#and I love it then but i feel a lot of times it is just wasting the readers time

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Simon gets a message from reader while he’s on base. It’s a video. The thumbnail looks like a blurred image of a store isle

Once he has a moment to himself, he’s able to sit back and finally check out what you had sent.

The camera pans down to show yours and simon’s two year old daughter. She has half a mini chocolate muffin clutched in her little baby fist and chocolate smudges on her nose and bright pink cheeks. She’s standing, staring at something out of frame.

The camera is a bit shaky and Simon can hear you trying desperately to hide your laughter.

“Baby,” you say, “baby, look at me.” You bend down to bring the camera closer to your daughter, who only turns to look at you for a second before going back to staring at the same spot out of frame.

“Who is that?”

Your daughter raised one of her chocolate covered hands to point towards whatever it was that had been captivating her the entire video. “Daddy.”

Simon here’s more of your pained stifled laughter and the camera follows your daughter’s gaze, revealing a cheaply made Halloween grim reaper statue, with dusty purple robes, a plastic scythe, and a hilariously misshapen skull face.

He reads the accompanying texts that had followed the video.

[She just started saying “daddy daddy” over and over and it took me forever to figure out what she was talking about]

[for a second I thought, “oh is he here?”]

[Im so dense lol]

[she really misses you ]

[I miss you too]

The next text was a picture of your daughter fast asleep in her car seat. Now cleaned of chocolate, she had replaced her muffin with a giant plastic rat that she hugged to her chest like a teddy bear.

[she refused to leave without it]

Simon smiles. It had been a long time since he had a family. People who loved waiting for him to come home.

Your texts had been sent hours ago, and he felt bad about not responding all day.

[that’s unfair. My mask is made of much better materials]

[I miss you both too. If everything goes right I should be home by Monday]

[and don’t call yourself dense]

Simon thinks for a moment, something eating at him about that video

[I wish she didn’t know about the mask. I don’t want her to see me that way]

You respond quickly, making Simon feel worse about his delayed reply

[Dont worry about that honey. She’s only two, and I think she only saw you wear in mask once once or twice. She’ll forget in a month.]

[She doesn’t see you as anything other than her daddy]

[her daddy and her jungle gym]

[lol yes that too]

[Im sorry I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll try and call you tomorrow]

[ok Im heading to bed now anyway]

[goodnight I love you ❤️]

[goodnight I love you too ❤️]

[itaipava]

— f1 boys and the moment they go “fuck it”

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

you’re both a little drunk, but sober enough to know what you’re doing. he loves testing your limits, so he makes a bet with you over something trivial, promising a “prize” if you win. when you win and smile victoriously, he laughs and says, “i guess i owe you something special, right?” you nod, ready to receive whatever it is. he leans in, eyes shining, and whispers, “i hope this counts,” before giving you a kiss that feels playful and intense at the same time.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

you’ve always had a fun friendship, where you could joke around and have fun with each other all the time, and tonight was no different. you’ve been teasing him all night, playfully testing his limits. he’s been patient, smiling, until you say something that pushes him over the edge, “oh you want to kiss me so bad right now,” you say playfully as he wouldn’t stop looking at your lips. he looks serious for a moment and you think he doesn’t like what you said, but he just gets even closer, his voice low and intense, “you have no idea how much,” before leaning in and kissing you, finally giving in to what he’s wanted for so long.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

you're alone in your room while music plays. you thought you were alone and he was in the living room, but he was silently watching you sway, mesmerized. he always admired you from afar and never hid it, but at that moment, something changes inside him like never before. he thought a lot before doing it, but it was only when he stopped thinking that he finally did it: he approaches, puts a hand on your waist and, without saying a word, pulls you close, holding you as if you were the only two people in the world. you were startled by his sudden attitude, but you quickly melted in his arms as he hugged you and pulled you even closer to him while your lips were danced together.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

you’d never argued before, but at that moment, your nerves were on edge; you were both frustrated with each other. the room fell silent as the tension shifted, and he was staring at you, breathless. you tried to look away from him, but something about him held you back; he was a mess. suddenly, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken emotions between you, finally letting everything that had been bottled up come out.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

he watches you from afar as you talk and laugh with another guy, and even though he knows he has no claim, it still stirs something primal in him; he just couldn't stop staring at you, and you noticed it. later, when you're alone, you tease him about it and ask him why he couldn't stop looking at you like that. he knows you were having fun with the situation, but he wasn't. you thought it was no big deal, but for him it changed everything. "i hated seeing you with someone else," he finally admits, serious as he stares at you. you look at him for a few seconds and smile, he smiles back and takes your face, finally kissing you - and claiming you his.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

