#AND BE STABBED AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND—

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

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Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

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thanks for reading!

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[ttrust-no-one]

Lol i read this as 'i want to KILL you again and again and again i want to STAB by your side forever and ever ' and i was like yeah right xD

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Dean Coming Back From The Dead

Pairing: Dean x reader

__________

“Hiya sweetheart.” You stared wide eyed at the man baring a striking resemblance to your boyfriend. Your very much been dead for five years boyfriend. He held up his hands, slowly stepping inside as you backed up. You dove for your side table where you kept the demon blade along with your other weapons.

The man who looked oh so much like Dean apart from the fuller beard and slightly longer hair, took a big step to the right, avoiding your attempts at stabbing him. He slid forward, knocking the knife away when you went back for more.

“Who the hell-“ He pushed on your back, skirting past you and going to your weapons. You growled, trying to cut him off when you watched him pick up the silver blade. He held it to the back of his hand, slicing it open.

“We both know I’m not a demon since I walked right over that devils trap under the hardwoods and I'm not a shifter or a leviathan or ghoul," he said, setting the blade back down. He held up his hands when you grabbed the knife again, ready to take aim. "Alberta."

Your eyes flared wide for a split second, Dean smirking.

"Hey, I'm man enough to admit the dude was hot. I did notice he had a striking resemblance to a certain...me," he teased. "Why'd you never hookup with him again?"

"How do I know it's really you?" He pursed his lips, thinking it over as he cocked his head.

"Same way I know you never made it past first base with that guy. You ran out of the motel room like it was on fire." You lowered your knife, dropping it on the ground. He stepped over close, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I thought I told you to try and move on if something happened."

"I did try," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "No one's you."

"Well, at least you being single makes this situation slightly less awkward," he said, dipping his head down low, tilting your chin up. "You still my girl?"

"I've always been her." He grinned, slowly touching his lips to yours, your hands finally gripping his jacket. He was so warm, so full of life.

You flinched away when an image of his cold, restless body came to mind.

"I'm sorry," he said when you ran a hand over your mouth, wrapping one arm around yourself.

"It's not you," you whispered, your eyes welling as you found his green ones waiting. "I buried you."

"I know you did," Dean breathed out, wiping away a stray tear that fell. "I'm here to stay...most likely."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. "I can't do most likely, Dean. I can't get you back just to lose you again."

"Help me with one last job then. Jack said if I help with a case, I could come back. For real." You stared at him, Dean cupping your cheeks in his large hands. "Please. Five years was rough enough. I don't want to wait a lifetime to have forever with you."

You took a deep breath, nodding as he pulled you into a deep hug.

"Alright, tell me about the job, De."

_______________

[velvvetcat09]

Imagine being Grian, who's trying again and again to save Mumbo and finally he's back! Only for him to stab you in the back while you're down.... I'd lose my sanity and go on a murderous spree too

yeah me too man

[2xxelaa9]

Vi deserves none of the hate people give her and I'll die on that hill.

"She created Powder's trauma and abandoned her". No she didn't ? Did we watch the same show ? If anyone, Mylo made Powder feel like she was worthless, Vi had always lifted her up, she just asked her to stay behind that one day because she didn't want to lose her, which is super legit ? If she had brought Powder, everything could have turned out the same and everyone would have been like "it was so wrong for her to bring her very young sister in this". Like ??

And then she blames Powder for what happened but immediately regrets it and just walks a few meters to cool off. Yes, she snapped, but nobody's perfect, and she was just a child ? Why would anyone expect her to act as a grown and mature adult ? She had just lost everyone and lost her shit for maybe one minute and that's it. When she saw that her sister was in danger, she immediately went back for her but was stopped by Marcus. And she then ended up in jail, at maybe 15 years old, getting the shit beaten out of her for 7 years while thinking that everyone she ever cared about was dead. She is as traumatized and Jinx is. They just don't manifest it the same way. Let's not forget that during those 7 years, Jinx had a support system, Silco, someone to turn to even if everything was very far from perfect and that he was using her. She still had someone. Vi was alone, in a dark cell, getting beaten up every other day.

Until Caitlyn came and broke her out. The reason she accepted to talk to her was because Caitlyn showed her drawings that resembled her sister's !! She went with her to find Powder!! She even ditched Cait at the first occasion she got (in the brothel) to get the information from Sevika. And then the first occasion she got, she went to find her.

And then again, at the bridge, she left everyone to go find her sister, and went back for her friends because they were being blown up by Jinx's bombs. And then, Jinx lost it and fired that machine gun at her and Cait, and just then, it was the first time that Vi chose Caitlyn over Jinx in that moment. Because she had fired a damn machine gun at her. I mean, if my sister fired this at me, I'd probably run away too.

Then Vi's objective becomes to take down Silco to get her sister back from him (because one can argue that he was a nice and caring father figure, I still think that he was still using Jinx as a bomb maker, even if he cared for her. She was working for him.)

Next thing we know, Vi gets kidnapped by Jinx and spends the whole scene trying to convince her that she loves her deeply, she even suggests that they could run away far from Zaun and Piltover just the two of them and forget everyone else. It all goes down to shit when Caitlyn frees herself and starts threatening Jinx. Then Jinx kills Silco, nukes the Council, then probably disappears. And the only person she can hold on to is Caitlyn. Why ? Because since the beginning, Vi isn't interested in helping Cait find proof against Silco, she just wanted to find her sister. And despite Vi leaving, getting hurt and everything, Cait stayed besides her. She went to save her when Sevika stabbed her, she followed her when Vi ran after the blue smoke Jinx lit up in the sky, she tried to held her back in that "Oil and water" scene. So of course Vi stayed. Cait had proved her worth to her countless times. She even held back from killing Jinx (which had already committed terrorist actions, killed enforcers, firelights and probably many others).

Vi had nobody else to turn to. Literally. Everyone was dead, and Jinx had rejected her. And Caitlyn still didn't reject Vi, even after her sister killed her mother.

Of course Vi was going to stay by Caitlyn's side. It was the only person somehow caring for her. Even acknowledging her existence.

"But she became an enforcer and it was against everything she stood for". Again, have we all seen the same show ? Vi disagreed to Caitlyn's proposition. It was when Maddie met her that she told her she was "happy that she joined the enforcers". Caitlyn had enlisted her and didn't leave Vi a choice in that. Vi went along because she trusted Caitlyn and she only ever fought in Caitlyn's team. Vi was ready to let Cait end Jinx, because for her, Everything good in her sister was gone. There was nothing else to save. But when she saw Isha, it was not just her wanting to save the child, but also a part of her seeing Powder again. She saw that her sister was still capable of love and compassion. So she stopped Caitlyn.

And then Caitlyn hit her and left her. Again. At this point, everyone in the show had abandoned her. she was all alone, except for Loris who eventually also gave up on her.

Then Jinx went to find her again to save Vander. Then Vi started to gain hope again. Making plans with Jinx for the future. "Maybe we could stay here, help them out". Then shit went down again and Isha died (note : Vi's first reflex was to save her sister in that moment). Then Jinx surrendered, Cait locked her up and Vi went to free her sister. Who then proceeded to leave her again, hitting her in the spot that hurt her the most (both physically and emotionally). Let's note that in that scene, Vi called her "Jinx" and not Powder. It proved her that she loved her for who she was now. She loved Jinx.

