes so that his thoughts come easy and he can’t see you reject him.

midoriya doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you, he’s seen what losing your love has done to his friends. kirishima and his partner had almost broken up with each other recently. he’d be a mess in that situation. izuku has faced too many hardships in his life, his career, to let this one good thing slip from between his fingers.

“will you? be mine?”

he sees you poke your tongue into your cheek, laughing as you pretend to think. “i will, izuku. i want nothing more,” you coo. “keep my side of the bed warm. i’ll be home soon.”

relief floods through deku’s body. “don’t be too long, gorgeous.” with a couple of blow kisses, he lets you go with the reminder to call him back once you’re settled in at the hotel (so he can pay for your room service). it’s only when you’re alone again that izuku realises he’d rip stars from the sky to be with you, pull the heavens right down to earth to be by your side.

you’re everything to izuku, and for you, he’d go to war with heaven.

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

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CODE BROKEN (part 5/5) dark!Joel x f!Reader

pairings: dark!Joelxf!Reader (she's you!)

rating: 18+ (scram youngins!)

Words: 12.0k (wtf how?)

Warnings: femdom (if you squint), hands off, cockwarming, sweet dirty talk, Joel whimpers, sweet!Joel, fluff and angst, protected p in v.

a/n: Y’all this was one of those weird stories that I wrote and posted to A03 that no one commented on. Then just as I was giving up all these people on tumblr and then A03 started being like “we want more dark!joel!” and because I can’t deny you anything, I kept going. And now we’re here and I’m actually kinda heartbroken I won’t be writing about these two anymore. Anyway, I thought this concluded things nicely and if you agree (and even if you don’t) please leave me a comment because I don’t make shit on these. It’s all for the love of writing (and getting’ comments).

Code Broken Parts 1 - 4

==========================================

Code Broken: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Trish's wedding is beautiful and sentimental and everything you knew it would be. Seeing her in the dress you spent months making, beaming as she kisses her husband Cliff makes your heart swell.

When the group throws the multicolored confetti and it lands like snow in her rust colored hair you think it's the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

They've decorated the old church basement beautifully. Handmade bunting hangs from rafters; lopsided cakes made from whatever could be spared from the kitchen line the tables. The children of Jackson are shrieking and laughing as they spin around the crowd of people, darting between legs with icing smeared over their mouths.

You're tired after all the lead up to this event. Exhausted after the preparation, the decorating, and the assurances to Trish that it was no trouble to do it all. Trish holds her son in her arms, smiling up at her husband who presses a kiss to her forehead.

You sit back in your chair at one of the tables watching the crowds drinking and dancing as a few of the locals play a surprisingly in-tune melody with the instruments they possess.

"You did a wonderful job," Maria tells you as she walks by. "Wish I'd had you around for my wedding."

You smile and thank her before you lean back; eyes sleepily half-open as you watch the couple nearest to you spin together.

Mark gives you a wave from across the room, his arm around the waist of Jenny, one of the newer people to have moved here. She gazes are him adoringly and this makes you smile as you return the wave.

You’d never say it, but it makes you feel a bit like an outsider seeing all your friends coupled up. Even though you never needed anyone else, the thought of another person sharing in your life has its appeal.

"Hi there."

The husky voice behind you is quiet and careful. Low enough for only you to hear. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Joel is standing there looking down at you seated at the table.

Joel is dressed like most of the men here in jeans and a button up. His hair is combed back and he smells good. Spicy like cologne, a rare commodity in Jackson.

The sight of him pulls at your lower belly. Despite the weeks that have passed since you saw him last, that desire you carry around for him hidden behind your ribs seeps through.

He's staring at you similar to how he was the last time you saw him, dark and heated and you momentarily shrink from his intense gaze.

You haven't seen him since that day in the stables when you rushed off and you expected to be more furious with him. Instead you just feel gentle irritation mixed with a lust you wish you could will away.

"Hi."

He's got his hands in his pockets, standing awkwardly like he's nervous. Joel nervous? You think you must be misunderstanding because Joel Miller is never* nervous.

You've seen him break unruly horses, heard stories of him taking down clickers and Raiders. Why would he be nervous talking to you?

"You look beautiful tonight," he murmurs.

What the fuck?

You blink up at him confusedly. Did Joel Miller just call you beautiful? When you don't answer you see him swallow, eyes going to your shoulder before coming back to your gaze. He looks like he's about to say something but then another voice breaks in between you like a knife slicing through the air.

"Hey come dance with me!"

You both look over to see Mark approaching you with an expectant look on his face, hand held out towards you. His girlfriend Jenny is dancing with some of her friends to the music the band is playing and she gives a cheery wave in your direction followed by a mouthed: "come dance!".

You feel Joel's eyes boring into your profile as you look up to Mark.

"Sure!"

You stand, taking his hand as he tugs you to him. He must notice Joel standing there, half encased in shadows because he starts.

"Oh hey Joel," Mark says with a broad smile. "I didn't see ya there. Just gonna steal this one for a dance."

You can see Joel's cheek tic as Mark spins you away, Joel's dark eyes fixed on you as Mark tugs you around in his arms on the dance floor. You feel strangely giddy at the moment. Almost delighted that Joel is watching you being swept away by another man, even if it is platonic.

You want Joel uncomfortable. You want him to be just as miserable as you've been these past few weeks. Because you can't get him out of your head, you can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about the softness of your last interaction.

Mark is a very bad dancer, but not as bad as you. He does goofy over exaggerated facial expressions as he kicks out his legs. You laugh breathlessly, clutching onto him when he twirls you around in his arms.

You catch Joel's eyes on you a few times, but resolutely turn your attention anywhere else. You notice Tommy comes up to talk to him, but Joel's eyes never leave Mark's hands on your body. They skim over your hips and you can see Joel's fingers tighten around his drink glass.

Mark guides you towards Jenny and the rest of the group. Trish and Cliff are dancing up a storm and Cliff surprises you by grabbing you by the waist and raising you into a spin that lifts your feet off the ground. You give a shriek of laughter, clutching to his shoulders before he sets you down again. Finally the song is over and you are breathless and sweaty at the temples.

"Thanks, I needed that!"

Mark flashes you a grin before waving you off and going to pull Jenny into a tight embrace from behind.

The music slows and you watch as everyone begins to pair up on the dance floor, hands slinging around waists, heads balanced on shoulders. It makes a tear go through your heart, a sudden feeling of awkward isolation.

You're about to leave the dance floor when you feel the heat of another body behind you. You smell him, wood shavings and leather.

"You wanna dance?"

You turn to see Joel standing there, mouth fixed sternly as he gazes down at you.

Shock floods your system at his words. Is he really asking you to dance with him? He wants to hold you and spin you around on the dance floor in front of all these people? He wants to publically be seen with you?

Joel doesn't dance. He barely attends events like this. You've never seen him at the summer dance party. If he is dragged to an event along with Tommy he sticks to the wall, arms crossed nursing a drink. What kind of game is this?

"Are you serious?"

He allows this insult, amusement clear in his eyes but not the rest of his features.

"I was, yeah."

You think of how shitty he's treated you over the past year. The way he's fucked you every which way and never kissed you. You think of how he's taken you and used you and you sneer up at him, feeling prickly.

"Never."

Joel's mouth twitches into a deep frown and you can see red creeping up his neck. You've embarrassed him.

Good.

Nearby couples are watching this exchange with curious looks. Both of you seem to notice this at the same time.

"G'night then."

Joel gives a sharp nod, backing away from you slowly before his long muscled legs are carrying him out of the church. You watch him leave, your stomach twisting before you throw yourself into a nearby chair, head spinning.

What just happened?

You spend the next hour making polite conversation with the people who pass you, giving Trish a hug when she comes to thank you for the twentieth time for everything.

"I want to have you over for dinner next week," she says, eyes filled with thankful tears.

"You're on."

You make your way back to your house, passing by the still partying group smiling and waving.

When you round on Rancher Street you think about Joel tonight. Of his nervousness and his calling you beautiful. Of asking you to dance in front of everyone. Didn't he care about the gossip? He’s notoriously private.

You can see a light is on in his house and this gives you pause. You consider going home and forgetting everything. Ignoring him for the rest of your days. But then something unknown sends your pulse spiking, something that leads your feet to his door and commands you to knock loudly.

You hear his footsteps pad slowly to the door, opening it and looking at you with surprise. He looks tired and you wonder if you’ve woken him. He’s wearing the same clothes though so you assume you caught him napping on the couch.

"What're -"

You push your way inside, not waiting to be invited. Joel allows this, watching you in confusion as you go to his sofa and shrug off your jacket.

You're looking around at his place, at the empty fireplace and the cracked mug on the coffee table, the book tented beside it. Your fingers absently strum his guitar as you pass it, a small smirk on your lips.

Joel walks towards you slowly, footfalls heavy as he regards you from behind curious eyes.

"Take a seat," you say casually motioning to the sofa as he approaches.

Joel doesn't move, doesn't indicate he hears you. You watch his wide hands twitch at his sides, his dark eyes set on you. You tilt your head back, face serious.

"You owe me this much, Joel."

Joel's tongue goes to one side of his cheek as he considers this. This feels like a standoff, a battle of wills. You wait until he finally gives a nod and lowers himself to his sofa, eyes never leaving yours.

You feel such a mixing confusion of emotions for the man looking at you. No, he's gazing at you. Eyes that were always cold and peering now seem softer around the edges. It confuses you.

You're still standing by the empty fireplace, holding your trembling fingers against the mantle. You take a sharp breath in, quietly.

"Take yourself out of your pants."

Irritation flares there in Joel's features. You've pushed too far.

"N-"

"Joel if you ever want to see me again you'll do this," you say sharply. "I mean it."

You hope that it doesn't come out as breathless as you feel because right now you can barely breathe. This is a big gamble. There's a very good chance he's going to kick you out as he's always done.

But then you think of him calling you beautiful and asking you to dance. You think of the looks he gives you when he thinks you're not looking and you consider that perhaps he might acquiesce.

You school your features, sure not to look shocked when Joel's hand finally goes to his belt, undoing it with one jerked movement of his hand. Then he stills as if waiting for you to admit that this is a game that he doesn't have to continue.

But you square your jaw and cross your arms in front of you. You raise a brow and find yourself getting aroused at the power shift. For once you're telling Joel what to do and much like you were that night in his house, kneeled in front of him, he wants it just as badly as you do.

Slowly his zipper is lowered, his jeans shifted and you watch as he brings his cock from underneath his boxers. You blink slowly.

"Already hard," you say approvingly as your eyes scan his already weeping cock. "Good."

Joel isn't smiling, but he isn't furious either. He's just sitting there, arms moving to either side of him on the back of his sofa. It's as if he's relaxing, about to watch the TV he doesn’t own. He continues looking up at you with big brown eyes, his cock rosy and resting on his lower belly.

He isn't trying to look intimidating. He just naturally is.

He watches you tug down the panties from under your dress, stepping out of them and shoving them into your dress pocket. His eyes move from your pocket to your face as you move to the sofa on trembling legs. He watches as you stand in front of him, knees touching. You take a deep breath, lifting one leg over his until you bracket his thighs.

"What is this?" Joel asks tone icy even as he shifts to accommodate you.

"I need something to come on tonight," you tell him. "And I've decided your cock will do nicely."

He says nothing. He doesn't move, doesn't deny this request. He simply continues to stare up at you. His lack of reaction unnerves you, but you plunge ahead regardless.

"You got a condom?"

Joel reacts slowly, tongue pushing into the side of his cheek once more. He considers your question before his hips shift up as he reaches in and pulls the square foil from his back pocket. He holds it out to you.

"Expecting to get lucky tonight, Joel?"

"Nope."

You raise a brow in disbelief. Joel sighs through his nose irritably.

"Was hopin', not expectin'."

You make a scoffing noise in the back of your throat before you motion to the condom with your hand. You expect defiance from him but he slips it on without question, his movements slow and measured as you watch.

You've always thought his hands were beautiful in a large, masculine way. Tonight is no different watching him hold his thick cock as he pinches the end of the condom before rolling it down.

When he's finished you move him to your entrance, eyes fixed on his face. He continues to stare in silence until you slide your already dripping cunt down his cock.

Then he reacts.

"Fuuuck," Joel groans, head tilted back and eyes slammed shut. You work your way down him, humming as his ridges bump inside, creating delicious friction before you come to rest against his hips.

You can tell he's waiting for you to move, to make noise, to do something. But you just sit there with your legs on either side of him, wrists balanced lightly on his shoulders. For once you'll be the one watching him unravel.

You peer into his face, your eyes sliding along the strong nose, the creases at the corner of his eyes, the fullness of his lower lip. You long to reach out and nibble it. It's sinful to have a mouth that kissable on a man so recalcitrant.

Joel's eyes remain closed, his pulse ticking away in his neck. You see his throat bobbing and then he groans. His broad hands rest gently against your waist, urging you against him. His hips shifting upwards to fuck into you. Your hands go to his chest and you push back from him.

"You don't move. You don't touch."

Joel's eyes snap open, head lifting to stare into your face. You're on his lap, almost at eye level now. You see the fire starting, burning in the dark coals of his eyes. The air is thick with tension, his body almost vibrating against yours.

"And if I do?"

"I'll jump off your lap so quick it'll make your head spin," you tell him sharply. "Then I'll leave and never come back. And I'll make sure my bedroom window stays locked."

This heavy threat hangs between you. To your credit you say it all without trembling. You sound self assured, confident. Even with Joel buried to the hilt inside you, his thick cock pulsing, you manage to stay composed.

Joel considers your proposal but not for long when he feels you begin to rise up off of him. His hands remove themselves from around your waist, returning to the back of the threadbare sofa.

You watch him tense before nodding, his mouth in a grim line of frustration.

Good. He fucking deserves it.

You lower yourself slowly back fully onto his lap, his cock warm and thick as you welcome it between your thighs once more. You sigh softly as it nestles there, filling you deliciously. He always feels so good.

"So I just sit here?" Joel murmurs; his eyes shuttering as he forces his hips to remain still.