it’s late and you’re saying goodbye after spending the whole day together; he loves being with you, but he hates the time to say goodbye. it feels like time passes so quickly with you but so painfully slowly when you’re apart. he also knows that you hate goodbyes, so you’re lingering at the door, neither wanting to part. he takes your hand, holding it a little tighter, his thumb gently stroking your skin. “maybe… i don’t want to say goodbye yet,” he says and his eyes shine at you. he leans in, finally pressing his lips to yours as he places his hand on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

it’s late and you’re both tired from the party you just attended. people have started to leave, but you’re too busy with each other to care. you’re in the garden of the huge house, sitting on the grass and admiring the stars. he looks at you laughing at something he told you, your voice soft and open, and something inside him snaps. his heart starts to beat faster as he’s mesmerized by you. he blurts out, “sorry, i can’t pretend anymore,” and pulls you closer to him, his hands shaking with anticipation and desire as he finally takes your face carefully and kisses you, completely melting into the taste of you.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

he loves listening to you and always listens attentively. but lately he hasn't been able to hold himself back: whenever you start talking, he has to look away or think about something else, because he's on the verge of finally giving in to you. you have a surprising effect on him that he's never felt before, and today was no different: while you're talking, he suddenly goes quiet, his eyes fixed on yours with an intense gaze. "sorry," he murmurs, "i know you're saying something important, but i just… i can't concentrate when you're so close." he's also surprised by what he just said, but he doesn't wait for an answer, pulling you into that kiss he's been holding back for so, so long.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

you’re both running to take cover from an unexpected downpour, and you’re both soaking wet, laughing and out of breath. he looks at you, hair drenched and eyes shining as you laugh, and realizes he can’t contain himself anymore. you’re the most beautiful and charming person he’s ever met in his life, and he can’t hide it anymore. he’s afraid of losing you; of losing the opportunity to finally be with you. so, without saying a word, he gently caresses your cheek and smiles with you before pulling you into a passionate kiss, with the rain running down both of you. in that moment, he felt like he was floating. in that moment, nothing else mattered, it was just you and him in the world.

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x afab! reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[cassandraclare]

Kit to Ty

Election day: misery, stress, hair-pulling, at least for Americans (and a lot of other people around the world affected by our politics!) So I thought I'd post a distraction; I hope it helps and doesn't annoy!

A while ago I posted the beginning of a letter from Kit to Ty, created for a Kickstarter backer. Here's the full text:

A letter from Kit to Ty, never sent.

Ty, Ty, Ty.

Your name looks strange written out like that. Like an abbreviation. But Tiberius would be so formal. I never think of you that way. Or, I suppose I should say, I never thought of you that way. Tenses matter in these situations, I guess.

It’s late, past midnight, and I’m sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom at Cirenworth. Jem and Tessa gave me one of the best rooms. Of course they did. It has a view out over the gardens. Sometimes I see the ghost of a dog there, a golden retriever I’m pretty sure, running in and out of the flowerbeds. He seems like a pretty happy ghost. I think about how much you like animals and how much they love you, because of course they do. But it’s too late; this dog passed away a long time ago. You probably couldn’t even see him. It’s too late for a lot of things, now.  

I’m still mad at you, and I don’t feel good about that. Maybe if I could forget, I could forgive. But I can’t forget that night you brought Livvy back. I’ll suddenly remember even when I’m thinking about something else. I’ll be in the middle of helping Tessa in the garden and suddenly I’ll turn around and I’m back in Idris. 

I remember I told you I loved you. I remember I told you I would help you, but not if you raised Livvy from the dead. Not if you did necromancy. But you wanted that more than you wanted me.

And I understand that. I’m not angry about that. Here’s what I’m angry about: when you brought Livvy back, you changed yourself. You made yourself a different person than the one I loved. I don’t know the person you are now. You took yourself away from me. I can’t forgive that. And you made me someone who has to keep a secret I never wanted to keep. I was raised by someone who had so many awful secrets, and when I started my life as a Shadowhunter I wanted to do it openly, and honestly. But now I’m just someone else with secrets I can never tell. Just like my dad.

It makes me angry, so angry. I want to yell at you. I wish you were here so I could yell at you.

Kit

[andhumanslovedstories]

Last two shifts I worked, I had the same patients but was precepting (training) different nurses. So two nights in a row, I have a patient with a post-op complication (guts not moving) that the surgeons are taking a conservative approach to (wait and see if the gut starts moving). This treatment plan makes sense for the specifics of this patient, but that means we’re doing a lot of symptom management without directly treating the thing that’s causing the symptoms. In this case, symptoms are pain and nausea so bad that the patient said if they’d known this is how they’d feel after, they’d have skipped the surgery and just rolled the dice with what that colon polyp would do if left alone.