Vi had again lost everything. She even thought she had lost Caitlyn by going against her orders again. She was even left alone in that cell, locked up, with no one she cared about, expecting another beating from life. She had come back to the point zero of everything. The concrete cell, the loneliness, the feeling of having failed everyhting and everyone.

But Caitlyn walked in and let her know that she had helped her free Jinx. That she trusted her enough to leave her desire for justice and revenge behind her because she knew how much Vi cared for her sister. And that was the first time in the whole show that anyone had made something for Vi. Hell, it must have been the first time in the show Vi might have felt loved. Like, think about it. Vi then let herself have one moment with Caitlyn, because she had started to become tired of being rejected and hurt by everyone. She had one single moment. And everyone blames her for that and says she's a terrible sister, when it's clearly not the case and has never been.

Time for the war. They fight. Then Vi sees Vander. Her first reflex is to try and save him again. Because she just loves her family so deeply she can't actually help it. And then Jinx sacrifices herself to save Vi. Have you really heard Vi's scream ? It's the most devastating sound and scream that we ever heard on this show. It even echoed louder than the actual explosion. Vi loved her sister so so so much.

With all that, I don't get how people can hate her. She just suffered so so much throughout the show. She is just a little love ball that constantly gets kicked by everyone. She did deserve that somewhat happy ending. I'm so tired of seeing Vi slander.

Also, props to the writers for breaking the doomed lesbian cycle. For once we got a win. Hurray !

[domesticgoddess22]

banana creampie

a thanksgiving one shot

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader summary: Your dad is hosting Thanksgiving this year, and he's invited his closest friends, including Joel Miller, who drives you to get ingredients for your famous banana cream pie. warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), car sex, unprotected piv, daddy kink, breeding kink, cowgirl, rough sex, creampie, daddy issues, TLOU AU no outbreak, dubcon, praise kink word count: 3.3k rating: explicit MDNI