You find that his voice is just as potent as his cock, your head tilting forward in order to catch every syllable that passes between those pouty lips of his.

"Uh huh," you say plainly.

Joel gives a solemn nod at this, his eyes not leaving your mouth. His arms are still hanging along the back of the sofa but his hands are tightening against the ridge of it. He braces himself, watching with hawk-like focus as your hips begin to shift again.

You smile at the way he struggles to remain still when your thighs spread over him, flashing the glossy sheen of your inner thighs and cunt. You're already drenched with arousal.

You groan as his length grazes your clit when you move. Your wrists once more go to his broad shoulders for purchase as you begin to bounce slowly in his lap. Your head falls forward slightly, your back arching as you slide along his slick cock. You feel his mouth at your ear, husky and deep.

"M'I allowed to ask for anythin'?"

You pause your motions in surprise by this soft utterance by Joel. You shift your head slightly to find his face inches from yours. He doesn't let anything show in his eyes good or bad. You regard him, body stilled atop his, almost breathing into his mouth when you speak.

"What do you want?"

"A kiss."

The sibilant sound of his request echoes in the following silence. Joel's eyes register hope now, a subtle kind of need that you haven't seen before in him.

You find you can't answer him.

Instead you take him deeper into you and Joel makes a soft humming noise, it seems like it slips past his lips unwillingly. He bites down on his full lower lip, stopping himself.

You can see he's trying not to give in, not to make a sound as you slide up and down on his hips in achingly slow movements. His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched so tightly you're shocked he doesn't break a tooth.

Your head moves forward, lips grazing his temple.

"You like that, Joel?" You huff against his ear. "You like me using this cock of yours to come on?"

He lets out a shuddering sigh, chest heaving.

"F-f..fuck. Yeah."

Then you feel it, his hand creeping between where you join. His fingers desperately sliding over your clit.

You stand abruptly and he slides out of you so rapidly his hips stutter midair.

"What are you---"

"I told you. Tonight you don't move and you don't touch."

Joel's neck is a blotchy red, his forehead is dotted with perspiration and he looks absolutely wrecked.

When you step back towards him he inhales sharply, eyes on the glistening vee of your legs. You align him to the entrance of your cunt and then slide back down the length of his shaft almost angrily.

"Fuck.... Fuck ... " Joel groans helplessly, doing everything in his power to keep still. You hear the squelch of your cunt as you ride him.

You grip the back of Joel's neck, fingers harshly digging there and forcing his gaze down to where your bodies join.

"You fucking watch," you tell him, cunt squeezing him as you rock against his hips. "You watch and you don't touch."

Joel watches the slick of your cunt drooling down his cock and he almost whimpers, but it's overtaken by a groan.

"Why are you punishin' me?" Joel asks through clenched teeth, eyes fixated on your clit dragging along the hairs at the base of his cock.

"I'm giving you everything you gave me," you tell him with poison dripping from every word, sliding up and down. "Using you to make myself come."

"I never did that," Joel says breathing heavily, eyes now fixed on yours. You can see how they roll slightly back with every twist of your hips.

"Never, Joel?"

"Once," he relents. "Only once. Rest of itttt---"

He breaks off into a guttural grunt as your hips swivel. You feel his cock nudge that sweet spot deep within you and your hips rut against him. You make a whining sound of surprise that you think goes down his spine because he quivers.

"The minute you come I'm fucking you over this sofa," Joel warns, mouth at your throat, lips grazing your jugular.

"I don't think so," you tell him, fingers laced behind his neck. "Once I come I'm going home and going to bed."

Joel's head is heavy against the back of the sofa, his lidded eyes on your face. You move slower over him, wanting extend this. Needing to watch the flicker of his eyes when you hit a good spot, needing to relish the moans that turns into deep pants. When you ease off a moment, your cunt slippery with want his voice drops an octave rumbling through his chest.

"You ever think about me fucking you in your bed, pretty eyes?"

"Yeah," you admit after a pause. "Sometimes."

"I can do it now," Joel purrs up at you. "Make you feel so good."

"Nice try."

You've started to swirl back around his cock and he moans lowly. Your thighs are starting to burn with the effort of bobbing up and down on him. Joel's eyes snap to your mouth, watching it part as you pant and give soft little whines of pleasure.

Joel's eyes blow wide, desperation and hope mingled there. His hairline is damp, his restraint obviously hanging by a thread.

"Wanna come for you," he says, voice quiet.

Having Joel at your mercy feels good. Having him looking at you in the same way you looked at him over the passing months feels like vindication. All too soon you've pulled back, only allowing the tip of his cock to graze your clit.

"Beg for it," you tell him as your hips roll, making him grunt and pitch forward. His hips rise, plunging deeply into you, his body unable to stop itself. You allow it, jolting from his thrust a few moments before you pull yourself off of him, scowling.

"I'm not saying it again, Joel."

Joel groans and his body trembles, actually physically trembles. His head is sagging forward, his eyes looking up at you through his dark lashes.

"I don't ... I can't keep goin'," he says raggedly. "I'm gonna come."

"You’d better not."

Now you turn and face away from him, lifting your dress to bunch at your waist. You look down over your shoulder at him, seeing him looking over your exposed ass with awe. With your back to him you slowly back up and your legs bracket his again.

Joel whispers something urgent under his breath as you lower yourself onto his cock, sitting in his lap. Your legs spread widely, hinging over each of Joel's thighs.

His cock hits you different now, tighter, nudging that pleasured core inside that makes you cry out. Your hands go to Joel's knees, bracing there as you urge his cock deeper into your slippery cunt.

"Please," Joel says through gritted teeth. He's panting now, breath sweet like peppermint huffing against the back of your neck. You twist, eyes cast over your shoulder at him.

"Please what?"

Joel's head lolls forward, eyes slowly cracking open. You looks absolutely ruined and to you, Joel Miller has never looked sexier.

"Please lemme make you come," Joel all but whimpers. You can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "Then let me fuck you properly."

There is a wild moment where you consider denying him. Where you think of pulling yourself off of him and never seeing him again. Making him ache for you the way you ache for him in those dark, quiet times.

"Please baby," Joel whispers, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles are almost translucent. "Fucking need to make you come. Please."

Joel Miller is begging you.

Begging.

Something snaps in you, desire licking between your legs. You tilt back until your spine is flush with his front, his cock still buried in your cunt.

He's gazing down at you, steady and dark and if you didn't know better you'd say your pose could almost appear loving. Your head balanced back on his shoulder, your palm going to stroke his cheek. He swallows at the contact, his mouth drifting towards yours.

"Go on then," you tell him, lips nearly grazing his. "Make me come, Joel."

The words aren't even out of your mouth before he thrusts his thighs apart. Your legs are slung over his, so you feel them parting luridly, exposing your glistening sex to the night air.

One of Joel's hands is sliding up your dress to cup your breast, the other slipping over your thigh to thumb your slick clit between your puffy pussy lips. You quiver at the immediate pleasure of the sensation his touch brings, your cunt tightening around his cock.

"Goddam you feel like heaven," he groans into the back of your neck making you preen.

His hips begin a slow but deepened pace, jostling you in his lap. You groan against his neck, eyes closed languidly.

"That's right," Joel croons when you gasp deeply. "Fucking go on, baby. Take it. S'all for you."

You begin to whimper, shaky needful sounds as your hand clutches at his neck, your forehead braced against the side of his jaw as he fucks into you from behind, holding you there in his lap.

"So good," Joel says in that husky drawl of his. "You're so fucking gorgeous like this."

All too soon you feel that heavy thump between your legs, the building crescendo. Joel groans as he feels you edge your climax, his body quaking under you. He holds you against him tighter, his rumbling moans vibrating against your spine.

"Wanna make you feel so good," Joel rasps in the shell of your ear. "Wanna give you everything. Please come for me, baby. Lemme hear you."

At his last words you begin to shatter against him, an unholy sound breaking from your throat.

"Oh yeah- just like that pretty eyes," Joel says grinding deeply into you, his voice husky in your ear. "Fuck, just like that, yeah. Yeah, fucking use me, baby. Take what you need."

Your hands grip his tightly against your front and you both move together in some carnal dance. Him thrusting deeply into you as you arch back into him. Your throat is exposed and your mouth parts, an inchoate cry on your lips.

"That's my girl," he groans in your ear before pressing sloppy kisses to the side of your bared neck. "That's right baby, you keep goin' just like that."

It's cathartic and overwhelming as everything that has been tensed in your body suddenly releases. It momentarily frightens you in its severity and you cry out.

"Joel!"

"I've got you," Joel soothes, arms holding you tightly against him almost in a bear hug. "Just ride it out. There you go, there you go. Feel all of it, c'mon baby. I've got you."

You do. You ride it out, body shaking against him as you chase your pleasure chanting his name over and over as he murmurs gentle praise against your temple.

"So good....so fucking beautiful... All for you..."

Finally the trembling ceases and you sag in his arms breathing deeply. You feel wrung out, totally exhausted in both body and mind. Joel's soft mouth is on your shoulder blade pressing a long kiss to it. You melt into the sensation, warmed by the feel of his lips on your body.

"Mine."

It's whispered, not meant for you to hear, but you do. It makes your spine straighten and your body lurch from him.

On jellied legs you struggle to a stand, tripping over your own feet as Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, cock still hard when he pulls off the condom.

"Baby, wait -"

But you don't. You're not his baby. This isn't love. This was payment, this was retribution. This wasn't an act between partners or even friends. You're practically strangers to one another.

You push his door open and stagger home, muscles tight. You still can't believe what you just did. The way you just demanded pleasure from Joel. The power you'd felt when he begged to come. You feel heady, you feel...

Empty.

Empty because now as you collapse onto your own sofa you feel tears prick your eyes. Yeah, you fucked Joel Miller. But it doesn't change anything. You're still here in your house alone.

All alone.

You go to the bookshelf, bringing down the album you so often flip through. You open it to the photo of you and your sister at age eight, arms linked as you squint in the sunshine, gap-toothed smiles on display.

You love that photo because you can sometimes remember that day. Remember how the sunshine felt on your bare shoulders, how your sisters arm linked in yours was coated in coconut-scented suntan lotion.

You flip to a photo of you both bent over a pink frosted cake, your sister's sixteenth birthday party. The last photo you took before the outbreak. You think of that night spent laying on the trampoline out back, looking up at the stars.

"I wanna marry a man that looks just like Johnny Depp," your sister said, cheeks red from the days sun. "But he'll be a model too. And he'll take me all over the world."

Your sister had always been about flash, just like your mother. You were so different from them, more serious, more thoughtful.

"What about you?" She asked, candy-scented breath next to your face.

"I want someone who reads and likes the same music, as me," you replied, eyes trailing dreamily over the night sky. "Someone more serious…Someone like Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre."

"You're so weird," your sister had announced, giggling in your ear.

You look at the album; your sister’s laugh still ringing in your ear. You look at the empty house around you. You think of how much you lost in the outbreak, how little you have now and then you allow yourself to cry.

///

Later that week you go to work, mechanical and distracted. You work only half your shift before telling your co-workers that you'll finish up the rest at home. That you're feeling a bit under the weather.

You gather the fabric into your arms, bidding farewell. Your mind is full, stuffed to the brim with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel as you wander the streets back to your house.

You're so distracted that you don't notice the tall woman in front of you until she calls your name. When you see who it is you stop abruptly, eyes wide.

"Hey," Tess says giving you an awkward wave as she saunters over to you, a bag of bread in her arms.

"Hey," you say equally uncomfortable. You struggle to find something to say, terrified that she's going to start a scene. Does she know about you and Joel in his house?

She can't. There's no anger in her expression or disgust. Just a polite smile that you yourself would use on any other member of Jackson City. You shift the fabric awkwardly in the crook of your arm.

"You uh, you weren't at the wedding."

Her light eyes drop to the ground before slowly making their way back to your face.

My guy was on patrol," Tess shrugs, blushing prettily. "Wanted to be there for him when he got back."

You smile at this, recalling what Trish told you about Tess. Her new partner.

"Besides I still don't know many people actually," Tess forces a smile. "So it seemed weird to go."

A new kind of guilt assaults you. The kind that reminds you all the time she invited you over for drinks, all the walks that you declined with her. The desperate bids for friendship that she threw your way and that you continually ignored.

"Everyone's invited to everything around here," you say, shifting the fabric to your other arm. "Next event we'll go together. I'll introduce you to the group."

"Yeah sure," Tess says with a real smile. "I'd like that."

"Good."

Tess looks momentarily uncomfortable licking her dry lips before fixing you with a serious expression.

"You know you and Joel don't have to hide that you're together for my sake," she tells you with an earnestness that makes you feel choked up. "I'm happy for you both. That's what I keep telling him! But he keeps telling me to mind my own business."

It's like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown over your head. Tess seems to want to say more when she registers your reaction but she stops, wan smile on her face.

"There is no me and Joel," you finally tell her flatly. "Never was, never will be."

Tess, looks completely flummoxed. Her hands stem at her hips as she looks at you, her brows heavy.

"You sure about that?"

You open your mouth to say something but then pause. Tess waits, head tilted. You find your voice, but it's quieter than before, less certain.

"I barely know him, Tess."

"He's worth getting to know," Tess says simply, no guile in her eyes. "Even if he doesn't agree. He'll show you though if you give him the chance."

You're struck by the woman's sincerity. Guilty about what went on with Joel, ashamed that you could have done it. Confused because it's like Joel is tattooed on your insides, a continual reminder that he exists every time you draw a breath.

"Joel doesn't let a lot of people in," she adds when she sees the conflicted feelings clear in your face. "When the old world ended it changed how we all saw the future. I don't think Joel ever really saw one where he was gonna be happy again. Makes it hard to be pleasant sometimes."

You don't say anything further, unable to come up with a worthwhile end to the conversation.

Tess decides that she'll be the one to end things with a nod and a murmured goodbye. You watch her leave, amazed that Joel could ever let her go.

///

That evening you watch the sun set outside your window. It's a beautiful light orange that sets everything it touches in golden rays.