So we’re throwing meds at this patient, we’re walking them so their bowels can get moving, we’re giving ice chips and gum and cold wash clothes, we’re giving IV fluids (which is SUPER rare in the hospital right now because due to one of the recent hurricanes, we are critically low on IV fluids), we’re doing basically all my tricks short of putting another tube in this guy. And it’s working okay. Like we’re keeping pain and nausea just below “intolerable” but not by much.

That first night I have that patient, while I’m talking to the surgeon on the phone, my preceptee is in the room talking to the patient. I don’t get any new orders because most usual meds that would help are contraindicated in this particular circumstance. I’m feeling frustrated about that—I HATE when I can’t get symptoms significantly under control—when my preceptee comes up excitedly and says that the patient says they’re feeling much better after the therapeutic intervention my preceptor did. The intervention was hanging out in the room for 15 mins and talking with the patient about their hometown in Canada.

(Which, hell yeah. Very proud of that new nurse because she said one of the biggest things she wanted to work on was being less nervous talking to patients.)

Next night, I got the same patient, still miserable, and a new preceptee. We’ve got more meds this time, but still only marginal success with managing symptoms. I tell my preceptee, “next time you’re in the room, plan on staying and chatting with the patient for like ten minutes.” Next time we’re in the room, we do just that—we talk sports, hobbies, plans, past surgeries, how much this surgery sucks, just the three of us shooting the shit for a while before we have to go give pain meds to another patient. (It was a surgical floor. That night was mostly handing out ice packs and oxy.)

Anyway, the patient tells us that this chat has been the best they’ve felt all night. My preceptee comes out of the room, and my preceptee is like “wow that really was our best intervention.” And I get to be like “yes witness the power of chit chat as nursing intervention.”

Reflecting back, I’m grateful that the patient was so expressive about what we did that was working. I told the patient at one point, in the midst of their most acute misery, that we were going to give them everything we had available, and if that didn’t work, I had backup plans in mind. Like you might spend the night miserable, but it’s not because we didn’t keep trying stuff. And after I say that, the patient goes, “that was good, I like that you said that, that comforted me.” Which was very nice and convenient because before we’d gone into the room, I’d talked to my preceptee about how to make patients feel supported and cared for, even when none of the care we do is working. When we left after that, my preceptee was like “wow, you’re right, that really worked,” and I was like, “I KNOW, that’s cool right? I mean you always hope it works, but sometimes you just can’t tell if it actually does.”

I love really open patients, they are such fantastic teaching opportunities. For example, I had another patient both night who was also very open, specifically about what a bad job the hospital was doing and how everyone should just stay the hell out of their room. Considerably less pleasant feedback, equally valuable, about essentially the exact same situation that the first patient was in. Talking through that patient with my preceptees was also very useful and very easy, because the patient had been so explicit in their feedback.

It’s always odd training nurses because you don’t want bad things to happen to your patients, but you also need to new nurses to see bad things. And sometimes you get a patient assignment that is so good for teaching, it’s like it came from a textbook. Very convenient for me personally as a preceptor. Feels weird to say that about patients who are having absolutely miserable times, that their misery is useful to me, but (as preceptors normally say about stuff like this) if it’s happening, at least it’s happening where we can learn about it. Anyway, great couple of shifts to practice therapeutic communication.

[marcyvampire]

pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

K

e

r

o

s

e

n

e

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

[trashytracktales]

Love the Lando fic. I am soooo desperate for a really smutty Max fic. He’s been feeling down that he hasn’t been winning and his best friend jokes she’ll give him head if he wins the sprint in Austin. You can guess the rest. I really in some need for friends to lovers smut

So we ride | MV¹

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none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

© trashy track tales, 2024

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💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for loving my previous work!! I hope you like this one as much 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── She’s been there for him even before his career in F1 took off. And now that Max is struggling, there’s no other place she’d rather be than beside him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Max Verstappen x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, smut, descriptive language & descriptive paragraphs (because I can't stop yapping), mature/sexual content, fingering, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, Filthy Mouth Max, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.4k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 4, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I swear I planned to make an absolute filth out of this one, but somehow, I low-key ended up giggling and kicking my feet by the end. Nice 👌🏻

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THE DISTANT CHEERS still reverberate faintly from the paddock as she waits by herself in Max's room.

She has no idea why she's suddenly nervous. It's just Max. Her Max. Her best friend.

She's been in his driver's room countless of times before, but something has shifted. The energy is charged, somehow, with the weight of everything that’s changed between them over the past month. He’s been making more effort to be in her life, but even though she thinks he does it only because he needs a break from his hectic life, she's not complaining. Quite the opposite.