Happy Holidays <3 This is a little something I cooked up on Thanksgiving day, so I hope you enjoy it. Sorry it isn't edited yet.

~~~~~~~~

Rays of orange spilled across the living room carpet, the sun peeking through the curtains that ebbed and flowed to the cool Austin breeze. The slivers of the light that dotted the couch warmed your bare legs, still shining from the lotion you lathered yourself up with. You turned the TV volume to blasting to overpower the chaotic sounds of your dad’s cooking. 

“You gonna get dressed and help your old man out here, kiddo?” Your dad’s head poked out from around the archway that led to the kitchen, a greasy spatula in hand and your brow furrowed at the drips that now splattered on the white tile.

“I am dressed,” you contested, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You just came back from college, celebrated your twenty-second birthday even, but your dad would always see you as a kid.

He frowned, eyes closing as he shook his head in disapproval before dipping back into the kitchen. It would take some getting used to, your new attire since coming back from NYU, that is. If there’s one thing your fashion degree taught you, it’s how to dress. You wore a juniper green corset top, laced up from the front and tied together to display your breasts nicely. The top was fashioned with a black, skin tight mini skirt with a slit along the right thigh, leaving little to the imagination.

You groaned, rolling off the couch lazily, but careful enough not to ruin your hair. Big, glossy curls cascaded down your back, bouncing slightly as you stood. There was a bow as red as wine that held your hair together in a half updo, so any cream from the pie you were about to make wouldn’t splash into your hair.

You dragged your feet to the kitchen, cracking open the pantry and digging for the ingredients to make your famous banana cream pie. 

“So whose all comin’ again?” You asked, eyeing the recipe to determine if you should still double the portions. You knew your dad’s friends were comin’, they always did, but you figured you’d check and make sure there wasn’t any changes.

“Donna and Rick, Keith, Rob,” your dad began listing off his friends, cursing when a splash of sausage grease sprayed his arm. “Oh yeah, and Joel and Sarah are comin’.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh?” You tried to come off casual, like your heart wasn’t about to burst in your chest at the sound of your dad’s best friend–the hottest guy on the block. “Thought they were goin’ to Tommy’s this year?” 

“They were, but Tommy and Maria are sick, so there’s been a change of plans,” your dad said, oblivious to how Joel’s name reddened your cheeks.

“That okay?” Your dad finally asked when you didn’t say anything.

“‘Course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I guess I forgot to tell ya with all the holiday craziness, it must of slipped my mind. Do you have enough ingredients to make your little tart?”

“Pie,” you corrected. “It’s a banana cream pie, dad.” You chewed your cheek, annoyed with his inability to pay any attention to you.

“Right, of course, of course. Do you have everything you need?” He’s half focused on checking the turkey now, the oven door screeching at the hinges as he stabs a thermometer into the near-browning meat.

“Actually, I’m gonna need more cream if I double this recipe.” You frowned, thinking about how you’d need to run to the store on Thanksgiving day and fight traffic and long lines. Not to mention, you haven’t gotten your license yet, there was no need for it in New York with all the subways and taxi cabs. 

“Call Joel ‘n ask him to be a doll and pick some up for you ‘fore he gets here.”

You slipped back into the living room, away from the hiss of sausages cooking, and flipped your phone open. Joel picked up, the sound of his rumbly voice left you forgetting what it was you called for in the first place.

“Hey, darlin’. What do you need?”

“Hey. Was just wonderin’ if you could be a doll and pick up some heavy cream for me before you get here?”

You heard him laugh through his nose. “On Thanksgiving Day?” 

“The stores are open for a half-day,” you said flatly. “But I guess if you don’t want my famous banana cream pie, then don’t bother.” There was a sweet, playful lilt to your tone at the latter, but their was a shuffling sound followed by a car door slamming.

You heard the sound of the front door crank open, as old and rusty as it was, and your head whipped around to see the very man you were on the phone with. He held a case of bears in his other hand. The two of you mirrored each other, flipping your phones shut.

“Look who decided to come back from New York.” Maybe it was wishful thinking or ovulation that was playing tricks on your mind, but you swore that his eyes clung to your hips, your breasts. 

“For now.” You said, ending the conversation right then and there. You didn’t want to entertain questions about what direction your career was going in and all that bullshit that you didn’t have answers to. “So I take it you’re not gettin’ cream then?”

“Didn’t say that. 'Course I want your pie.” He smirked at you right as Sarah came flying in, a giant sack of potatoes in her hand. She nearly jumped out of her boots when she saw you, screaming your name in excitement.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” Sarah dropped the potatoes on the floor with a thump, rushing to hug you. Your arms tightened around her, breathing in the sweet, citrusy scent of her curls.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in forever! And you’ve gotten so big!” It was true. Last time you saw Sarah was probably a year ago. She had just started middle school, but now she was almost as tall as you. “What, did ya hit a growth spurt or something?!” She beamed at you proudly.

“I’m 5’1” now!”

“Where’s your dad?” Joel asked.

“Kitchen. Makin’ a mess, cooking up a storm.”

“Hey bud,” you hear Joel say casually to your dad. And then you hear him say that he’s going to take you to the store, ordering Sarah to get started on the potatoes while the two of you run out. You feel your face go hot and your palms all sweaty at the thought of being alone with Joel. The two of you have never been alone before.

You rush to the side table, dotting your lips with a subtle, pink gloss. Joel strides back into the living room.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“It takes two people to go pick up some cream?” You taunt, and not quite sure why you do. Your heart was soaring at just the thought of being alone with him, and maybe it was because of that you put on the facade. The mask that you didn’t want to, just so he didn’t somehow find out that you were dying to be around him. 

“Did New York teach you to be this sassy? I liked it better when you were just Texas sassy.” He smirked, grabbing his keys and motioning for you to follow him to the front of the house to his truck parked in the driveway. Still the same old chevy. Still the same old Joel. 

“Aww, are you sayin’ you missed me?” You liked keeping up with his playful, teasing banter.

“We all did.” There was a sweet look in those big brown eyes that, for the first time, locked on yours. “Didn’t think you were gonna come back to this old town.”

“Yeah, I’m still figuring things out I guess. New York… wasn’t everything I had imagined it would be.” The thought seeped in and you felt the pang of disappointment. 

“You’re young. You have plenty of chances to try things, fuck up, and then try som’ new.” 

The engine roars to life, and you realize then that you were freezing. But it was too late to change now, Joel was already halfway down the block by the time you really gave it some thought.

“Those flimsy pieces of fabric not keepin’ you warm?” He gave you a quick side glance. He sounded like a scolding father with the way he said it. Not the same judgement as your dad, but of a similar breath, as if to say ‘I told you you shouldn’t have worn that in this weather.’ 

“I’m fine,” you scowled, but Joel must not have believed you as he cranked up the heater. 

“I have a sweatshirt in the back, you can wear that when we get out.” He jabbed a thumb toward the back of the cab, and then gave you another side glance, this time his eyes were on your thighs. “I know I ain’t your dad but–”

“No, you’re not.”

“You wear som’ like that, on a day like today, Kieth is gonna get drunk and his eyes’ll be all over you,” his face scrunched in disgust.

“I can handle Kieth,” you snorted. Kieth was your dad’s other friend, one that has been blatantly lusting after you every time you’ve come to visit. Your dad never seemed to notice, but it seemed like Joel had.

“Or…” You teased, lips pulling into a cat-like smile. “I can just let him look at me, if he wants to. He’s a decent looking guy, could probably use a little fun since he’s been divorced for what, two years now? Three?” In all honesty, if Kieth hadn’t been standing next to Joel every time he came around, you’d probably think he was the hottest guy on the block.

Joel’s grip around the steering wheel tightened. “You like him?”

“I dunno. I’m young, I don’t know what I want. I have plenty of time to fuck up.”

“My advice to you? Don’t fuck up with Keith. Guy’s a fuckin’ mess. And your dad would probably kill him.”

Your head slams back against the headrest and you let out a roaring laugh. “My dad wouldn’t even notice.” 

“He would.”

“Well, then who should I fuck up with then?”

“That’s for you to decide, darlin’.” Joel’s voice was low, his sweet Texan tang like music to your ears.

“But not really because you said I can’t have Keith, so who does that leave me with? You?” You bit your lip and smiled while Joel continued to look straight ahead at the open road. “I guess it’s only fair. It’s only been three years since Kieth’s divorce, but it’s been nearly a decade for you.”