It's the kind of night where you want to curl in bed and read with the window open. But you haven't unlocked that window in months.

You won't. You can't.

But you think about heading down to the river in the back lots. It's a trek but maybe you need to clear your head. Everything that test told you this afternoon is replaying in your mind over and over.

Did Joel say something to Tess about caring for you? Why did she assume that you were together?

A knock at the door draws your attention. You towel off your hands and stride over to it, pulling the door open slowly.

Joel stands there on your doorstep, a nervous look on his face.

"Can we talk?"

His hands are thrust deep into his pockets. You can only assume that he's here to pay you back for your visit to his and the thought sours your stomach.

"I'm not fucking you, Joel."

"S'not why I'm here."

He seems earnest when he says this and it gives you pause. You see the sweat dotting his forehead, the strain in his expression. This isn't the face of a man who wants to demand something from you.

Silently you open the door further, signaling with your tilted head for him to enter. He does, shooting you a quick, thin-lipped smile and nod before his broad-shoulder-ed frame is inside.

You watch him enter into your home, his tall frame loping towards your fireplace. He glances at books resting on your mantle. His forefinger goes to touch one, the spine of one before he moves on.

He moves around this place casually as if he belongs here. As if he isn't an interloper in your home.

His eyes dart down to your coffee table.

He points at the album opened up to the page you had paused over last night.

"Family photos?"

"Yeah."

"You're lucky you have so many," Joel murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over the many faces of your family.

"My mom grabbed the album before we left," you shrug. "The only thing I still have from before."

You don't know why but you allow Joel to flip through your family album. He smiles gently when he gets to a picture of two girls with missing front teeth holding ice cream cones on the beach.

"You and your sister?"

"Yeah."

He nods, brows heavy. He doesn't ask but he seems to know all the same.

"Watched her turn," you tell him regardless. "Watched my mom kill her."

Joel is staring at you, eyes wide. His hands twitch at his side. If this was the world before, he would offer condolences but on this utterly broken earth they serve no purpose. Instead he stares at you looking both uncomfortable and overwhelmingly sad.

But you don't care how Joel feels. You're tired and you want to go to bed.

"What do you want Joel? Why are you here? You wanna learn about my family? You wanna hear how after my mom killed my sister she killed herself?" You shake your head. "Is this some new game for you?"

Joel shakes his head. "Was never a game to me."

"Right."

Joel can tell you don't believe him. He frowns deeply before lowering himself onto your sofa. He looks expectantly at you, tilting his head to the empty seat next to him.

"I'll stand thanks."

"Suit yourself," Joel says tightly and you can see that familiar need for control in his features. It pleases you to upend it.

"S'never a game to me," Joel repeats. "Can't say the same for you, though, sneakin' into my house to move my shit around. Why'd you start that by the way?"

Now it's your turn to look sheepish. You consider sending him away just so you don't have to answer. But then you think of him coming here after everything that’s gone on the last few days and you relent.

"You hurt my feelings and…I wanted your attention, I think."

"You already had it."

"Not that kind of attention with you being all grumpy," you roll your eyes. "I wanted you to look at me without scowling. I wanted to be friends. The first time you ever noticed me you were so rude!"

"Noticed you long before that," Joel promises. "Noticed you the first week I moved in."

"Huh?"

Joel sighs, as if what he has to say physically pains him. His foot absently taps against your wood floors, giving him time to collect his thoughts.

"I was carrying boxes upstairs to the bedroom. Your window was open I think. I just glanced over cuz something caught my eye. Maybe your curtains or somethin' moving in the breeze." Joel looks almost embarrassed at all the ancillary information he's offered.

"Anyway I saw you sittin' on your bed and you were readin'. Totally focused, didn't even notice me watchin' you while I unloaded boxes."

You narrow your eyes on him with suspicion. "Why would you watch me read?"

"Was relaxin'," Joel shrugs briefly, honestly. "Whenever I caught sight of you, you were just so comforting. I can't explain it properly. . . But then time went on and I happened to see you when you were readin' or cookin' or just out walkin', you were just so calm to look at."

You feel your mouth parting. Joel had been watching you for so long. Much longer than you even had begun to watch him.

"And it wasn't just calm I felt. It was happy. It made me happy to watch you, especially when you smiled," Joel's mouth curves into a small grin as if recalling a specific memory. "You got such a gorgeous smile. Makes your whole face light up."

You're openly gaping at him now. Shocked at these ready admissions of a truth hidden for so long. Confused at this softness, this tenderness.

"I've never seen someone smile so fucking much. Sarah would have just loved you. You and that friend, you smiled and laughed all the time." Joel grows somber, brows saddling. "But you don't smile half as much anymore.. is it cuz of me?"

Yes.

Because I hate that I want you.

"If it is... Tell me," Joel insists. "I don't wanna be the reason you stop smiling, pretty eyes. I'll leave you alone forever if it gets you smilin' again."

He's got puppy dog eyes now. Wide and sorrowful looking. They almost don't fit with the harsh planes of the rest of his face.

"Why do you call me that?" you ask exasperatedly. "Do you not remember my name or something?"

"Course I know your name," Joel says, whispering it now. The sound of it slides over your body like a silk sheet. "S'a beautiful name."

"So then why-"

"I call you pretty eyes because you see beauty in everything. Nature, animals, people. You always wanna help. You want the whole shitty world to be a better place," Joel is shaking his head. "You know how terrifying that is to someone who's given up?"

You don't know what to say.

Joel stands, reaching into his back pocket. He closes his eyes, wincing before he crosses over to you and forces something into your hands. You hold it to your face. It's a photograph, a small one, the kind you yourself used to get in school, sent home glossy and overpriced for your mom to purchase.

It's been folded, creased, lovingly looked at thousands of times, you can tell. It's of a young girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile. A girl with a dimple in her cheek that matches her father. Your finger traces the sweet curve of her face.

"That's Sarah," Joel tells you after a beat. "My daughter."

"She's beautiful."

“She was, yeah.”

Joel's face holds a myriad of emotions all at once. The most prominent of them all however is regret. There's a story there likely similar to your own. You hand him back the photo and he places it back in his pocket.

"I kept going after she was... Taken from me," Joel explains, obviously not wanting to use the real word. "I didn't wanna keep going. But I felt like I had to. I did what I thought I had to and I survived. And when I got here to Jackson I was all alone and all I could think was what was the point? What did I do all this for?"

You nod. Understanding more than you think he'll ever realize. Joel moves back to sit on the sofa, his body tense.

"I thought existing was enough. But then that night I caught you in my closet.... It's like I felt alive again. The good kind of alive- not just needing to live for survival. The kind of alive that has my heart hammerin' and my blood pounding. Makes food taste better for Christ's sake, I don't know how, but it does," Joel is going pink at his neck and cheeks.

"S'like you brought me back from the dead."

You feel the tension, the animosity, the agitation that has been tightening your muscles suddenly release at his words.

"I did?"

Joel nods and he doesn't move closer to you but you have a feeling he'd like to.

"The day after we... The first time," Joel has the good graces to look embarrassedly down at his shoes. "I thought it was better if I stayed away from you."

"Why?"

"Because I was ashamed of myself for how I'd treated you," Joel looks sick as he remembers it, eyes lowered. "But then I saw you that day in the shop lookin' at books and...I just... I was shaking when you walked by me but I just wanted to be near you. I just couldn't stop thinking about you."

You feel like your stomach is doing somersaults. You've never heard Joel talk so much. It makes your head spin. It makes the world feel tilted. Joel is looking at you, concern clear in his features.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you croak, feeling your legs growing wobbly. You slowly lower yourself to the sofa. Joel joins you and you swallow when his knee brushes yours.

"I've done a lot of things," Joel says. "Things I'm not proud of. Things that someone like you shouldn't have to be around. But I wanted to be around you."

Joel takes a deep breath and you're surprised to see the sheen to his dark eyes. You allow his hand to slowly cover your knee, his thumb giving you soothing rubs.

"I thought about you every day."

Your heart is pounding at his husky admission. But then as those words settle within your mind you grow sullen.

"What about Tess?"

"You were suddenly all chummy with that Markus. The two of you looked like a couple n' you were always with your friend and her husband. You seemed happy and I didn't wanna interfere." Joel frowns. "I knew Tess from way back. Thought it made sense. Wanted it to work. But I couldn't stop thinkin' about you."

You make a scoffing sound.

"I really couldn't," Joel insists, his voice pained. "The night you left my place? I told her I was..." Joel swallows. "I told her there was someone else. She said she'd figured."

"Did you tell her we-"

"No," Joel shakes his head. "You can call me a coward if you want. But it seemed cruel to tell her. Almost as cruel as doin' it in the first place."

You nod in agreement.

"I was terrified when you weren't at home after that. Took a lot of askin' around to find out you were staying with your friend." Joel frowns, eyes limpid. "Was it cuz you didn't wanna see me?"

You can see real fear there in his eyes at your answer and you know that what you say next could potentially devastate him. But the anger you've been carrying around with you like a second skin has fled. Right now you want to be honest like him.

"Not completely," you answer truthfully, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. "I was also scared I was pregnant."

Joel's head ducks slightly and his voice drops so lowly you don't hear what he mumbles. You ask him to repeat it and Joel exhales slowly.

"I was hopin' you were."

What. The. Fuck.

That was about the last thing you ever thought you'd hear from Joel Miller. You stare at him unblinking, unsure that you've heard him correctly. The entire lower half of his face is flushed, like he's just exposed his biggest secret. Which in a way, you suppose he has.

You think back to that night. Of Joel emptying himself into you with a groan and disgust crosses your features.

"Did you mean to-"

"Fuck no!" Joel answers, the truth immediately apparent in his horrified expression. "Just got carried away that night. No fuck, I would never ... No. Not on purpose. Not without talking to.. Was just after... when I was thinking about it that the idea just .. If it did happen... It maybe didn't seem so awful to me..."

"Jesus, Joel."

Joel nods, grimacing. "I know. I just. . . Thinking of you carrying my baby? Belly swollen and everyone knowing you were mine? That I made you a mama? I wanted it. Wanted that life. I know it was selfish, I know it's fucked up, but it's the truth. I'm trying to be as honest as possible here. No lyin'."

You hate the way this pulls at your lower belly. The desire that licks there. Joel wanting to put his claim on you in the most permanent way possible has you slick between your legs. Despite how fucked up it is, despite how wrong, you can't help but feel turned on.

What is wrong with me?

Logic and reason prevails and you feel your resolve strengthening. You tilt back from his hand on your knee, pulling your legs against your chest as you press against the arm at the other end of the sofa. Joel watches you retreat from him, face falling.

"Joel you just like fucking me." You spread your arms wide. "That's all this has ever been."

"For you maybe," Joel shakes his head. "S'not just that. Not for me."

"How would you know?"

"Cuz I wanna spend time with you," Joel explains, bright eyes on yours. "Be near you. Not just fucking."

You don't know what else to say. How would you ever know if that was true? Too much has happened between the two of you.

"Can I show you?"

You glance up at Joel, brows raised. Show you?

"Show me what?"

"What I wanted more than anything since the last time I saw you?"

It's a trick. A way to let him further into your home. Payback for what you did to him.

No no no. Don't let this happen again you fool.

And yet you barely hesitate. After everything he's confessed to you there is no ire left in you.

"Okay."

Joel's sudden smile is wide and warm and so damn grateful that it pulls at your heartstrings. He stands, holding his hand out to you. You look at his palm briefly before you take it, feeling as his large, warm hand wraps around yours.

He holds you tightly and the both of you pad upstairs. The stairs creak under your combined weight but you barely hear it over the rush of blood roaring in your ears.

Joel is in your house. Joel is touching you. Joel is being tender. Joel Joel Joel. The man you couldn't stop thinking about. The man you hate yourself for wanting because he’s so cold. But tonight he’s so warm.

You reach the threshold of your bedroom and stop, looking at him curiously. He gives a nod, silently asking for your trust.

Despite everything you give it, walking into your bedroom and waiting as he follows you.

"Where's your nightclothes?"

You point to a dresser drawer. He nods, going over to it and pulling it open. You watch in quiet fascination as he pulls out a pale yellow nightdress with ruffles at the shoulders.

"S'pretty," he murmurs looking at it. "You like this one?"

"Yeah."

You're confused when he takes your hand in his again and walks you to the bathroom. The wide, aged tub in there is turned on. A luxury you don't often take advantage of because you prefer showers.

While the warm water is filling, Joel places the nightgown beside the sink. He turns to you and you can see him take a nervous inhale.

"Can I undress you?"

Again you barely hesitate. You nod and he closes the distance between you.

His blunted fingers move slowly over the buttons of your cardigan, your skirt. You watch Joel's face the entire time, taking in the way his mouth twists lightly to the side as he concentrates. He undresses you with quiet patience, his eyes warm and soft. Your clothes are slipped gently from your body, folded (much to your gentle amusement) and placed on the counter next to the nightdress.

You watch him take a deep inhale before his hands skim around your bra to unhook it. Your breasts fall, released from the cotton fabric. Joel looks at your flushed face, his breathing shuddering. But he slips the bra off your shoulders and places it with the rest.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. You feel your nipples tightening as his eyes fall over them, a look of reverence in his features. You wait for his mouth to descend, or his hands to knead them.

But instead his fingers come to rest on your hips, thumbs curling around the band of your panties. You feel your breath growing uneven at the thought of being completely bared to him. He hears it, registers it and his dark eyes flit to yours.

"This still okay?"

You nod, trying to steady your breath. Joel smiles, eyes going to your mouth. You know he wants to kiss you but instead he blinks and lowers himself to kneel in front of you.

There on his knees before you, like you're his own personal altar, Joel slowly begins slipping your panties down your thighs, your calves, until you step out of them with your hand on his shoulder for balance.

Finally you stand there in front of him naked. You feel vulnerable and turned on all at once. He's still kneeling, eyes drifting everywhere as if he's trying to memorize you. Your face heats as his wide eyes slide over every piece of exposed flesh.