It was quiet for a minute, and you worried that you pushed to far. Flirted to hard. You waited for him to scold you, say something and make you feel ashamed for your advances and commenting on his failed marriage.

“You’re gonna piss off your old man, sleepin’ with all his friends,” Joel finally said, and it was that comment that gave you the opening to press forward. Joel put the car in park when you pulled up to the country market, the lot nearly empty. Not quite as a packed as you thought it’d be. 

“Not all of them.” Your gaze bore down at his lap and then slowly, slowly let your eyes roam up his chest until you met his, lookin up at his through thick lashes, biting your lip. “Just one.”

He shifted in his seat, cracking open the chevy door. “Let’s get your cream.”

You wore Joel’s sweatshirt, just like he told you to. It smelled like him, a musky, woody scent that made your pulse quicken with each inhale. He trailed behind you as you all but skipped down the aisles, heading straight for the cream. You grabbed another set of bananas too, just in case you needed to top off the pie. Joel was eerily silent the entire time, and you hoped it was because he was horny, not becuase he was mad. Or maybe it was a little bit of both. You smiled devilishly at the thought.

When you dropped the bananas and cream on the belt, you pulled out a few bucks to pay for it all, but Joel’s wallet was already out, handing the cashier a few bills. “Hey, I was gonna pay for it.”

The cashier, a kind old woman, bless her soul, just smiled at the two of you. “Let daddy pay.” Your face dropped and Joel stiffened, grabbing the receipt and storming out. You tail after him, but his footsteps eat the ground, and you’re practically running to keep up.

“Woah, woah, woah! Slowdown their cowboy, I’m not used to running this much.” 

He flung the door open, jumped in the truck and took a long, deep breath. He was silent again. Joel was always a man of few words, and you always wondered what he was thinking. There were times over summer break–when you’d come back to visit, wearing nothing but a string bikini while you splashed around in his pool–you wondered if he thought of you. 

“Is everything okay?” You tore his sweatshirt off, feeling the heat build up on your skin now that something was amiss with Joel.

Joel groaned quietly, letting his elbow rest on the side door and burying his eyes in his left palm. 

“You’re so young. We shouldn’t be… shouldn’t be talkin’ like this. It ain’t right.”

“I thought we were just havin’ fun.” You said, eyebrows stitching inward at the fear of rejection.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fun.”

“Then what’s the problem?” An innocent question, and then your eyes trailed back down to his pants and it was then that you realized you didn’t need an answer.

“Seeing you, prancing around in your little fuckin’ skirt and your shirt that barely covers your tits… fuck. I–that’s part of why I gave you my sweatshirt. So I didn’t have to look at you and torture myself anymore.” He starts, slowly turning his gaze to look at you. “But it didn’t make a difference. You… are so fuckin’ gorgeous I can’t hide my desire. Can’t go back to your dad’s like this.” He buried his face in his palm again, wishing away his erection. 

Wetness pooled between your thighs at his confession. You felt your mouth water as you eyed the length of him through his jean, a pulsing throbbing mass that you’d give anything to have a taste of.

“Then let’s not go back like that.”

He turned back to you, slowly. You exchanged a look of mutual agreement, and as he opened his mouth to respond, you slid a leg over him and perched yourself on his lap, straddling him. Feeling the heat of him through the fabric of your panties. He rolled the sit back slowly, and then ground his hips against yours, his mouth hot on your neck, sucking and licking at your sensitive skin. The hair of his beard scraped against your chest and shoulder, but you didn’t care. 

“Baby…” he whispered into your ear, hands groping your mounds, thumbing the sensitive peaks. And then his mouth was back to sucking your neck, pulling soft moans from your lips as he did so. He slid his hand up your shirt, his calloused palm flush against your bare skin. His body heat warmed you in the cold november air.

Your moans became louder and more frequent with every fondling stroke of his hands on your breasts, your hips, and your ass. The wetness of his tongue against your neck. You cried out his name, begging, pleading him for more as your ground your hips on his lap. He groaned in approval.

“This what you want?” He asked, teasinglly pulling your pants to the side and letting his finger feel the wetness there before pulling away. 

“Yes, yes, please, please, please.”

And then he let his fingers slide along your clit before rubbing in a smooth, circular motion. “Fuck, you’re wet…” 

You moaned and begged him to continue, and your sweet cries left him thirsty for your lips. His mouth locked onto yours, tongue exploring you without any reservation. He kissed you roughly, like you belonged to him, and when you moaned at his touch between your legs, the rumbling growl that came from somewhere deep within his chest poured into your mouth. You cried out, spreading your legs as far as you could in the driver’s seat and let yourself fall into the white hot release, body convulsing as he rubbed you through your high. 

As you came too, you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling. His cock was out not even a second later, the massive, swollen head slick with precum. He was huge, both in girth and length, and you almost shied away. Worried he wouldn’t fit. But he didn’t give you time to turn back as he lifted your hips from his lap, lined up at your entrance, and then forced you down on him in one long stroke. 

“Good girl,” he said into your ear.

You screamed, biting his shoulder to hold back any other screams that might tear from your lungs and give you both away. Your hips moved on their own accord, bouncing on his cock, bigger than any dildo you’d ever used. 

“Joel… fuck me! Please, please!”

His hips bucked up, slammed into you, somehow deeper with every thrust. He growled, eyes trained on your bouncing breasts that are now exposed, the corset snug underneath them, propping them up for his pleasure. His hands found a spot on your hips, gripping you hard enough to bruise. 

He slammed into you, filling you to the brim in violent thrusts. You continued to bounce, your movements matching his but his stamina outmatched yours and you let him use your body for his pleasure. He fucked you, the truck bouncing in rhythm to his thrusts, the sound of Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond playing quietly on the radio. You thanked God for the cold air fogging the windows of the truck, otherwise you’d be on display for the world.

“Come inside me, please daddy.” You begged, and then wrapped our arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

And that’s what undid him. You. Both of you. Joel bucked his hips into you in sloppy, violent thrusts. You screamed, reaching the blissful release again, screaming daddy, daddy, daddy as he took you there, pouring his white hot cream into you in an endless load. You begged him for more and he buried himself into you.

And then your body went limp against his. Once bouncy, boisterous curls now sticking to the sweat on both of your faces.

“Fuck…” Joel groaned, pulling his cock out of you. Both of you pulled yourselves back together. You combed your fingers through your hair and Joel handed you a wipe to clean yourself up. “‘M too old to be this impulsive. Look what you did to me.”

You smirked, wiping the white milk from between your legs. “And I’d do it again.”

When Joel pulled up to the driveway, you noticed more cars parked out front. “Looks like everyone else showed up.”

Keith was in the living room as you and Joel entered the house, a frown plastered on his face when he looked at you, your neck, and then cast a glance at Joel. You looked in the mirror by the door and found a hickey the size of a golfball tattooed on your neck, covering it with your curls as soon as your realized the evidence.

“Hey, look who finally came back!” Your dad strolled over, a smile on his face that you knew would be wiped away the second he found out what you did with his best friend just moments ago. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yeah, we got the cream.”

More cream than you needed, actually.

[dreamscapeee222]

Hear me out, arcane characters reaction to reader being a traitor/ be on the opposite side of war

A/n: Ooh yeah mhm

You are a traitor

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi's heart sinks the moment she sees you standing on the opposite side of the battlefield. Her eyes narrow, disbelief and hurt flickering across her face.

“Really? After everything?” she calls out, her voice a mix of anger and betrayal.

She’s always been fiercely loyal, and seeing you align with her enemies feels like a personal stab. She storms toward you, fists clenched, prepared to fight—but she hesitates. You’re not just anyone.

“Why are you doing this?” she demands, desperation seeping into her tone. “We’re supposed to be on the same side!”

If you explain your reasoning, Vi struggles to process it. Even if she understands your motives, it doesn’t erase the pain. She’ll try to reason with you, to bring you back, but if you refuse, her trust in you shatters.

“You’re better than this,” she says softly before turning away, leaving both of you with an aching void where your bond used to be.

Jinx

Jinx takes it the hardest, her mind spiraling the second she learns of your betrayal. To her, loyalty is everything—and losing you feels like yet another cruel twist in her chaotic world.

“Is this some kind of joke?” she sneers, though her voice wavers. “You’re with them now?”