His finger trails over the scar at your ribs, unseen to him before now. His eyes go to your face as he stands, hand coming to drift over your cheek.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs huskily. But he doesn't make any further move to touch you.

You think that this is what he's been after since you arrived back home. That he's just wanting to fuck somewhere new. That this was an elaborate way to break down your barriers. You fold your arms over your breasts, hand coming to hide your sex.

You watch in confused silence as Joel strips as well, tugging off his shirt and jeans and boxers until he's standing there in front of you naked, his cock semi hard. He stands waiting, letting you have your turn at gawking. Despite the vulnerability of his nakedness, be excudes a powerful dominance, his frame large.

His masculine body is beautiful, his shoulders broad and the skin golden and littered with pale scars. You can't help but touch the swell of his biceps, fingers trailing over and down to his wrist. He shivers when you touch him and you see his cock hardening. He goes to cover himself.

"You're gorgeous," you blurt, heart swelling when you see him give a shy grin at your words. He tilts his head away from you, his face pinking. Shy.

Joel Miller is shy.

The tub is full now and Joel turns the tap to stop. He steps in first, testing the heat before holding a beckoning hand to you. With a quirked brow you take it, allowing him to lower you both to sit in the tub. You go in front and his long legs go to either side of you.

You marvel at the gold skin of his legs and the dark hair that grows there. This skin, previously a mystery shown to you up close. You can't stop yourself from reaching a hand to his ankle and brushing the delicate bone there. His damp hand skims up your spine, he too marveling at this new piece of you exposed to him.

Eventually he urges your back against his chest and you let out a small whisper of a groan his fingers come to your neck and begin to massage.

"This okay?"

"Mhmmm."

You go boneless as Joel's hands work your neck and shoulders as the water surrounds you. The warm bath feels so good and Joel's touch is so comforting.

Finally his hands are removed, once more going to urge your back against his front. He holds you loosely, fingers trailing over your forearm.

You sit for several moments in the quietly lapping water, feeling Joel's chest constrict and expand as he breathes behind you. Your eyes fall shut, lulled by your surroundings and you hear him fumbling with a bottle before you hear the squeeze of your shampoo bottle.

His wide hands go to drag the shampoo through your hair. The sensation of his fingers carding through your tresses makes every hair on your body stand on end in pleasure.

"You've got beautiful hair," Joel says softly, marveling at it as he rubs your scalp. "Thought so the first time I saw you."

You think of that day with the book when Joel had approached you, when he had smoothed a wayward strand of your hair between his fingers.

"Thanks."

You go limp against him, body melting into his light touch. When he talks it reverberates through your back. You muse that you could fall asleep like this. His chin grazes the top of your head.

"You enjoy that Jane Eyre book?"

He speaks gently as if he doesn't want to disturb your serenity.

"Yeah I did," you say smiling genuinely. "It was one of my favorite books from before."

"Mine too."

This surprises you a moment that he remembered until you recall the books he was going to lend you months ago. He'd had so many that you yourself had loved.

Joel seems so closed off, a hermit, almost a luddite in your mind. But he plays beautiful music and he reads wonderful books. There's so much to uncover about him.

"What do you think is Bradbury's best work?"

"Easy," you can feel Joel smiling behind you as he continues lathering. "Fahrenheit 451."

"You're crazy," you insist with an amused laugh. "It's the Martian Chronicles!"

"Never," Joel insists with a playful tug of your hair. "I bet you'll say Dandelion Wine was good."

"It was!" You insist, craning your head to face him with a faux outraged expression. He's grinning back down at you, his face glowing in the gentle light of the sunset outside the window.

"S'okay," he murmurs with his soft eyes sweeping over your face. "We don't have to agree on everything."

You nod, and he turns his attention to the pitcher next to the bathtub.

"Tilt your head back, pretty eyes."

You do so, eyes closing as Joel scoops water up into the jug and rinses the shampoo from your hair.

You feel at ease here in the water with Joel, you both just existing in the gentle warmth. You wish you could straighten your body out over him. You feel like a cat longing to stretch out in a sunbeam.

It makes you feel soft and gentle towards Joel. You find yourself wanting to know more about him, about the life he had before everything went to shit.

"What did you do before everything?"

"Contractor." His fingers make sure not to miss a strand of your hair with the water. "Tommy n' I had our own company."

He tells you a bit about the construction company, about how it was fun and exhausting being his own boss. It's easy to imagine Joel hammering away at wood planking, driving a beat up old truck down some winding streets.

He asks you about yours and you muse that the only job you had before the outbreak was working at a video store.

"Must be why you like those movie nights here," Joel muses. You look up at him, grinning, delighted that he remembers this fact about you.

"Yeah."

His eyes drift lazily down from your eyes to your mouth and you know what he wants because now you want it too. Desperately.

He won't make the first move, you can tell. So it's you that tilts up to press your lips against his. You feel your entire body tingle as he sighs against you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind.

It's a sweet, soft thing that ends with him pulling back and pressing another gentle kiss to your cheek and forehead before he moves back to working on your hair.

You talk quietly back and forth about life before the outbreak. He tells you that Sarah always fell asleep during movies, even the ones she picked out. He tells you that he was almost married but then his fiancée backed out and left him with his infant daughter. You tell him that your sister was your favorite person. You tell him that your first kiss was under the bleachers at school.

When he begins to massage the conditioner into your scalp your head falls back and you let out a whimpered moan. It feels heavenly to be cared for like this. You've never had this.

At the first strains of your cry you feel Joel's cock hardening further against your lower back. Arousal pools in your belly and your hand moves under the water, instinctively going to grip him. He twitches at the contact.

"Not tonight, pretty eyes," Joel murmurs, gently urging your hand off of him and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You continue sitting there between his legs confused as he rinses the last of the conditioner from your hair, his hardened cock pressed between your bodies.

He's hard and he doesn't want you to touch him?

He shampoos and rinses his own hair before he stands, pulling you from the water tenderly by the hand. He drains the tub, moving to grab your towel from the hook by the door.

With a softness you didn't expect from him, Joel gently towels you off, drying each inch of your flesh before tugging your nightdress on over your body.

He pulls on his boxers before you both pad back to your bedroom. He pulls back the covers of the bed, urging you to crawl in. You do so and you look expectantly up at him, noticing his hesitation as he lowers the blankets around you, tucking you in. He takes a moment to look at you, cheeks pink from the steam of the bath, eyes sleepy.

He leans over, kissing you full on the mouth in a way that's all sweet. It's a kiss of tenderness that has you exhaling into his mouth.

This version of Joel is so fucking appealing. This open, soft Joel that talks to you about everything. This Joel that touches you with no aim other than to make you feel good and cherished.

"I'm gonna get dressed and go," he says in a whisper as he pulls back from your lips. His knuckles trace your cheek as he smiles serenely down at you. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

You realize that the bath, that tenderness is what he'd wanted. He hadn't been expecting sex at all and for that reason alongside many others, you want him to stay. You reach out from under the covers, grabbing his wrist.

"I don't want you to go."

He pauses, his dark eyes scanning yours. He's hesitant and you know that he's worried you'll see this evening as transactional when you know it's been anything but.

"I want you to stay, Joel."

Joel contemplates a while longer before he finally nods. He pulls back the covers, climbing between the sheets beside you. He's warm from the bath and you instinctively snuggle back against him. His arms eagerly wrap around you and in them you feel a security you haven’t felt in decades.

Joel strokes your arm absently, kissing your shoulder only once before his head is back on the pillow, the two of you watching the moon hanging low in the sky. From where you lay you can see the roof of Joel's house. You think of how this started and you hold in a laugh.

"Sometimes I'd watch your house as I was falling asleep," he tells you, feeling bold in the darkness. "If your light was on I felt like everything was okay in the world. S'like your light was my moon."

You smile at that. Under the covers you're both warm, your hair damp. It feels domestic, not rushed or dirty. It makes you feel vulnerable as your bodies press next to one another in the bed.

You look behind you at Joel in the blue darkness, your hand brushing an errant curl from his forehead as you twist to face him. Your mouth finds his again and you sigh as your lips move against one another.

You assume that this is when he'll fuck you or at least make gentle love to you, but he does neither. He just holds you, bringing you against his body and curling around you, as if he's protecting you from the elements. It seems natural to him, to be a protector.

"You told me you weren't a good man," you whisper to him in the darkness. "But I think you might be."

"I'm not. I've done terrible things," Joel grimaces. "You know firsthand."

He strokes your hair, hand heavy before he continues.

"I'm so sorry for how I treated you. I.... I didn't know how to act. I'd wanted you so fucking long and you were there and I couldn't help myself. But s'not a good reason. I was a fucking asshole. I don't blame you for hating me."

"I don't hate you Joel," you say with honesty. "Don't hate anyone, really."

"That's what I lo- like about you," Joel says, voice catching. "Not a mean bone in your body."

"I dunno about that," you shrug. "Took great pleasure in refusing to dance with you the other night."

You can hear Joel smile at that behind you. "S'okay. I deserved it."

The silence stretches on a little longer.

"I'd say yes," you say in a quiet voice. "If you asked me again."

Joel doesn't reply, but he pulls you tighter against him, burying his face in your damp hair.

You've never slept with someone in this bed. You think that it will be a hardship and you're shocked at how easily you fold into his embrace, how calm you feel and you drift into a peaceful slumber.

When you wake up the next morning he's still asleep, dark lashes fanned over caramel cheeks. His arm is slung over your waist, as if in sleep he's worried about you leaving.

You watch him breathing slowly, his full mouth parted. You think that he looks so peaceful like this, so open. You can't help yourself and you graze a kiss against his lips.

Joel's eyes flutter open to see you staring at him with glossy eyes. His mouth curls into a sleepy smile and he brushes his knuckles against the curve of your cheek.

"Mornin' pretty eyes."

His voice is low and rumbling with sleep. It's a sound that feels good in your ear. A sound that travels down between your legs and pulses.

You kiss him again, a little longer this time. His hand is at your jaw, holding you lightly. There's no harshness in how he touches you now. You pull back, resting your head on the pillow next to his.

You both gaze at one another, eyes locked. You think you can see eternity in the dark galaxy of his gaze.

There's something about this moment that feels safe to you. Safety. And something else. Something that feels too early to speak aloud. A feeling that eluded you for so long. Tears spring along your waterline.

"Joel .. I-" you don't know what to say or how to say it. But Joel understands because he feels the same. His smile turns serious and you watch as his own dark eyes begin to grow damp.

"I know, baby," Joel rumbles. "I know."

With tears in your eyes your mouth seeks his out again, your hands going to his bare shoulders and gripping.

He holds you against his chest, both of you kissing for what feels like hours. He holds your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. As if he's trying to atone for all those times he never kissed you, never cherished you properly.

"I want you," Joel murmurs against your ear as you nestle against him. "Want you to read with me on my couch in front of the fire and sit next to me at those movie nights. I want everyone to know you're my girl. Wanna make up for all those times I was an idiot. Wanna make you laugh and smile like you used to. Can I?”

Your heart expands, your own hands cupping his cheeks. This man that you've wanted, that you've denied yourself wanting. He's looking at you with those big eyes, the ones that often seem so sad and so serious.

"I want that too," you murmur. "Want you to teach me guitar too. Promise I won't hide it anymore."

Joel grins against your lips, recalling how all of this first began. He licks into your mouth as you whimper, the desire for him overwhelming you. There will be more discussions, more moments where Joel will fight to prove himself worthy of you. But for right now you simply want him.

Languid movements against each other turn into both sets of hands seeking bare flesh and moments later after your gentle urging of a condom into his hand, Joel raises himself above you, mouth on yours as he slides between your thighs slow and sweet, murmuring how much he wants you, adores you. His voice holds you, warms you as you keen, arching against him.

He takes his time, brushing the thankful tears from your eyes with his lips. You kiss his away from the corner of his eyes. He watches your body move underneath his with awe, as if he's actually seeing you for the first time. In a way it's like you both are.

And much like the bath last night Joel holds you tenderly, makes you feel beloved. He doesn't take, he just gives, over and over kissing praises into your skin, pressing devotion between your legs.

"I want you to take it," he whispers against your neck as your thighs bracketing his hips begin to tremble. "It's all for you, pretty eyes. Everything."

You know what he means.

When you two fall back against your pillow breathing unsteadily a short while later you can't help but smile in disbelief. You tilt your head to see that Joel is doing the same and you roll into his waiting arms, giggling.

Your window stays unlocked after that.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal #smut #mean!joel #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel #dark!joel miller

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rntoshi · 1 year

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— isagi yoichi (n): the unintentional fuck boy.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏/ • yoichi is pro, all characters are adults.

no one would ever think to associate the term “fuck boy” to the heart of gold that is isagi yoichi. the blue eyed ravenette comes across as such a sweetheart when people first meet him. a bit hardheaded if you really know him, but a sweetheart, nonetheless. there's so much passion and drive behind his eyes that it's charming— alluring to the hopeless romantic type for the fact that they like to daydream about what could be. anyone could get lost in a fantasy about being swept off their feet by a pretty face like isagi, he makes it effortless really. golden retriever energy is what you would call it. it's why he's so popular with women, he comes across as this boy next door who’s so willing to do anything to achieve a goal he has set in his heart. that's the image he's painted for himself in the public eye, and not that it's inaccurate: it just simply doesn't translate well into his love life.

one of his issues is... isagi doesn't realize just how attractive he is. as it's been said before, he's himbo adjacent. the attention he gets... he sums it up as getting “lucky.” his friendliness can be perceived as flirting, even more so that he doesn't take into account that he's one of the hottest players in the blue lock program. his gorgeous face and his athletic but lean physique make him physically attractive but it's also the mannerisms he possesses as well. little things like being the type to place a gentle hand on the small of your back if he's trying to walk past you in a crowded area. a polite “excuse me, I'm sorry.” leave his lips and the prettiest smile when you two make eye contact lingers just a second too long. or the crease between his brows when he's frustrated or tired— running both hands through his hair which exposes his forehead. it.

he never intends to, but he can't help but to well... get cold feet after the climax of one of his newfound “flings.” once the initial excitement has passed, it's not as appealing for him anymore but there's a reason for this. it's his post nut clarity that gets him every time. that immediate clear mindedness or soberness a guy gains after blowing his load. lying in bed with a girl as she talks about their future— the pillow talk goes well until the plans she proposes clash with his career. isagi has a tendency to equate entertaining the thought of a relationship as him putting priority towards just that, and not his real passion. it's just that isagi is at a point in his career where... nothing will ever amount to how important his job is to him. he's dedicated so much time and effort to get to the point where he is now. its time consuming and mind plaguing, it's the long-lasting effects that blue lock has had on him throughout the years. it's built an insane work ethic and need to crave more. nothing can or will get in the way of him and his vision. it's a curse all athletes have and unfortunately isagi yoichi, our sweet mc, is not an exception. it probably affects him the worse, really.

these girls he gets involved with always seem to have a trend of leaving feminine items in his gym bag. thongs, bras, hair scrunchies and even jewelry in hopes of isagi returning them. some girls do it for his attention and others do it because they want to plant this seed that isagi is “seeing” them. the paparazzi can catch anything and will often seek for certain shots if they're tipped off.

it's kind of funny because out of everyone, raichi is the one who discovers isagi is a bit of a whore. it's a regular day at practice when all the boys were in the locker room getting themselves situated before hitting the field. isagi is sitting on the bench when he pulls out his cleats, and in the process a hot pink thong falls on the floor beside raichi's feet where he foot only a couple feet away. of course, blondie gives isagi a hard time about it.

“tch, you still seein' that one brunette, huh? she your girl yet?” raichi picks up the pair of panties, leaning against the locker with a smug smile twirling the skimpy garment around his pointer finger before sling shotting it back to isagi.

“hah.. no.” isagi lets out a small, breathy chuckle as he catches the underwear. he's a little embarrassed but it's nothing he's not used to. “i met someone else. she's a sweet girl though.”

“the hell are you talkin' about? you were just screwing this other chick last monday.” raichi raises a brow as he straightens his posture, only now realizing why isagi never said a specific name. it's because they were all different girls. ha, that's rich.

“ah.. well yeah.” isagi gives a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck before he shoves the panties back into his bag, in a smaller and more discreet pocket. raichi only shakes his head before turning around back to his locker.

“it's always the humble ones.” raichi mumbles to himself.

yoichi finds himself puzzled at how often these kinds of things end up in his possession at the most inconvenient times but he never thinks too deeply about it. his indifference to the situation makes them want to chase him even harder. do even more outlandish things to get his attention when his tunnel vision is impossible to break.

he routinely goes to the gym after these one-night stands. it’s like a detox but for his mind, cleansing it of all the diluted thoughts that fogged his vision. it's almost like his own form of meditation.

there’s something so hot about isagi working out after a hookup. it's the post sex glow he has, the thin layer of sweat on his body, the determined look in his eye as he pushes himself past his usual limits. his cock is semi hard in his sweats from his endorphins, creating a prominent print under the gym's harsh lighting. he feels like a brand-new man after. refreshed and ready for the next fight on the field.

isagi is sweet! he really is! he doesn't like making girls cry. but he can't help that he's awful at texting back or returning calls. yoichi just forgets, getting too caught up in practice, games and press conferences.

it's not all isagi's fault though, because he is such sweetheart and can come across as a little manipulative, women often think they can take advantage of securing a marriage with a professional athlete. most are in for a rude awakening when their plans fall short while others simply pick up on the behavior and more onto the next team with the next player.

it won't be like this forever though. i believe this version of isagi is the kind of guy to realize he's fallen in love with his childhood best friend. isagi is known to be extremely loyal so any relationships that have already been established are taken quite seriously by him. you were that sweet girl who lived next door to him for years. you always had cute band aids for when he scraped his knees and yummy snack to share after school. you weren't very athletic, but you always cheered for him even during his loses. you were also one of his biggest support systems when he was going through the blue lock programs. you've always been an anchor in his life and it's something he doesn't realize until you two lose contact for a couple years.

it's funny how things work out too because it just so happens that you two visit home around the same time. when he sees you in your mother's flower garden you had only gotten prettier. you're wearing a flowy sundress and a sunhat; he thinks it's so cute— refreshing to see in contrast to the girls that usually approach him. there's a moment where you finally lock eyes with him, and it makes his tummy drop.

and he realizes he's in love.

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 11 months

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Tiny humans - Dr James Wilson x peds!reader

description: House gets to meet Wilson's new girlfriend for the first time when his case takes him into his worst nightmare...peds. House is in for a shock at the ball of sunshine who has his best friend on a string.

authors note: my first post for this series I want to do of oneshots and my first fanfic post on tumblr ever...enjoy!!! Btw i'm taking a lot of inspo from Arizona Robbins from Greys anatomy

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN FOR PEDS!READER - request here

House limped down the hallway followed by an exasperated Wilson who was concerned at his friends eager step, seeing as he was on his way to see a patient. How un-house-like.

"This is peds remember, these aren't normal patients. They don't lie, they don't have ulterior motives, they're just...kids." Wilson halted his friends shoulder and turned him towards his concerned face.

"So, wait until they've had a sip of beer before berating their existence?" House mockingly tilted his head in faux concern. Wilson's mouth opened but all that left was a sigh.

After confirming that his friend was no longer going to halt the inevitable, he continued on with a new fervour in his limp. But Wilson didn't stop there and sped to catch up with the surprising amount of ground his friend had covered.

"You see she loves these kids almost...almost like they're her own. She's smart and is excellent at what she does but she doesn't care about that." Wilson paused and looked back into his mind, picturing the moment he first saw her in a child's room, a plastic tiara on her head and an empty teacup perfectly clasped between her fingers.

"She cares about the kids."

"Wow. I'm touched." House grasps his chest and wipes away a non-existant tear. "Do you know how easy being a paediatrician is. They can't lie until they grow teeth and after that they're stupid enough to reveal to us when their parents lie. There's a reason it's 'daddy touches my special place' and not 'daddy gets aroused by children.'"

"That's it I'm making the rule. No pedaphile jokes."

"But the jokes literally in the name...peds"

"Who lets you around children?"

"Who lets me around people? Haha, I got you there!" He jabs a finger into Wilson's chest. Wilson rolls his eyes and holds out his arm to prevent his morose friend entering the land of happiness. Well as happy as a bunch of sick kids can be.

"Well let me appeal to your true nature." Wilson sighs. "I like this girl and she likes me. Please don't ruin it?"

"How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes. Fine! But only in the name of your libido, at least until I finish my soul-searching and realise my true calling is your bed."

Whilst House finishes his thought, they are spotted by a woman in pink scrubs, absent of any colour of coat. She briskly walks towards the two.

"Dr Wilson, Dr House. My name is..."

"I don't remember nurses names, it's nothing personal, I rarely remember anyones."

Wilson coughs and shoves his friends shoulder to direct him towards your burning gaze.

"As I was saying, my name is DOCTOR y/l/n. Pleasure to meet you."

Despite the gaze, her smile remains cheerful and she extends her hand for House to shake. Reluctantly, he eventually offers it and it is taken in a firm and bouncy handshake.

"James has told me so much about you, to be honest I'm surprised our paths have not crossed sooner. Regardless, today I am so happy to welcome you both to peds. The most magical place on earth."

Whilst listening to her, House took stock of the woman in front of him. Her pink scrubs seemed to be the dullest thing about her. Her hair was collected in a ponytail that swished its way down between her shoulder blades. Her pockets were lined with memories of her past. A pink glitter pen given to her from a girl who was continually brought in for asthma, a ball of yarn from a boy who had loved knitting, a yellow sticker saying great job, a blue glitter one saying 'you go girl'. There was a pencil with a yellow smiley face rubber and another that seemed to contain many colours. I guess that just made it all the more fun. House smirked when he saw a pocket protector. Not too dissimilar to the one that lined the pocket of the smitten brunette next to him.

"Gentlemen, this is peds. This is the place of the tiny humans. They like glitter, they play games, they see us as magicians. They believe we are the magical healers who can cure them. So that's how we present ourselves to them. The tiny humans may be tiny but they are strong. Stronger than most. Their bodies fight because they know they have so much life left to live and we try our hardest to give them as much life left as we possibly can."

As the girl speaks, absolutely in awe of her job and the lives it saves. She fails to notice the adoring gaze of the one she calls hers. The brunette looks to her as if she hung the stars and the moon and even though he could hear House's eyes rolling into the back of his skull, he couldn't bring himself to look or care. Not when she was in his line of sight.

"So you will not be stubborn, you will not be blunt or sarcastic. As far as I'm concerned, today you are the two newest editions to the circus. So play the part and follow my lead."

She picks up her files which were each coordinated by colour and glitter. House smirked at this. She turns to push open the door to the unit but falters.

"Also..."

She turns back to face the two men.

"The owners of the tiny humans can be quite volatile. You've been warned. Enjoy!" Her look of warning is quickly replaced by a mask of pure joy.

House softly giggles.

"I like her. Will we soon be hearing the pitter patter of tiny 'Wilson' humans?"

Wilson didn’t even hear his friends comment and instead chose to follow his beauty, like a moth to a flame.

House shrugs.

"Men, never thinking with the right head." As he eyes the glitter residue that adorns Wilson’s sleeve.

#james wilson x reader #dr james wilson x reader #house md #house x reader #james wilson #dr james wilson #dr house #dr house x reader #james wilson x peds!reader #dr james wilson x peds!reader

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sapionic · 28 days

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Numerology And Your Name

The Numerology of your name is insight to your character. Let's be honest, nobody is changing their name like we change solar charts every year. You most likely had your name your whole life, right? Let's look into some characteristics and energy people are likely to have just focusing on their first name as it's the strongest and most demanded. This is using regular, basic numerology because there are multiple systems people use.

Winter - This is a cute name as it is linked to the season so you automatically get fluffy or bright vibes from this name alone. Let's now break it down

W=(23)5, I=9, N=(14)5, T=2(20), E=5, R=9(18) We see that there is a pattern of 5 with this name so we know that 5 is linked to Leo in Astrology and linked to Mercury with the Numerology system. I have seen the energy play out in the astrological ways though. Looking at people with this name, we know they are likely to be feisty, sexy, and sexual. They can be spicy, creative, and complex. Likely to be deep into the party scene. 5 is the strongest energy of this person so they are likely to prioritize joyful experiences as much as they can. Notice how the W is 5 once the 2 and 3 is added. 23 is linked to high social activity. This person would be a good party host. Someone with this name also has significant 9 energy as you can see. They are good in authoritative roles, but they are likely to prefer authoritative roles in places they can also enjoy. Club owner, club host, promoter, dancer,etc. Likely have good basic life skills with the one 2 energy that they carry. This makes them efficient with money opportunities, cooking, and showing compassion, but also being comfortable with self. Winter would be a person who could be difficult to deal with and won't always be easy to handle, so she would need to grow up and mature. Change will be prominent. Winter=8

Whitney - Well known name, but not extremely common at this same time. We can see some repeating energies from the first name we did above, but let's now focus on this name in its entirety. W=5(23) H=8 I=9 T=2(20) N=5(14) E=5 Y=7(25) Whitney would share a lot of traits with winter, but with a splash of secrecy and sensitivity. Whitney would require a little more depth in her experiences, thanks to that 8 influence. She would likely do things while focusing on the long-term. She knows how to have fun, but still play for keeps. She is a hard worker and likely keeps a job. Likely came into lots of money and knows how to seize good opportunities. She likely had a little more taboo experiences than Winter(8 influence). Since Whitney is someone who likely endures many pressures in her life, her destiny # is 5 which balances out the drama and chaos she experiences. What better way to balance it out than good ole fun? Whitney=5(41)

Jasmine - Common name. Let's get into it! J=1(10) A=1 S=1(19) M=4(13) I=9 N=5(14) E=5. We can see that Jasmine has big 1 energy so that would make a person with this name innovative, impulsive, daring, bold, and active. The next significance we see is a 5 so we know Jasmine would be no stranger to sex appeal or activity. She is likely a fun loving individual who can be silly, playful, and childish, but also very protective. Where is the protective energy coming from? The 4. Any pressure or anger she has is expressed outwardly. Any excitement and urge she feels is acted on promptly. Any desires and interests she has is acted on promptly. Jasmine doesn't do anything she don't want to do. If she does anything, it's because she wanted to. Heavy 1 energy can make a person a hot head in some way. This is why changes will come to Jasmine. JASMINE=8 which is about growth, maturity, and transformation.

Mariella - Interesting name that I wanted to use for this post. Let's get into it. M=4(13) A=1 R=9(18) I=9 E=5 L=3(12) L=3(12) A=1

We can see that someone with this name has a nice 1 and 3 balance going on. Mariella likely has a good deal of initiative and social spark. She finds it easy to connect with others and there is a charm and grace to her mannerisms. She is likely proactive and good with responsibility. She likely has resourceful and intelligent friends who enrich her mentality in some way. She may sometimes talk herself out of things or downplay her capabilities. She prefers to be part of a group although she can handle things well on her own. Very high social energy. Likely to have a relaxed demeanor. People like talking to her. Could easily find herself being a manager of some sort. Would make a good marketing expert. MARIELLA=8 She will need to learn how to be more consistent as her energy initially may be scattered and she change plans often. She will also learn to be more private.

Danielle - Common name that I wanted to use. I had a friend with this name. Met her at work. Let's get into the general name of this person though. D=4 A=1 N=5(14) I=9 E=5 L=3(12) L=3(12) E=5. Someone with this name is likely to be fun loving and even funny, just like Mariella above. There could be moments where Danielle would be a little shy, but that is temporary as people with this name has very fluffy and upbeat energy. They are likely to be big on having a good time and socializing. Danielle and Mariella likely have big social networks physically, but Danielle may be the one that parties a little harder in this equation. She is always focused on where the most fun is and that is where she will go. She likes to laugh and would rather live on the bright side of things rather than worry and be sad. She won't handle sad situations how typical people may expect her to. Danielle likely has more drama in her life than Mariella, but it's more than likely linked to pettiness more than anything. Sex and fun is a highlight for Danielle. If she don't do nothing else, she's going to attend a fun event or create it. You may notice that every Danielle you know loves to be on the scene or it seems from your view that she is always on the scene. Day and night events, it doesn't matter. She would likely value friends that supports this lifestyle. It can seem like she is hard to catch up with if you are more on the controlled side. This party lifestyle is a highlight, but it isn't the end all be all which is why Danielle will change. Danielle=8 She would have to learn to take life more seriously and to smell the roses more. She will need to learn how to slow down and make sensible choices. Double 5 and double 3 energy can make someone too impulsive for their own good.