Her pain manifests as anger, and she’ll lash out at you with wild accusations and dangerous threats. But beneath the rage is a girl who feels abandoned, her fragile trust broken yet again.

“If you’re gonna turn your back on me, fine!” she shouts, her hands trembling as she grips her weapon. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Jinx might try to prove a point by being even more reckless in battle, desperate to show she doesn’t need you. But deep down, every encounter with you on the opposing side chips away at her already fragile psyche.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s reaction is cold and calculating at first. She’s always been one to think logically, and she tries to approach your betrayal with the same mindset. But it doesn’t stop the ache in her chest.

“I trusted you,” she says quietly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. “I believed in you.”

Caitlyn confronts you directly, trying to understand your reasoning. If she finds out you have a noble cause, she might wrestle with her emotions, torn between her duty and her lingering feelings for you.

“Do you really believe this is the right thing to do?” she asks, her voice softening.

But if your reasons seem selfish or misguided, Caitlyn won’t hesitate to do what she must to stop you. Her resolve hardens, and while it hurts her deeply, she’ll fight against you for the greater good.

Ekko

Ekko feels like the wind has been knocked out of him when he learns you’ve joined the opposing side. For someone who’s seen so much loss and betrayal, your defection feels like a personal failure.

“How could you do this?” he asks, his voice trembling. “You were part of us. Part of me.”

Ekko seeks answers, desperate to understand why you’ve turned against him. He’ll try to talk you down, appealing to the bond you once shared.

“This isn’t you,” he says firmly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. “Come back. It’s not too late.”

But if you refuse, Ekko won’t hold back. He fights with a heavy heart, every strike a reminder of what he’s lost. Still, he holds onto hope, believing that one day he can bring you back to his side.

Jayce

Jayce’s reaction is a mix of disbelief and anger. He’s someone who puts his trust in people, and your betrayal feels like a slap in the face.

“I thought we were fighting for the same thing,” he says, his voice laced with frustration. “What happened to you?”

Jayce tries to reason with you, relying on logic and shared ideals to sway you. He’s confident he can bring you back—at least at first.

“We can fix this,” he insists. “You don’t have to do this.”

But if you stand firm, Jayce’s resolve hardens. While he hates the idea of fighting you, his commitment to his cause outweighs his personal feelings.

“I won’t let you stand in the way of progress,” he says, though his voice wavers slightly.

Viktor

Viktor’s reaction is quiet and contemplative. He doesn’t confront you immediately, instead trying to piece together your motives on his own.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” he admits when he finally speaks to you, his tone neutral but his eyes filled with disappointment.

Viktor tries to appeal to your intellect, presenting logical arguments against your actions. He believes he can convince you to see things his way, and he approaches the situation with an almost clinical detachment.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says calmly. “But it’s not too late to correct it.”

If you don’t budge, Viktor’s disappointment deepens, but he won’t let it cloud his judgment. He’ll fight against you if he has to, though it’s clear the decision weighs heavily on him.

Mel

Mel’s reaction is subtle but no less powerful. She masks her emotions well, but beneath her composed exterior is a deep sense of betrayal.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” she says softly, her tone measured. “I thought you believed in what we were building.”

Mel doesn’t waste time with emotional pleas. Instead, she tries to outmaneuver you, using her cunning and strategic mind to counter your actions. But in private moments, the weight of your betrayal hits her hard.

“Was it all a lie?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mel respects your choices, even if she doesn’t agree with them. But she’ll do whatever it takes to protect her vision, even if it means standing against you.

See pinned.

[scrablw]

I want to go home, get a blade and stab it in my wrist until I feel happy again

[thatnonameuser]

imagine if cater took a pic of mc and uploaded to magicam or during vdc some anonymous people notice her being a manager and goes "who's this chick wearing the nrc uniform???" and it gets absolutely blown up on magicam and suddenly mc had hordes of fans (unknowingly) how would this happen and what would the reaction be? hahaha imagine if like people are skeptical on whether shes a darling or yandere

Shall we add more stress to this mental breakdown pile? MC’s going to need a mental institution at this point guys….

So if Cater,  Neige, Vil or just the TV crew upload the VDC for the world to see and she starts trending on social media and she finds out, she’s, no lie, going to have a stroke. 

After housing seven yanderes: Vil with his perfectionism and obsessiveness with that making her life agony, Rook, Epel, after he gets his confidence after the thing with Deuce (and the MC saying she doesn’t care about his appearance, because she doesn’t love him, but he takes that the wrong damn way), Jamil after the mind control stuff, Kalim also after the mind control stuff, AND Adeuce after their possessiveness hits the 11 on the dial after the Scarabia nonsense, AND dealing with Neige, singing that mind-numbing song; she finds out she’s getting a fan base, she’s going to need a very, very long nap before she stabs someone. 

Especially when she starts getting creepy messages, mail (Vil thankfully gave you advice about just burning all of your fanmail and never responding to it. You’re just glad he was right about all that)

 and otherwise ‘visits’ from her new ‘fan club’ (You best believe that Rook is the president). She’s never leaving the walls of NRC alone, or with Grim, ever again. 

If they start debating whether she’s a yandere or a darling. By now, she’s stopped hiding at NRC as a ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ but she’s not prepared for the whole world to know that!! And now her fans are having an actual bloody war about whether they’re right about you being one or the other, and you don’t need that on your conscience. To the point where you don’t even care if they figure it out or not, because the fights are that bloody. 

So that’s just fan-fucking-tastic. 

But to your yanderes’ reactions…..

*                        *                        *                        *

The famous celebrities you call your yanderes have different opinions on your fame. 

Vil sees it as something that both aids him, and stresses him out.

(I’ll be rewriting Vil’s family dynamic later, but I’ll give you the short version. Vil’s mother, whom I’m saying is deceased because the wiki doesn’t talk about her, was a famous darling actress, and her love story with Eric Venue was a celebrity love story that would have lasted if she hadn’t passed away.) So Vil will have knowledge on how the fans of the world view famous yandere/darling relationships, and can manipulate that to his advantage and your disadvantage. 

BUT…… Because of that he also knows of the dangers. And he knows how to navigate it. You don’t. 

So he’ll obviously act as your guide. Providing you safety and advice to navigate the most obsessive and delusional of super fans while being his own siren song to guide you into the safety of his embrace. He’s prepared to use that to gaslight you into following him forever, because every second you spend using him as your guide, you’re also fueling his and now your rampant fan base into thinking you’re a couple.

And after that the rest is history. Your own fanbase is entrapping you into being in a as-relationship with him and will lose their collective minds if you have a fight, or any slight disagreement. Vil will use his knowledge of the celebrity world against you, and by the time you figure it out, you’ll be a slave to the fan base and his love. 

Neige sees it as an opportunity! He’ll never tell you that, but he’s ecstatic. Neige pretends not to recognise the influence of his fame on others but with his reputation he’s already fawned over. And because of the reputation of darling and yandere partners, his and your fans might confuse your roles as a yandere and a darling. In their eyes, he’s the darling, you’re the yandere. 

Which means you’re screwed if Neige ever says anything remotely bad or something that can be taken negatively out of context. So better keep him happy. Got it?

Fortunately or Unfortunately, you can use being a darling to your advantage, or Neige can use being a ‘darling’ to his advantage, because darling celebs get the ‘Taylor Swift treatment’ (no offense Swifties) where their fans are prepared to murder if something bad happens to them. Any mistreatment from yanderes, even things that yanderes casually do to their darlings, can get a yandere mutilated or killed. 

As for the non-celebrities….

Rook, as previously stated, is the founder/president of your online fan club before you even got a phone, and he’s happy to see you be worshipped as you deserve. But as your number one, he gets the luxury of having you and not all the casuals. (Rook has earned his title as the number one, your number twos, threes and more can’t even compare to it). So while he'll let you revel in the spotlight for a while, the hunter will cage you eventually, and you’ll be worshipped by very few in the future. 