Hope you enjoyed. You can now do your own or comment and I can keep this thing going by replying and linking things together all with just a first name. This is fun and simple, especially when you dont know people's chart info.

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jarofstyles · 7 months

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JAROFSTYLES FICTOBER DAY 1- "So Pretty... Yet So Deadly"

Fictober prompts

Patreon

Warnings- creepyish, mention of toxic/poisonous things

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Y/N twirled the flower around her hand, the glove covering it prohibiting the feeling of powdery soft petals. She had been unsure why this particular client kept a section of the garden blocked off from the rest of the blooms, but it was evident now.

They were toxic.

It was so unassuming. If there had been no signage and Y/N without years of experience, one could assume they were normal plants. Some bushes even had round, juicy little red berries, temptation for anyone to grab a handful for a snack- but it would be too late when they finished it up, looking to see a blanket of fallen berries without a bite taken from them. The toxins would be at work once they’d realized no animal would dare to take a nibble.

The particular flower in her hand had midnight blue petals. They almost shimmered, an elaborate distraction for anyone while the powdery substance infiltrating the skin to cause an unbearable rash. Bubbling skin once it took effect, and fatal to the body if the flower was ingested. Y/N had to wonder why someone would have a garden section with the most toxic plants she had ever heard of, but her job was to care for the whole thing. A new member to the estate, she knew little about its owner other than he traveled frequently and probably wouldn’t see her much.

Her portable speaker was quietly drolling out the music of her ‘fun fall festivities’ playlist as she pruned the leaves, spoke to the plants and watered accordingly. “It isn't your fault that you’re so deadly.” She whispered to them. “You had to adjust, you didn’t start out that way. You built up your defenses in order to keep from being eaten. I understand.” Her shears were put down as she wiped away a bit of sweat. “But you’re so pretty, so I can understand why things still get tempted.”

“I agree.” A darker voice made her jump, spinning around. “So pretty… but so deadly.”

A man blocked the sunlight out, his hair pushed out of his face and his outfit far too full coverage for the early fall weather. It was still 75 out today, a longer heat a blessing to most. The blazer was buttoned and the only skin seeming to be showing was his face and hands. The turtleneck his his own and sunglasses kept his eyes from being seen, but from the little she could see? He was attractive. Attractive and intimidating.

“They are.” Y/N agreed, taking a sip of her water bottle. Something in her brain was misfiring and telling her to run, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Do you know a lot about them?”

This certainly wasn’t another gardner, but maybe he oversaw the estate.

“I do, yes.” He nodded, hands flexing around the wood that kept the plants separated. “They’re mine. You seem to know what you’re doing, which is a relief. A lot of people don’t know a think about these and the safety. You’re wearing gloves, so you’ve got a brain.” A wry smile made her shift, unsure if it was a compliment or what.. What? His plants? Did that mean this was her boss?

“I-I did a special unit on poisonous plants in school.” She laughed uneasily, feeling the power of the man. He was standing tall and she was on her knees on her weeding mat, and this was her boss… It all felt a bit odd. “So I do know most.”

His gaze was unnerving, knowing he was staring and not able to see his eyes. The man wasn’t afraid of uncomfortable silences. There was a good minute where she felt unable to speak, like someone was hearing her thoughts in her brain and she couldn’t open her mouth- but as soon as the discomfort started, it stopped. A deep inhale made her lean back, blinking up at him.

“Good. I think that these plants mean a lot. Everyone assumes the monsters are obvious. Ugly, unbearable, unsightly, there would be no way they’re appealing. But in reality, the scariest things for a human mind to comprehend lay right in front of them. They’re in power and they’ve no idea because they’ve been trained to see everything but the most obvious threat. The beautiful, the powerful, the ones who shimmer in the light. Humans will even seek them out on that alone.” The man almost laughed, flashing a smile before closing his lips. “Just remember that, Y/N. Be aware of the dangers that lie in beautiful things. I was reminded of that just today.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #jarofstyles fictober 23 #jarofstyles fictober #fictober #Harry styles angst #Harry angst #Harry styles Halloween

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anika-ann · 4 months

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Back and Forth - part 2

Part 2 - Flashes Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8100

Chapter summary:

In which you have some time to reminisce and do so even when the time isn't right.

Series masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, references to A+ parenting (bad bad parenting) and consequential unhealthy mindsets, a bit of angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: As you might have gathered from the warnings and the title of the chapter, our ‘reader’ will be getting some backstory. My ‘readers’ in longfics always have them. To me, that allows for greater depth of the character and their behaviour. If that bothers you, this story might not be for you. Thank you for understanding and enjoy 💕

Steve Rogers’ idea of punishment for disobeying orders was not of the most appealing to many, but it sat quite well with you.

Naturally, it wasn’t that you adored going through mountains of documents with plenty of useless and a few useful words, nor you liked the idea of being benched and having to sit in a corner as if you had been bad when all you had tried to do was your job; that you did not like one bit. But conveniently, being assigned to paperwork also meant you got a reprieve from physically taxing missions. Given the fact that the first three days after having been shot – even if not – were always the most exhausting, particularly when having to hide the pain for long hours, you certainly welcomed it. To a point anyway.

Unsurprisingly, a week later, you were still feeling significant echoes of the ache in your stomach; and yet, you cherished every physical activity where you could feel the tugging on the edges of your spectre’s wound. You didn’t revel in the pain itself, but you welcomed its presence nevertheless, because being without pain was addicting; it was the sweetest calling many people would answer to happily. But you knew better; the withdrawals would have been brutal and unforgiving, and most of all, inevitable, once you’d return to the field.

You tried not to dwell on the luxury of resting you had been provided, but that didn’t mean you didn’t appreciate the assignment given.

Isolation, even when it whispered of being the persona non grata and with the invisible threat of never being chosen for another mission with the prestigious team hanging above your head, still offered some relief. Whether you deserved the reprieve was questionable, but you tried not to ponder over that too much, knowing that the direction the scales were tipping towards to was not in your favour.

Would you rather be in the centre of action, trying your best to fix what you had messed up? Absolutely. One hundred percent. But the punishment was convenient; so convenient for you that you would have even wondered whether Natasha blabbed on you, hadn’t your training schedule remained unchanged. You had a feeling that if she had revealed your secret, you wouldn’t be allowed to as much as throw a single punch. That and Mr. Captain America would have pulled a two-hundred-slide presentation about why not telling the team, fighting when not being entirely fit and being reckless in his eyes was a terrible idea. That was, if he would have even cared.

It did not look like he cared at all.

He certainly didn’t seem to care about the fact that you had missed the opportunity to retrieve intel about whatever fuckery Hydra had been working on to neutralise the all-things-American man – or at least he hadn’t confronted you about it. In fact, all of the Avengers seemed to shrug off the threat to Steve, as if it was just another Tuesday for them. You supposed such nonchalance came with years being an idol inspiring as much hate as adoration, but you couldn’t say that it helped you sleep easier at night.

In all fairness however, this nonchalance didn’t mean that your discovery was ignored completely.

You had had at least three sessions with Doctor Banner who attempted to make sense of the pieces of intel you had seen and was able to recall. You might have remembered barely anything, your brain too busy registering the sudden pain piercing your abdomen, but Banner’s genius was able to come up with options after you had shared the scraps, which in return helped you build on a little bit more, some of the graphics he constructed familiar. The most plausible option now seemed to be that the stupid Nazi worshippers had somehow got their filthy tentacles on Steve’s medical data and were on their way to develop an antiserum – a chemical compound with a to-be-known catalyst that would reverse the effect of Erskine original formula. Apparently, the lazy bastards had just given up on trying to replicate it – and deciding that when they couldn’t create, they’d at least destroy. Fucking typical.

You had no doubt Steve had been presented with this information; the whole of the Avengers probably had been. You were rather sure you had seen Barnes hover by Steve’s side a little more than usual, probably suspecting a leak of classified data from the Tower, thus seeing a potential traitor everywhere. Yet, no one came raining holy fire on your head for missing the golden opportunity to gather all the intel; least of all the man himself.

Steve Rogers, irritatingly enough, was being perfectly civil. Of course, he was; he was meant to be perfection personified, after all. He nodded in hello politely when he met you in the hallway. When you encountered him in training, he acted indifferent, treating you just like any other recruit who joined the Avengers ops with varying frequency. He fixed your stance quietly if needed, moving on as slowly or as quickly as with anyone else, no lingering angry or disappointed glares.

Steve Rogers was a damn master of a poker face. You wanted to scream; you wanted him to be angry with you. You wanted him to be pissed, to yell at you again and then give you the opportunity to fix your mistakes and prove that you were able to do better than you had. You wanted to get back to the field. You wanted to jab your index finger into that chest of his, looking so ridiculously firm, and do something. Anything.

Obviously, after the very public incident, you wouldn’t dare as much as to say a single word against his commands. The fact that you were terrified it would be the last drop to his tiny yet enormous goblet of patience with you and you’d be out for good played a significant role in that behaviour of course; but in all fairness, you hadn’t felt the need to speak up.

In the end, you accepted the creeping feeling of gratitude to him for just sweeping your screaming match and the failure itself under the rug, hoping it wouldn’t blow up the next time you would disagree. When he told everyone that they had done a good job after a training, meeting gazes of each recruit, he met yours the last. The sincerity in his eyes and words didn’t diminish as he did so.

Captain Rogers pulled you out of the time-out nine days after your colossal failure he himself had had a hand in; you learned as much from Natasha’s message inviting you to the grand meeting regarding the next dangerous op that was too much for the Avengers to handle alone. Why? Because they expected too many unpredictable unfriendlies: the children of New York.

The mid-May sunrays warmed your cheeks as you walked at steady pace, eyes vigilant in the face of laughter, squeals and endless chatter, colourful lights and rivers of people pouring over the lawn and paths of Central Park. The breeze already carried the heat of summer, but not unbearably so, a gentle touch on your skin and in your hair, along with the scent of water, blooming flowers and barbeque. For most people, the combination equalled the epitome of leisure, a nice weekend with family or friends. Good. That was what you assumed you had all aimed for today.

Today being The Avengers’ Day.

You had only known the basics of how this day had come to life. When senator whatshisname, trying to push his agenda and boost his campaign for re-election, had first came up with the idea, he had inspired as much approval as blatant hate among people, the controversy involved evident. The Avengers’ themselves didn’t shy away from the ambiguity of their work. Their statement regarding the suggestion – no doubt prepared with the aid of a whole team of publicists – spoke of gratitude and futility at once, of honour and accountability in one breath. It was the honesty, you supposed, what actually tipped the scales in the favour of naming a day after them after all – the acceptance of imperfection, the acknowledgement of destruction which was to some more visible than the heroism that every single one of them had displayed during the Battle of New York.

And so 16th May became The Avengers’ Day, a celebration of heroism and a way of giving back to those who believed in heroism the most, to those who regarded them with the least critical eye, too young to truly understand all implications of their work.

Since the eventual acceptance of the celebration could reek of narcissism, the Avengers had decided to spend the larger part of 24 hours by giving indeed. Children loved it, parents were grateful, and the Avengers got to see that despite some workdays dragging on for weeks, their work not only made a difference, but also inspired others to be better. Win-win-win.

The feast started in the morning and lasted till the sun started to set in late afternoon; and the generous time the heroes graced the public with was filled with games and fun, not unlike many events hosted on the World’s Children Day would have. Except this one had all the Avengers – original ones and associates – to join the party, spreading joy and hope.

The reason why you and tens of other agents walked the park through and through with alert gazes was simple: a joyful event like this came with its dark side. With as many high-profile targets in one place, the security measures were off the charts. Any agents working for the Avengers Initiative aligned with SHIELD who weren’t on the most time-sensitive mission was roaming the crowds, Stark’s drones were in service, and FRIDAY had been keeping an eye out for any chatter on the dark web and various forums months before the planning of the specific event even started. Anyone who was able to contribute did so; because frankly, the images Avengers made for were too precious to pass on.

Captain America playing frisbee with a group of kids as another fifty of those waited in line; Black Widow leading gymnastic class and offering to hold up guards for any brave-enough opponent to try and kick and punch, with enthusiastic fans for both parties; Thor teaching Asgardian minuet to anyone who was old enough to walk, a circle of children forming around him any time he started to hum a tune as old as time in a language that made children giggle and appealed to something ancient in the soul of every adult; Bruce performing so-called ‘science magic’, facing the sea of curious eyes with slightly uncomfortable smile but undeniable warmth; Hawkeye surrounded by targets with various non-threatening weapons, from foamy soft balls to arrows with suction cups at the end; Iron Man, mostly parading around in full armour – bless the man, he had to be so hot in it– in charge of the music, fireworks and all wonders of technical progress, capturing attentions of little brainiacs and admirers alike.

The newer additions to the official team didn’t stay behind either, with Winter Soldier handling waterguns battle, shy at first, but ecstatic at the squeals of joy from children running back and forth, with generous crowds of young male-attracted audience who were not blind to the fact that someone had the brilliant idea to put one of the supersoldiers in charge of water while he was wearing a thin t-shirt only; the Scarlet Witch entertaining crowds with her actual magic and no tricks; Vision, while thoroughly distracted by her, trying his best to explain riddles and puzzles to whoever had found their voice in the face of an actual humanoid slash artificial intelligence; the Falcon in charge of various monkey bars and improvised parkour playground, sometimes involuntarily becoming a monkey bar himself for several kids at once; the War Machine, bless his heart, handling the drawing competition in which there were only winners, because wow, doesn’t this look just like me if I had my armour repainted with flowers to blend in better?