Cater’s a magicam fanatic with a whole catalogue of pictures he and his clones have taken of you. He’s probably one of the reasons you can’t relax now, being a frantic poster. And he’s not totally against it at first. Cater already loved taking pictures of you, so seeing so many people talk about the two of you is amazing. But then they only talk about you to an excessive degree. Now he’s no longer enjoying this. Having so many other people post about you like you and them are a couple hopelessly in love….. It sickens him. You are his, not theirs and soon all his posts will reflect that.

As for the others….. It’s divided…..

Hated it from the jump. Still hate it now. 

They’re already competing with too many people. They don't need anyone else trying to steal your already limited attention. These people bothering you and trying to steal you away make them join the murder happy train. Whatever gets rid of those annoying nuisances fastest.

Ace - Ace’s spot as first person you met isn’t being threatened but he has already been pissed enough about the fact that you have so many, many people vying for your hand. So now that number has jumped up to the millions, he’s furious. 

Leona - As someone who's been forced to take second place in many other parts of his life, to find so many useless herbivores vying after his herbivore, makes him lose control over his UM and turn his phone into sand upon discovery, and possibly a few of your psycho fans.

Ruggie - Same possessiveness as Leona with similar reasoning, Ruggie’s painfully used to having the things he wants too far out of reach. To risk these pathetic weirdos you don’t even know the names of having you for themselves is something he’s not willing to risk. He’ll maul them to death for even touching you. 

Azul - Insecurity alert! He’s angry, duh, but very, very sad. You being so beloved for doing basically nothing by so many, after seeing you lose your first kiss to someone else, it feels like you would keep choosing another over him, and now there are so, so many options vying for your affection and he hates it, so much. He wants to watch them all drown as he holds them under. 

Floyd - Floyd’s frequent mood swings make the change from side one to two near instantaneous. As soon as he comes to the conclusion, from ‘duh, Shrimpey’s the best’ to ‘I’m going to squeeze them all till their heads pop off’. Don’t let him hear about how much they want to kiss the MC, marry you etc. The eel’s already mad about the kiss incident and the fact you’ve been living with the person who stole it from him, your ‘fans’ made it all the more worse. 

Jade - Jade’s already rearing to kill. Would be a shame if some of the visitors to the VDC get incurably poisoned by the drinks served by the Monstro Lounge. While he smiles eerily the whole time, the eel intends to kill someone for deeming themselves the owner of your heart. Especially after the kiss incident.

Jamil - Doomed to be stuck in second place for way too long, the fact these imbeciles think that you hold any of them in the first place spot in your heart because they saw you on screen once, infuriates him. Maddens him even. The fact that your ‘fans’ think you would give them the time of day after you gave his first kiss to him makes him laugh. (Now if only he could remember it…..)

Idia - Chronically online with a bone to pick, he’s doxxing all these people making promises to come visit you. If any creepasses try to upload any pictures of you in intimate or barely clothed situations (Considering he has a camera in your shower, the irony is lost on him), he’s revealing every last secret they have, spreading online rumors and framing them for whatever crimes he can. If you’re allowed any creepy stalkers who purposely disrespects your boundaries repeatedly, it’s him! And Rook because Rook creeps him out.

(I am not good with chronically online slang and had Urban Dictionary out for this, can you tell?! 🙃)

Sebek - Sebek has a bit of internet awareness despite the fact he’s from the technophobic Briar Valley. And honestly, despite being a fellow person worshipper for Malleus, he, like a hypocrite, ignores that part. He wants to be the only one that you care about, and since he has to compete with too many rivals already, he doesn’t want anymore. 

You’re famous! Cool, you deserve it being so perfect. Wait, why are there so many people staring at you now?

At first, they think that you really deserve it, being so perfect and loveable. The whole world deserves to see you as the perfection incarnate you are….. Until it starts to get very, very overbearing. And others start talking about being your one true love. 

After that, they hate it. Why the hell are there so many people demanding your love, affection and attention, and getting the last part of that statement (because you were panicking but they don’t get that part) when they barely get that on a regular basis. They understand that you’re someone deserving of worshipful devotion, why are they trying to compete with them?!

Deuce - At first, Deuce just considers it a moment of the world reminding him that you are perfect for him. And he’s glad that the world agrees with him because it just pushes him to be better for you. But after a while the jealousy and anger kicks in. In comparison to the idiots that had to learn about you behind a screen, he’s been protecting you from the very beginning and they claim to love you more than he does!? He’s angry, like ready to go back to delinquency angry.

Trey - He, at first, didn’t see you being talked about online as big of a deal as he probably could have. Cater posts about himself and you all the time, so to him at first it wasn’t something to be concerned about. Then it got hard to ignore, and that’s when he hated it. 

Jack - Jack doesn’t notice how utterly bad it is at first. Because of his, mostly pure, love for you, he’s first inspired by your newfound fame to love you more, just to remind you how much you mean to him. But after it becomes a nightmare for you, he wants to make it as much a nightmare for them. He can understand that sometimes his love can be smothering, but he won’t let you live in fear of them, so he’s ready to draw blood. 

Kalim - Kalim already worships you. And for you, to be so perfect people are bound to notice so he doesn’t mind! Until it gets super bad, and then he does. But if they think they can love you more than he can, he’ll do them one better. He’ll send you enough gifts and love letters to overshadow all the creep mail that you’re sent. He’s still mad about all of that though. No one can love you more than he can. 

Silver - Silver’s the first part at first because he sees you as a perfection. But he’s not the second until Lilia politely informs him about the fact that if he and so many others see you as perfect, wouldn’t they try to steal you from him? After that, he’s angry. He understands that it’s not your fault. After all, it’s not your fault that so many people want to snatch his darling away from him. But he’s very not happy about so many people wanting to steal his princess from him. 

Doesn’t understand what the big deal is. They’re upset, can’t ignore that, but they don’t understand why this even happened in the first place.

They don’t understand why you’re being bothered by so many people because you appeared in front of a camera like that. They sympathize with your plight, but why do those obnoxious fans keep sending you creepy mail and try to meet you when they’ve never met you?

Riddle - Blame and Thank Mommy for that one. Riddle’s understanding of how social media fame works is miniscule, and how you suddenly managed to amass a massive following like you did within a few hours is a mystery to him. So while he feels angry and concerned about your plight, he can’t understand it.

Malleus - If Riddle’s understanding is miniscule, Malleus’ is the size of an atom. Because he’s very confused. Angry, wanting to burn the people bothering you to the ground…., but angry. He’s enthusiastically ready to defend you if they get too close, but he doesn’t understand why a single picture on the internet, which he already doesn’t understand, basically summoned an army of followers for you. 

Once the others start to notice that things are really bothering you, and annoying them, they’ll either offer you protection from them (luring you to them) or attacking them (keeping them away from you). Sometimes a mix of both.

As for you, enjoy the 15 minutes of fame that doesn’t end in 15 minutes. What’s better, being stalked and harassed by roughly 2 dozen yanderes who are constantly too close, or being stalked and harassed by hundreds of thousands to millions of yanderes that are anywhere and everywhere in the world?

[lostintransist]

More on you hating getting frustrated with the guys when they care for you. Apologies for any spelling errors I'm on mobile and fighting a migraine.

Gender neutral reader.

Find Simon and John here.

Nikto: Every piece of him had tuned into caring for you. If you could catch him doing it you would ask him to stop. Okay maybe not stop but slow down. Nikto learned early into sharing space with you that you could wield a wooden spoon as well as any grandmother and weren't cowed by any of his hard stares.

The first time he tried to coax you from the kitchen so he could finish cooking for you hadn't gone well.

"Andre if you touch me one more time with the intention of moving me from my task I might stab you." You hadn't even turned from the counter where you chopped carrots.

He glared at you, arguing with the parts of him he didn't dare name. He worried that by naming them they would stay.

Toss her into bed and tie her there the snarling voice rippled across the internal atmosphere.

Nikto would never tie you down, he doubted he could when with consent. The remembrance of restraints brought gooseflesh to any of his body not cemented with scar tissue.

"Glaring at me won't change the fact I'm going to continue to care for myself and you."

How the hell did you always know?

Turning your head and seeing him you turn fully and lightly place your hands on his hips, one place he has agreed you can touch without permission. Your voice holds the lilt of a laugh that soothes him when you speak again.

"Your stares hold weight my love." Lifting one hand you hover over his cheek until he nods. Holding him as if he is a precious treasure you continue. "If I let you care for me like this how long until paranoid Nikto doesn't let me out the front door?"

Nikto opened his mouth to argue the point but the single lift of your brow stops him. You did have a point.

"Go back to making my life easier in ways that make me question what changed love and leave me to my cooking."

Nikto acquiesced to your ask, slightly annoyed that he had been found out. He dropped a kiss to your waiting lips before slipping from the kitchen.

Kyle: The drive home from the hardware store has a decidedly different feel than the drive there.

"What's on your mind Kyle?" You question as you crane your neck to ensure you were safe to pull out of the parking lot.

"I'm upset with you."

Always pragmatic your lover is. Your face screws up as you think over the past few days of his leave. No fights, good intimate times, and a general lull into happiness give you no clues as to why he is angry now.

"Care to share with the class?" You glance at him as you drive catching nothing more than his broody nose scrunch.

"Why did you let the employee help you but not me?"

That would never have crossed your mind as to a reason to be upset.

"Why did I let the person being paid to haul heavy things move the stones for me instead of my boyfriend who can't hurt himself while on leave?"

"Dammit that is not what I am saying and you know it," Kyle snaps at you.

Focused on driving as you are the only response you can give is the tightneing of your fingers on the steering wheel.

"Kyle I am going to ask you to stop yelling at me. I don't understand why you are upset and I don't like the volume you are choosing. We can discuss this or you can let it go." The calm tone you chose carries an undercurrent of your stress.

He takes three deep breaths as you merge onto the freeway. You wouldn't have a chance to look at him now. Good. Maybe this dicussion could end before you got home and everything would settle back into the normal joy of having him home.

"You fight me on who gets to pay for dinner," he lifts a finger in your peripherals.

Cutting in before he can continue you defend yourself, "I work hard and like splitting the bill or taking turns."

The flat stare of his eyes has you curling your shoulder into your neck to hide from his gaze.

"You don't like gifts except on your birthday and Christmas," he rushes ahead before you can interject again. "You never let me help around the house when I am home. Yes, except for the garbage because you hate the garbage. If I were to pay for a spa day for you I bet I would get yelled at for wasting my money."

"I wouldn't yell at you until after..." you mutter to yourself.

"The point is that you refuse to let me be apart of this relationship and I'm hurt by it. Why won't you let me love you? It makes me think you don't want me."

That statement shook you. It rattled out a deep thought from your brain, one that you and your therapist had been digging to find.

Tears sprang to your eyes as the realization rocked through you. If you let him in you worried that Kyle would leave. If you let him start to take care of you he would abandon you like everyone did. The instant you learned to lean he would disappear as if he had never been.

Blinking to stay focused on the road you took the next closest exit.

"I'm having a revelation, I can talk about this once I can pull over."

Kyle slides a hand onto your thigh, squeezing lightly as you tense your muscles under his touch. The first parking lot you found is where you parked and the sobbing overtook you. It took a long time for you to breathe past the tumult of emotions you had uncovered. He holds you as well as the car allows until you can sit up, back muscles pulling sharply. Damn getting old was hard on a body.

"I...uh...I realized my brain says I can't lean on you, or let you do anything for me because if you do then you will disappear like everyone else has on me."

Kyle looks shattered.

"Baby..."

You rush to reassure him.

"It's not you, and I know," you point to your forehead, "You wouldn't... that if you didn't come home it has nothing to do with me. But me, little me," you point to the lowest point on the back of your head "they don't know that yet. I will email my therapist when I get home and we will start working on it."

Gripping his hand in one of yours you pepper it with kisses.

"I'm so sorry I made you feel so bad. I want you. I want you so badly it aches to breathe sometimes. I need a bit of time to work on this, can you do me a favor?"

Kyle looks at you, tears rimming his eyes.

"Anything."

"Can you tell me when letting you do something for me would help you feel loved?" The sentence sounded weird but you needed to know he would tell you when you were getting to far into your own head about things.

Kissing the tip of your nose Kyle rested his forehead against yours.

"I would do everything for you if you would let me. But can we start here? Will you let me drive us home?" He whispers the words to you.

Your mind violently rejects the idea, some deep piece of you rebelling at the thought.

"Yeah. I think that can be a place we start."

A/N: Oooh I liked these ones! LMK if you would like to see any more of these.

HC Masterlist | Masterlist

[reginalusus]

Ok so what if I put them in Dark Souls.

Ok, ok, ok, this fucking concept has been stuck in my head for around two months and I never bothered to draw it because I don't enjoy drawing armour and shit as you can see, but I managed to get a rough sketch of some stuff out yesterday and today.

If you would like to hear me yap about how DC Dank Souls would work and Two-Dads boss fight and their designs, feel free to go under the cut. ^-^

So it's basically a Souls-like game where Gotham is a decrepit, corrupt kingdom, even more so now that Bruce Wayne/Batman has died, and the player plays as a random, chosen Gothamite that must take down the villains/morally questionable of Gotham. Obviously I'd have Harvey and Jason be the final boss due to their personal connection with Bruce. They'd have the biggest banger of a boss theme known to man and work as a duo, similar to how Sister Freide and Father Ariandel work, or Lorian, Elder Prince and Lothric, Younger Prince etc. (both from DS3).

Some quick notes about their designs.

Harvey - Blindfolded like Lady Justitia. - His scales are a sacred chime, so they can emit miracles and be used to buff. They are also pointed with a dagger - can be used to stab as a back-up. - Due to Harvey having 'fallen angel' imagery, he DID have angel wings, but over the years and as his corruption grew, they became tattered and broken and sore. They drag behind him like a cape.

Jason - His lower body is bandaged, similar to the bandages he was wrapped in prior to being placed in the Lazarus Pit. - Grim Reaper imagery, but rather than a scythe, he uses twin sickles. Sickles are normally better for prying the hard-to-reach and tougher elements of a crop. - His eyes glow similar to the Lazarus Pit.

First Phase Harvey and Jason share a health bar in the first phase. Jason is very aggressive and will attack the player with quick and brutish heavy attacks with his dual sickles. He can also throw knives, use the environment to leap around and use a chain grapple to grip the player forward. Harvey will buff Jason in the background with his scale chime. Sometimes he will buff Jason's speed, sometimes his strength - however, before he does this, he will flip his coin and there will be a distinct ding. When that ding goes off, the player has around three-five seconds to hit Harvey and prevent the buff. The player can choose to be aggressive to Harvey since he is mostly idle during this phase, but he can admit a divine AOE (Call of the Jury, perhaps it's named) from his chime that will push the player back, forcing them to fight Jason. Git gud.

Second Phase Once the health bar is drained, a cutscene will play. Jason will fall to the ground in defeat, spluttering blood and essence from the Lazarus Pit. He dies. Harvey will fall beside him and cradle him, weeping and lamenting as he does so. He will mumble something like, "a second death to a second life would pleaseth us… however, for one as beloved as thou, we want a third," before carrying him to the Lazarus Pit. He will set Jason into it, before turning to face the player and removing his half-helmet, as well as his blindfold. They will drop to the ground, and from Harvey will admit Janus, melting into view gracefully at his side as a sort of spectre. Double health bar now, woo!

This fight play similarly to the Pontiff Sulyvhan fight from DS3. Harvey will no longer bear his scales and coin; he will swap them for dual swords resembling the Sword of Justice. Harvey's attacks are not as heavy as Jason's, but they are smoother and more elegant, similar to the Dancer of the Boreal Valley from DS3 or Rellana, Twin Moon Knight from Elden Ring. Janus deals less damage but, again similar to Pontiff Sulyvhan, will actually betray what move Harvey is about to perform, giving the player a chance to learn movesets.

Third Phase Once Harvey is defeated, another cutscene will play. He will fall on one knee, crestfallen and weak. He gazes over at the Lazarus Pit and from it will emerge Jason. He will pull down his hood, revealing a distinct, crimson helm that contrasts with his green eyes beneath it (think of Pursuer from DS2). He looks over to Harvey and approaches him before helping him to his feet. Harvey flips his coin, and it comes scarred side up. Jason and Harvey will then face the player, unyielding. Then the health bars pop up, wooooo!