Every single one of them made you smile despite your better judgement. Each of them had their own way of interaction with the little admirers, but all of them made it work somehow. With humour, gentleness, surprising humbleness – most of the time anyway – and an easy compliment or words of encouragement on their tongue, depending on whether their fans had done really well or not so much. There was enough of both – but they handled it with grace or at least with dign-

The sudden sniffle in the sea of laughter had you automatically snap your head to the right, just in time to see the first tears roll down the girl’s reddened cheeks. You remembered seeing her at Natasha’s station a few moments ago; she couldn’t be more than 7-8 years old, but she had been excellent, earning a first bump from the spy and a cherry flavoured lollipop when she had managed to touch her toes and had put her ankle on the high bar with ease.

By the looks of it, she hadn’t done so well at the shooting range, her arrows lying scattered all over, not one having stuck in the target.

It wasn’t your place to try to cheer her up, even as Clint was busy with another five children, you reasoned; but your gut twisted a bit at the sight, your feet having a mind of their own, lips arranging into as supportive smile as you were capable of.

A strong arm wrapping about the girl’s shoulder, words of comfort already spilling from the man’s lips – the father, you assumed – had you freeze mid-step barely seven feet from her.

The gentle timbre on his voice, the hug coming as a second nature, the little huff of quiet laugh without a single trace of malice. The large teary eyes, soon hidden in the man’s shirt as she squished her face into his shoulder, a little yelp with a tiny giggle as he lifted her off the ground with quite some effort, even as barely any showed on his face.

Your insides clenched tighter, nausea tugging at your stomach that had nothing to do with your injury over a week ago.

“Yeah, we’re gonna practise at home for next year, yeah? You’ll get the lollipop next time, I’m sure. You’ll be as great as the Eagle-eye himself!”

The girl let out another watery laugh, pulling softly at his ear. “It’s Hawk-eye, dad!”

The feigned confused expression on the dad’s face told everyone in the ten-mile radius he was very well aware and was only trying to cheer his daughter up, but she seemed oblivious. “Really? Wow. My memory… good thing I have you!”

“Yup!”

“So, I forgot… where were we heading next, can you remember?” he asked in all seriousness, confusion deepening and the enthusiastic high-pitched scream of “ICECREAM!” nearly ruptured your eardrums as the father walked past you, your feet having taken roots in the ground.

“That’s right!” you heard in reply, the sounds suddenly distant as your own breath and the pulsing on your own heart filled your ears.

It was wrong; it was so so wrong and you had no right and you had no time for that, because you had a job to do here, quite important job requiring your full attention, but the following cry of “MAMA!” flooded your veins with envy and pierced your heart through and through. The sun shone too bright all of sudden as your gaze unwittingly traced their path, the simple soothing kiss on the girl forehead sending a shiver through your body, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Potential enemies.You were supposed to scan the crowds for potential enemies and threats, not to watch happy families or let your mind wander. You weren’t supposed let yourself ponder over what it was like; loving arms and distractions awaiting even in the face of a failure instead of a cold shoulder and ignorance. A sweet smile and conspiratorial looks exchanged when fake-arguing about the acceptable number of scopes of ice-cream as a reward. Free affection given instead of a free lesson in the form of shattering the illusion of unconditional love. Living in the blissful ignorance, believing in the second biggest lie fairytales had fed us all, postponing the harsh encounter with reality. What was it like to believe in those lies at that age still, maybe even after that? Did it hurt more or less when reality came knocking later on?

The good did not always win.

And love and affection were earned.

They were earned through rivers of sweat and spitted and spilled blood, through swallowed tears and well-masked pain. And only, only when it all led to success. To perfection. To the impossible standard you all so desperately clawed at, unaware you clawed at your own flesh instead, passing the need to win the most important race of your lives on and on for generations.

Your own father hadn’t been perfect; he was far from it and perhaps that was why he was so appealing to your mother, the rising star of the biochemistry field. Too young, too foolish, too easily seduced by the idea of an average man who would simply reflect her blinding glow instead of overshadowing it.

Getting pregnant robbed her of the job opportunity of a lifetime; the chance at leading her own team in a prestigious laboratory at Harvard. With the pregnancy marked high-risk from the start, you sentenced her to turning down the offer; and another never came. She could have shined like a full-time mother instead and dedicated homemaker then, some would argue, since her goal in life was exceptional excellence in its very essence; except she had never got pregnant again, not for the lack of trying as you later learned. An average worker; an average mother. Her worst nightmare with one common denominator: a problematic daughter. How could she have pursued her career with having to deal with a child like that? The kid was always getting into trouble, leaving its mother to sacrifice everything.

It didn’t matter that your mother’s ‘extremely problematic daughter’ had the GPA of 3.91. It didn’t matter that the very same daughter regularly fought tooth and nail to compete in world championships in gymnastics and succeeded, had been enrolled in ballet class as soon as she could stand and walk straight, only having to switch to box and jiujitsu when she didn’t look soft and elegant enough during her performances. It didn’t matter that all the time her mother spent with her at home happened to take place in separate rooms. It didn’t matter that the daughter was, for a lack of a better term, much more of a daddy’s girl.

Because she was exactly that. You were. Mommy was always busy in her office or her lab and you soon understood that she didn’t like you; but daddy, daddy cared. He cared, he found time and a kind word and a warm hug, always celebrated your victories – a little strict and profoundly disappointed when you failed. But he was there for you despite his extremely important job at the agency protecting the whole world, protecting the whole universe even. SHIELD.

To make a part of such prestigious organization, one must work hard; the hardest, your dad had always said. But you had the potential. You had so much potential to help keep humanity safe. You only needed to avoid distractions. You only needed to drop dead weight in the shape of people who’d rather play and laughed over silly magazines and videos a little too often. You only needed to do well, so well it was the best. And so you did. A dedicated student; a dedicated sportsgirl. Like your dad liked best.

Some might ring alarm bells at that point, but you were a much happier child than some. You had a loving father. You had friends. You had a dog, a lovely border collie named Sadie, so smart and curious and so damn hyperactive it took you at least two hours a day of running to wear her out. Your dad adored her, always praising you for taking such good care of her.

Until your care for Sadie took up too much of your time. It had to, since you got a B. Or perhaps you had spent too much time with friends outside of the study room…. Whatever it was, it eventually led even to a C.

That was the last drop.

And the thing was, both basis of your failure had easy solutions, truly; you came home one day to a house without a single trace of a dog having ever lived there. You could run to keep fit without it, after all – such was her sole purpose, you had realized too late. You were eleven years old.

Grounded with no phone, you could focus fully on your studies to improve the horrendous GPA. SHIELD academy didn’t accept anyone with a GPA worse than 3.98 after all; your mother only nodded along to your father’s flat voice reminding you. Her disappointment was nothing new, but your father’s was. His warm hand on yours, gently squeezing, a sharp contrast to his clinically cold voice, was like a lifeline for you to grip at, even at the age of sweet thirteen. He knew you could do this, if you’d get your head straight – you had the potential. He was so sure of it, he had so much faith in you. You needed to make him proud. And after screaming bloody murder and crying your eyes out in the shower, after punching so hard your knuckles bled, you did.

You had only managed to improve to 3.96 by the time you were seventeen, but you enrolled to the academy still, one of the youngest students in history, with whispers following you for the first months of your father’s involvement nevertheless. What did he do for living that he had managed to sneak you in? Oh, right, just an ordinary analyst, one of hundreds. He got his wife a post as well, in one of the labs at The Hub no less, so one had to assumed he was good at rubbing elbows with the right people, they said. These whispers were silenced fast however. And you graduated with honours and a reputation and got hand-picked by Agents Coulson himself.

And yet…

Your father scoffed. Why not the Avengers? Whispers might have been that Coulson’s team was the A-team of SHIELD, but half of your accomplishment had surely been built on the fact that half of SHIELD revealed themselves to be actually HYDRA, thus paving your road to the prestigious team by eliminating the competition. The night you shared the news was the first time you cried in years, having been so excited to tell your parents, to prove yourself at last, only to be remade into a disappointment all over again.

But working on Coulson’s team brought you genuine joy and a sense of pride; and in a way, the underground base and the jet felt more like home than your own. You were not blind to the fact that the team was like a dysfunctional family in its own right, somehow still functioning better than your own. Coulson, the father; May, the mother; Daisy, the prodigal daughter, the beloved sister to all. Many nosy protective siblings and aunts and uncles. You weren’t sure how you fit into the picture, but you supposed that in a way, you did. A distant cousin perhaps.

“We protect our own. We protect everyone. We leave no one behind. We have the opportunity to be a part of something bigger and we take it.”

It did feel good to be a part of something bigger.

Then, terrigenesis.

The nightmare of alien genetic engineering crept up on you slowly and then hit you full force, even as your mother was fascinated by it. It was the irony of fate that the exact thing your mother had been researching tore your family ties all together. You and your father both had been in the lab where your mother worked, with her, when the Inhumans misled by Jiaying attacked, throwing terrigenesis crystals everywhere.

Adapt or die, whispered the mist from the broken enriched minerals: but it was up to your genes to make that decision, not up to your will. Your father’s genes weren’t compatible, the mist killing him. When you woke up on a stretcher, your mother dryly informed you of his passing with a hint of accusation in her voice.

And yes. How dared you to survive when he didn’t? It was funny, really, when the answer revealed itself to be written in the genes she had passed on you. You both survived thanks to her; except where your DNA merged seamlessly with the new macromolecules, hers didn’t, not truly. Just enough to let her live, not enough to give her powers – another embodiment of her worst nightmare of averageness, because there was a flaw in her code. It was a strange kind of healing that. Receiving a genetic prove there was a fault in her and not you, as you had been made to believe your whole life.

She cut all ties when it took over two weeks to figure out what your power was.

In the span fourteen days, you had your world turned upside down. Lost both your father and your mother. And while you had questioned at times whether you had actually ever had them, the pain of loss burned so sharp it left no doubt.

Yes, it was true that you never had what the cute girl with elaborate braids and dedicated parents had; but you had still once had a family. Once, you had joined a strange found family as well, if only for a few months.

What could you do but wonder, like many times before, about where did you fit now?

The sudden chill running up your spine had your hair standing on the end, snapping you from your musings, making you realize your cheeks were damp; but your tears mattered little now.

You had good instincts – you had to. One didn’t survive as long as you did in a business as insane and brutal as this without them. And that was how you knew.

Something was off. Something, somewhere, someone.

Your eyes subtly scanned the crowd as you continued walking, unmistakably landing on Sam’s station. The sight would have made you grin, three different kids climbing him as if he was a part of the monkey bars installation again, but something was amiss--- no.

Natasha’s station, right behind Sam’s, her attention on a cute redhead dressed in all black like the spy herself. A figure reaching to the back of his pants under his hoodie blindly, eyes trained on his price.

Your blood ran cold, your heart thundering.

Oh no you don’t.

He was too far from your reach. There was no choice to make. You squinted your eyes and took in as much as you could in the split second; the unforgiving pavement and soft mattresses, a flowerbed of peonies to the right, a group of teenagers to the left. The five feet eight man in jeans and an oversized khaki hoodie, piercing gaze settled on Natasha’s figure ten feet away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, opening them to the barrel of a gun with a whisper of a released breath.

The second-long shock in the man’s face was more than enough of time to grab after his wrist and twist it, gunshot ringing and the bullet whizzing by your leg. It lodged in the firm pavement by your feet instead, your ears echoing the loud noise that turned several heads.

Time seemed to slow down, the blur of faces with mouths open in screams registering faster than the screams themselves.

Your fingers curled around the handle of the gun firmly as you spun your back to the attacker and elbowed him in the face with a satisfying crack, his legs buckling when your foot in tactical boots collided with his knee.

A smudge of crimson and more screams, one pale face shockingly calm in the heart of chaos.

Another shooter.

The gun got knocked out of your hand in the split second you shouted ‘Sam’s three o’clock!’, the punch to your gut almost as powerful as the relief flooding your veins when you caught a glimpse of the suddenly child-free Sam lunging after the other perpetrator.

Even as you doubled over in pain, the man missing your spectre’s past injury by a whim of fortune, years of training drilled into your bones had you kick out and squeeze; your leg closed around the man’s neck, thigh and calf trapping his head, your hips twisting, full weight of your body pulling him down.

The encounter with the concrete was harsh, your abdomen pulled at with sharp pain, but it wasn’t nearly as harsh as for the man finding himself on the ground with his windpipe between your thighs, struggling for a single breath. Before his arms could swing after you, you were releasing him and elbowing him hard in the face again. Knee digging to his gut, you grabbed his arm and used his weight to roll him over, his wrist locked to his shoulder blade with a groan of curses that were not for polite company.

You panted as you straddled his hips, grasping after his other helplessly flapping arm and curling it to his back with notable effort; bastard was still trying to put up a fight, even if an aimless one, relying purely on his advantage in strength. Too bad for him; you had knowledge of physics and anatomy play in your favour.

“Stay down,” you hissed through your teeth, gaze quickly lifting to look for someone with more official power that came with handcuffs.

You didn’t have to wait long – three blue uniforms appeared in your field of vision, one with distinct red and white stripes that had nothing to do with NYPD. Great. This guy.

The mass under your legs moved with vigour, having you automatically turn your attention back; and to twist the man’s arm further.

“Aghhh--- you bitch-“

“Gun,” you pointed out flatly as one of the uniforms approached, a subtle nod in the direction towards where you remembered seeing it last when it had got knocked out of your hand. A pair of handcuffs were passed over, allowing you to ease some of the pressure and rise to your feet as another officer took over your responsibility and hauled the man up. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Agent,” he nodded at you before his attention turned to the Captain, addressing him as well – but Captain Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t looking at him.

Your stomach somersaulted as you met his eye; his lips were set in a firm line, a furrow to his brow, probably due to disappointment in humanity and concern for the civilians. But that wasn’t the reason for your unease – because that much you had expected. What took you aback was the smile briefly passing his lips as he utterly ignored his rank being called and instead kept looking at you – was that a hint of pride on his face?

“Good job, Spectre,” he said firmly. “Thank you.”

You only blinked, lips parting, breaths still quick from the slightly unexpected exercise – but from his words as well. It wasn’t that Steve Rogers never voiced appreciation where it was due, because he did. But a thank you? For doing your job, the literal reason why you were there?

The ‘thanks’ left your lips unwittingly, but your posture straightened with purpose as you finally escaped the trap that his gaze had seemed to set for you.

“Captain,” the officer insisted, Steve’s gaze flickering to the man, his frown returning, most likely at the sight of the bloody mess you had done on the attacker’s face.

You instinctively looked to your right, where a similar scene was taking place only a few feet over with the man’s accomplice, under Natasha’s and Sam’s watchful eye. A smile passed over your lips as well, as small as it was.

She was okay and so was he. Good. It was time to go.

“You’ve got this, Captain Rogers?” you asked, turning back to Steve.

He nodded, slight confusion twisting his face. Cringing internally, you realized it sounded like you doubted he could. Well. You weren’t perfect. What else was new.

“Good.”

Closing your eyes, you snapped back at last, the scene suddenly in a distance.

And as if you snapped your fingers, Rogers’ whole demeanour changed. His head whipped right and left, eyes searching the crowd almost frantically; the distain which you were no stranger to was back in his expression, his lips a thin line. Despite yourself – because it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t matter – you felt the spark of satisfaction and relief at the rescue die out in an instant. Rogers looked angry. Very, very angry, and as his eyes locked on you, he rose to his full height, body turning to you, looking ready to stalk to you and give you a piece of his mind.

You gulped, hand curling into fist on an instinct, nerves firing along with a flare of outrage. Was he angry because you projected in front of all those people? Was he disappointed in the amount of blood you drew in public indeed? But you-

A heavy metallic hand landed on his bicep from the front, stopping him in his tracks.

Rogers’ gaze snapped to his best friend, a deep frown spoiling his handsome face; Bucky’s expression, on the other hand, you couldn’t read, but whatever he said to Rogers had him frown harder.

Yet, he turned back to the officers handling the two perpetrators, having your shoulders sag in relief.

You had already got one scream-down in front of the SHIELD and the AI audience; you’d happily take avoiding hitting replay in front of the general public. You made a mental note to thank Barnes with a t-shirt with a nerdy pun he seemed so fond of wearing for trainings or something.

“Saved by Buckaroo it seems,” a voice hummed nonchalantly behind you, making you literally jump, your wildly pounding heart spasming in your chest in fright.

Your body acted on instinct, ready to neutralize the threat, muscle memory faster recognition – you spun on your heels, a round-house kick in full force aimed at the attacker’s head, fists up and ready to strike.

You hissed as your shin hit metal, the impact vibrating through your tibia as the barely covered bone met Tony’s glove mere inches from his surprised face.

Shit. That was going to bruise like hell.

“Easy, Casper! Was here to make sure your real form doesn’t get blasted while your head’s in the clouds, not to scare you to death,” he quipped, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by a smirk. “Huh. Guess I’m more efficient than Pepper keeps telling me. My job here is done.”

He released your foot, your hands falling to your sides as well, stance easing as you let the familiarity wash over you. Just Tony Stark. Billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist. An easy smirk to his lips, a joke on his tongue and… a faint trace of concern in his eyes.

It was the last emotion you registered that made you pause, realization slowly dawning to you.

He was there to protect you. He was there to keep you safe, because you didn’t have the time think about your own safety with the threat on Natasha and Sam being imminent. Tony was right, even if his truth was waved into a snarky remark; you could have easily been hurt while you were out of your body. Yes, you were used to it and the danger was likely minimal, but you hadn’t even had the time to think that through and do the calculations.

Someone could have taken your gun. Had anyone been interested in that – which, since you weren’t as high-profile of a target here as others, wasn’t all that likely, but still possible – you could have not only been hurt, but technically also killed.

And yet, this understanding didn’t stun you nearly as much as the next one.

Yes, you could have been killed – except that you couldn’t have and you weren’t. No one stood a chance. Because Tony had noticed the situation. He protected you; just like that, with a small curl to his lips, as if it was no biggie.

You were more than bewildered, thoughts whirling in your head over and over in a bizarre loop.

He had quite literally stood by you. He should have gone for Sam and Natasha – they were the real Avengers. They were his friends. They had been in danger, which was the reason why you left yourself vulnerable in the first place. But he went to you, because suddenly, you were the one exposed. He came to protect you.

Blinking and coming back to your senses much slower than an agent should, your gaze zeroed on Tony’s relaxed face with his smirk having blended into more of a smile.

You didn’t have time to examine the kind of Twilight Zone you had entered. Instead, you licked your lips, your words as sincere and unshaken as you managed them.

“Thank you, Tony. Really.”

He shrugged, his smirk making a grand return, even as his eyes remained warm. “No problem, Slimer.”

“Did you just compare me to a green slippery monster?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, an involuntary grin tugging at your lips.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up before his mask clicked back into place, two shiny slits somehow watching you with similar amusement Tony was capable of.

“Honestly, I’m just shocked you know who Slimer is. What were you, minus fifteen years old when the movie came out?” he trailed off, disappearing to the crowd with several kids already following him, excitedly shouting for autographs.

You allowed yourself a brief moment to grin, a warm feeling – dangerously warm – curling in your chest. Most of Tony’s sympathies for you, when he showed them, probably stemmed from the fact that much like him, you were sometimes in opposition to Steve. But you’d take it. Just because he didn’t mean it in a particularly friendly manner, simply being this way with everyone, you couldn’t say it didn’t feel nice for a few moments to joke around as if you were friends indeed.

You should have known better; you did know better. Thinking like that was dangerous – a different kind of reckless than Captain Rogers had called you out on – but dangerous nevertheless. And yet, your lips stayed in a tiny smile as you shook your head and went to return to patrolling the park.

‘Went to’ with emphasis on never finishing your journey.

“Holy shit! That was so cool!”

You snapped your head to side to the girl’s voice, surprised to find a twelve-year-old – or a ten-year-old, or maybe fourteen, you had never been great at guessing once they got past a certain age – with a backpack on one shoulder looking at you with her mouth hanging open.

The image was so unfathomable you probably mirrored her expression despite your training to maintain a poker face in any situation.

“You can fly?!” she gasped, watching you with eyes so wide you would have worried if she was high had you had the capacity to worry.

“I--- uhm, technically, I can--- I can barely levitate-?” you stuttered, perplexed.

Hadn’t Iron Man, who could fly because he had literally built a suit in a cave just walked past? What was… why was she-

“And you glowed and then you were there kicking ass and then here—holy shit!” Language, your brain unhelpfully echoed, instead of aiding you to make sense of what was happening and to string together a full sentence in response. “I didn’t know any Avenger could do that!”

Was she distracting you? What was in that backpack? The easiest answer was schoolbooks, since The Avengers Day was a bit of a big deal but not enough to spare children a day at school, but what if it wasn’t—oh she was pulling it off her shoulder now. You straightened your posture, not having realized that you eased it and never fully returned to it after your encounter with Tony, fingers twitching towards your gun on instinct, nerves on fire.

Fuck, if they were recruiting children again-- what kind of an evil bastard you have to be to-

She pulled out a well-used notebook with various doodles on its cover, shoving it your way with an almost shy smile, a sharp contrast to her earlier vernacular.

“Can I get an autograph?”

For the second time in the past five minutes, your reaction was nowhere near as sharp and distinguished as an operative’s should be in the face of an unpredictable situation.

Get a damn grip, shouted a voice in the inside of your head, while the other one whispered this was some sort of a trick. How is this a trick?!

You forced a smile to your lips, trying to hide your uncertainty. Just a girlasking for an autograph. You faced aliens before for god’s sake. You had Kree macromolecules in your own damn DNA for crying out loud! You could handle a… fan?

“Sure, but… I don’t have a marker on me, I didn’t expect to--- give autographs,” you admitted, aiming for nonchalance and hopefully only missing by a half and a full mile.

“You kidding?!” the girl whisper-yelled incredulously, leafing through the notebook before shoving it into your hand and diving back into her backpack now sitting on the ground. You tensed briefly again, before she pulled out a black marker, holding it out as she shook her head. “Crazy… sorry, here.”

‘Crazy’ does not cover it, girl, believe me, you thought, wondering what the hell you should do. Should you just sign your name? Should you… write her name first? What was her name?

“Should I… write something like, for you, or…?”

“Yeah! That’s be cool! It’s… Daisy,” she said, slight annoyance creeping into her voice.

Despite your better judgement, one corner of your lips rose higher, this time sincerely.

“That’s real pretty name,” you commented as you wrote it down, earning a shrug.

“If you say so.”

“I have a… friend named Daisy. She’s pretty cool,” you hummed, swallowing against the lump in your throat as you called her a friend. Could you call her that?

“Can she fly or levitate too?” the girl asked, sounding a little snarky – ah. Definitely a teenager then.

Should try to make your name readable or scratchy, as you usually write? Actually, should you write your name or simply Spectre? Probably the latter. She wouldn’t even know your name, poor girl would probably be disappointed later.

You wrote your codename then, replying to her absently.

“I’d say, yeah. She controls vibrations with her hands-“

“You know Quake?!” Daisy cried out, making your gaze snap back to her, her eyes lighting up even more than before.

Despite the bite of jealousy – because of course she would adore Daisy Johnson, the Quake herself, many people did, hell, you admired her too – you had to supress a smile. For a teenager, Daisy was awfully open about her emotion. Cringe was dead to her – she let herself express her excitement freely and unwittingly added herself on the list of people you could admire and envy.

“Yeah, I know Daisy… Quake. She’s pretty great, huh?” you said, closing the marker and notebook at last, handing it to her, watching her put it away and shrug.

“Yeah, I guess… Can’t all be as cool as her, huh?”

The drop of sadness colouring her voice blue had something in your snap. Uh-huh, no. Not today. No unreachable standards for her. Not to mention that Quake’s coolness also came with a lot of crap. This was not happening, not on your watch.

This girl, this Daisy, was open in her emotion still – and it was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was so damn precious that the instinct to protect – the same oh no, you don’t – that had flared up upon seeing the attacker earlier lit up your chest and your brain finally caught up to being a damn grown-up as the girl shrugged her backpack back on.

“Hey… I know you probably hear that all the time, but even though you share a name with her, you can be awesome in a completely different and totally your own way.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the autograph,” she said, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. And not thanks for the unsolicited advice, you could practically hear her thoughts screaming. You just became another boring adult.

Well. You might as well do it properly – because this was important. Truly important.

“I just want to say that you really made my day, hell, probably my week, just by asking for an autograph. And by being nice,” you said, as sincerely as you could.

And you meant it – whatever had just happened felt like a fever dream. You had genuinely had no idea what she had wanted when she first addressed you. You had honestly believed it was some kind of a trick, another attack in making, as messed up as that was. She’d deserve an award for not saying whatever after your strange reaction. And another one for not turning on her heel when you realized you sounded like one Captain America a few moments later. Still standing there, listening to whatever crap you had to say to her.

“Sometimes you don’t need to have actual superpowers that can cause an earthquake to move Heavens and Earth. Just being a good person can make real miracles. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

She watched you with an expression on her face that spoke clearly of just how unconvinced she was by your words – and how she was feeling the infamous teenage cringe now. But hey, you tried. Speaking of which.

“’cause they’re just full of bull,” you added.

Daisy snorted at last, one corner of her lips twitching up a bit, her irises sparkling in amusement and you called that a victory.

“Right. Thanks for the autograph. See ya ‘round.”

“Sure, Daisy. It was nice meeting you,” you replied as she beckoned her chin in a hi and spun on her heels, walking back into the sea of people without looking back, disappearing from your sight.

Shaking your head, wondering whether you actually got hit in the head before Tony got to your actual body to protect it and were now suffering a concussion and hallucinations, you finally stepped out, ready to roam through the park and continue monitoring for potential threats – because that was your purpose here. That was your task. The Avengers had theirs and you and other agents had your own. You were here to serve as a part of the security team managing this event; the Avengers were here to inspire. You were nowhere close to being an Avenger the same Steve, Tony, Natasha or Sam were. You weren’t a symbol.

And yet, it was… nice to feel like you almost could, at least for one person. The feeling was strange, doubts already creeping in, a voice telling you to me much humbler and more realistic, but still. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, not at entirely awful feeling. You weren’t exaggerating when you told Daisy she made your week.

As your attentive gaze scanned the crowd, tuned to more danger specifically, you overlooked the tall broad figure with his head slightly tilted to side still, as he had been focusing his enhanced hearing to your past conversation. You missed the little smile that curled Steve’s lips upon doing so too, blissfully ignorant of the lecture about self-preservation he had had on his tongue when he had originally made his way to you, but swallowed it in order to let you have your moment.

Reckless or not, you had saved lives today – he couldn’t argue with that. You saved lives of his friends. He wasn’t above being grateful; and he wasn’t entirely blind to the fact that besides reckless, you had also showed again that you were selfless, which appealed to him a lot more.

As he returned to his station, Natasha having dealt with the attackers’ transfer, he was still smiling, anger and worry having evaporated completely.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Thank you for reading 💕 This was a long one, but you made (me to you AND me)... let me know your thoughts 💕

I hope December had been kind to you 🥰

Sidenote: For those who haven't watched Agents of SHIELD and weren't satisfied with the amount of info in the chapter: The exposure to the Terrigen Mists, or Terrigenesis is a process allowing Earth Inhumans to inhale the Mists obtained from the use of the Terrigen Crystals, in order to activate their Inhuman genes and ascend as meta-humans. (https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Terrigenesis) Given the presence of the genes, onyl descendants of certain lineage are able to ascend; they are descendants of humans who were experimented on thousands of years ago by the Kree race visiting Earth and trying to create an army. Those without these genes present in their DNA are killed upon exposure.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #inhuman reader #shield agent reader #back and forth #anika ann

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