Jason will be similar to his first phase, and Harvey will be similar to his second phase, minus Janus. They are both aggressive, but one will tend to give the player breathing room now and then. Sometimes they will have choregraphed attacks where they work together, sometimes one will try to grab the player so the other can unleash a flurry of attacks. They have separate health bars obviously, so the player will have to choose which of the two they want to try and tackle first, or they can even out both. Git gud.

Ko-Fi Bluesky

[hellaverse-described]

[ID: A series of screenshots from Hazbin Hotel juxtaposed with tumblr posts.

Image 1: A text message exchange with the prompt “is stabbing someone immoral?” Alastor adjusts his jacket and smugly closes his eyes. His text bubble responds “not at all”. Vaggie squints off to the side. “depends on who you’re stabbing”. Angel, simultaneously suggestive and trolling, responds “depends if they consent to it”. An incredulous Charlie screams, “YES??”.

Image 2: Five angry Voxes corner an unperturbed Alastor by leaping out of the bounds of their video screens. Alastor is very much giving Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. A tumblr post from setheverman shouts “ ‘no homo’? why the hell not???”

Image 3: Alastor poses immaculately in the absolutely foetid swamp-scape of his radio tower. A tumblr post by crow-suggestions reads “check in on your nemesis! make sure theyre doing poorly in these trying times”.

Image 4: A freshly-fallen Vaggie, with short hair and her ripped exorcist uniform, has her eye bandaged by Charlie. She smiles gratefully and not a little warily. A tweet by sulky80715248 reads “are you into girls that are eternally doomed”.

Image 5: From Vox’s voyeur scopes, Alastor holds his microphone close and stares balefully at the camera. His image distorts and fritzes, dead pixels floating around him like fairies. A tumblr post by dainty-darling reads “asterisks poses for the security camera”.

Image 6: Vox and Alastor fight in the liminal digital space their media forms intangibly occupy. Alastor pouts and shrugs as he absolutely eviscerates Vox, a smug cat smile curling up to his ears; Vox is poised to pounce, and is slowly losing his control. A text exchange, all from the sender, is positioned on the border between them. The exchange reads: “i miss you so much i can’t wait to see u again.” An unspecified amount of time passes; at 7:50 pm, a new text reads: “nvm i took my meds”. At 10:04, they continue, “they wore off w y d”. “i miss you”.

Image 7, perhaps directly following the last image: an increasingly frustrated Velvette on Vox’s computer berates him, even as Vox has turned his back to her and is scrolling through his phone. A text bubble from Velvette containing a tumblr post from castielsuneatenpussy reads: “i should be able to file for divorce on another couples behalf”.

Image 8: Alastor taunts Lucifer in front of a concerned but unassertive Charlie. A tumblr post by peachdoxie reads “Ah yes, the three genders: Girl, Boy, and Mischief”.

Image 9: Vox stares in abject fear at his computer screens in his goon chamber. His pathetic eyes shiver like a wet dog. A tweet from haruspex_txt reads: “crazy how through all of this i’m still horny. the human spirit is unbreakable”.

Image 10: A greedy and vicious Alastor crushes the watch Pentious was using to communicate to Vox. Its harsh, photophobic light cuts across his face and makes the lines of his teeth that much harsher. A tumblr post from gayarsonist reads “ ‘I could fix him’ good for you i guess. i could be the only thing he’s truly afraid of.” // End ID.]

i have way too many of these on my phone so. here tumblr take em all

[screamlet]

118 daily drabble (day 3; abandon)

@118dailydrabble

pairing: bucktommy

---

"Guys, it's fine," Buck says as they take the stairs to the station's loft. "So we saved three school buses worth of kids and every time one of them was reunited with their family, it felt like I was being stabbed in the heart and every dream of my future was bleeding out in front of the La Brea Tar Pits because I was abandoned by the love of my life a month ago, like—it's not a big deal. Sure, Tommy looked me in the eyes and ran away, again, but it's okay! I'm so over—"

"Evan!"

Buck rushes to the balcony. Tommy's waiting in his tar-streaked turnouts, looking up with his helmet in hand.

"Can we talk?"

[dumpsterdelight]

I'm trying to be a good artist again and since I'm hyperfixated on both Animal Crossing and Alan Wake (still) i thought I'd take a stab at combining them 🤷‍♀️

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓘𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕. SUNDAY ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 0.8k ノ gn reader — reader works for the family and is cleaning his office when he comes to you with a pierced wing. i like to think he did it himself. blood descriptions. treating injury. hurt and gentle comfort if you squint. reader is intimidated by his presence but willing to help anyway. not romantic. not in any relationship — i just wanted an excuse to write about sunday’s pierced wing :3

He comes to you on wobbly legs, trying his best to appear dignified when there’s blood trickling down his neck and dripping slowly on his shoulder — stains on his boyish innocence splattered with crimson, along with the prim suit now only fitting to be thrown into the laundry basket. The pierced wing behind his ear shudders, flopping down unlike the other, healthy one. He must’ve torn its sensitive nerves, the golden spikes constantly violating the delicate structure of the feathers.

Sitting in tense silence in the middle of his office, you’re incapable of forming questions to throw at him, too flabbergasted at the sight, because what would the family think of his sudden rebellious outburst? But then again, how else could he have proven himself? He wanted to stand up against the other leaders, and so he did, so they stopped considering him a baby, a little finch, still unable to live on his own away from the nest.

It was not your place to judge, though, not as a mere servant working for them. Instead, you settle him down and turn on the light, washcloth at hand, and warm water ready in minutes.

Treating the messy wound proceeds slowly; he winces under your touch, but his face remains expressionless with cold eyes fixated on an unreachable spot in space. Dab after dab, the cotton ball cleans the shattered fluff, but the soft sensation feels like stabs against the pulsing area next to his earrings. You keep your fingers as benign as possible, holding his chin up so he can take a deep breath and finally look at you. You cannot meet his gaze, focused on caring for him, but you feel his golden irises on your heated cheeks.

“Mister, d-does it still hurt?” You ask after some time, words slipping off your lips without thinking. You blurt it out involuntarily, trying to dissolve the unbearable tension between you two; it was a silly question, as if that wasn’t clear enough already.

Sunday holds back a weak smile and tries to move his wing. He flinches in pain and shoots his arm down.

“It does, unfortunately.”

You finish dabbing the last remains of blood off his neck, the tip of your tongue sticks out in concentration as you pull the cotton away. Now that the wound is clean and no longer bleeding, it isn’t nearly as alarming as before. Rather than frightening, it only serves to be fascinating for you. As cruel as it sounds, even if an angel-like Halovian will always have moments of clumsiness, it doesn’t happen often to see him struggling. It makes it all the more precious in its rarity.

Yet despite his strength and elegance, the sight of him looking like a hurt baby bird tugs on your heartstrings, perhaps because he’s cute or because there are butterflies in your stomach just by having his presence here alone in this room. Sunday usually has little care for those working under the family, let alone to stay long enough to witness their existence; when he does, it is usually through passing glances during business meetings, never catching eyes with one another. And now that he came to you willingly and spoke your name as though he were truly interested, you felt blessed beyond measure.

Trying to stop the fire from returning to your cheeks, you sigh, standing up with a bowl in hand. He stays quiet and unmoving, save for a twitch of the eye or an awkward scratch to his neck. The atmosphere feels uncomfortable, at least to you, but it must be even worse for him, the shame finally catching up to him.

“Don’t tell anyone about this. I will… deal with the consequences on my own. Later…” he trails off, breaking the silence at last. “This will surely bring some drama to my next meeting. But I do not wish for you to get involved by an accident.”

His voice becomes bitter, almost whining; the sound muffled as he presses his chin down into his collarbone. As though the pierced wing is heavy like stone on his shoulders, a burden too hard to lift right away. Sunday speaks as if the entire weight is on him alone, the pressure piling up without end. You doubt if someone can really help him, much less a servant.

The thought saddens you.

“It will be alright.” You bite your lip and take the bowl and bloody cotton balls away without another word. Unsure of what to say next, slightly embarrassed about getting so friendly with the young leader, it’s best to leave. He didn’t come to you for empty platitudes, anyway; he would have called a professional, someone with experience.

Perhaps he trusted you not to say a word, to keep it between you two, forever sealed.