They’ve been talking day and night, sharing calls and endless text conversations. Every message, every call, and every laugh they’ve shared has pulled them closer, blurring the lines that they’d always kept so carefully intact.

Memories creep in like old songs she can't stop replaying in her head while she rests in the small space that smells like him — a delicious, subtle scent that lingers wherever he goes, a clean mix of sandalwood and a hint of leather from his racing gear, with just a trace of something so uniquely Max.

Without having the privilege to stop her mind, she lets it wander to the first time they met, long before Max secured his seat in Formula 1. Even though he was only a teenager at that time, he was ferocious and resilient, and anybody could see the determination behind his eyes, to the point it was almost impossible to turn and look away.

At least that's how she remembers him.

From that day on, she’d been there for every milestone. Every point earned, every setback, every win, every lose, every title, every new girlfriend, and every break-up. She never questioned him, even when others criticized his aggression on track and his obsessive desire to win. She was aware that he had a cause to fight for and a lot to prove. And she understood that in a way that Max had told her no one else did.

She knows him better than anyone. Maybe because they go so far back. Or because he trusted her enough be unapologetically himself around her. They had always had a tight bond and, at some point, they ended up giving in to temptation. They were each other’s first, and even though both of them were so bad at it, that moment still remains until this day a mix of curiosity and comfort that neither of them had found elsewhere.

But they were young and very much not in love, and they didn’t want to lose themselves in the process. It made more sense to stay friends, because when it comes to relationships, timing is everything. He was going to be away all the time, and she couldn't wait for him — not that he would have ever let her do that. Max Verstappen is selfish in every aspect of the word, especially when it comes to the people he cares about, and she has always been his soft spot.

Being far too deep in thought, she barely hears the door open, flinching slightly as Max storms in, a tight smile plastered on his face.

“You’re here?” he asks in surprise, the second he sees her laying on the two-seater couch.

The first thing he notices is a papaya orange cap, and a Red Bull jersey that she stole from him two seasons ago, neatly tucked into her black skirt.

“Well, you won,” she shrugs, articulating her words, thoughtfully. “That was a cute drive.”

Max laughs, tracing a hand through his messy hair, “Cute?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“And simply lovely, congrats!” she giggles at the use of his catchphrase.

His skin is glistening with a mix of sweat and that post-win adrenaline that's still in his system. Even though it was just a sprint race, a win is a win. She can tell he’s tired, but he’s more alive now than she’s seen him in weeks. The second half of the season is not treating him well, and it has been hard for Max — though not impossible — to keep the cofidence up, given that the top step of the podium seems to get further and further away with each race week.

He even told her that he misses hearing the Dutch national anthem. Coming from Max, that means something.

It's frustrating, but he manages.

“Thanks,” says Max, leaning against the door as he unzips his suit, tying a knot with the sleeves around his waist.

She can’t help but take him in — his messy helmet hair that she always makes fun of, but secretly finds very, very attractive, the damp collar of his racing suit, the helmet marks imprinted on his rosy cheeks, and the muscles in his forearms flexing as he crosses his arms, still buzzing with energy.

“How’s Martin?” Max continues, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk while he crosses the room to sit next to her.

The room itself it's pretty small — just the couch, a table with his water bottle and energy drink scattered on top, and a change of clothes resting on a shelf nearby. But despite its plainness, Max’s presence fills every inch of it.

“He had the nerve to shush me when I started singing your song after you crossed the finish line,” she admits.

Max laughs again, a deep, rich sound, making the walls seem to hum with it. He leans back, his arm draping over the back of the couch, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from him. His scent is still there, more pronounced now that he's actually in the room and so close to her.

“You looked amazing out there,” the girl continues, turning to glare at Max, “Like you were fighting for more than just a win.”

“And you were in the wrong garage to see it. Isn’t that so sad?” he asks, his gaze softening as he studies her.

With a gentle touch, he takes her cap off and throws it across the room.

She gasps dramatically, pretending to be affected by his gesture, “That's bully behavior.”

“No, that's hideous and it ruins your pretty outfit.”

“Just say you're jealous, and I won't wear it again.”

“I'm jealous,” Max admits it in a heartbeat, making her breath catch.

There’s something raw in his expression, something he’s kept for himself for a long time. He reaches out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, the back of his fingers lingering against her cheek.

She bites her lower lip as she looks down at the tiny gap between them, trying to act like none of this is making her head spin, “Good to know. I'll come in full papaya gear at the next race.”

Max gives her a ‘don't push it’ glare, his hand sliding from her cheek to rest just a fraction of an inch away from hers. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” he murmurs, his voice rough with somethings she can’t quite decipher.

“I told you I'll come if you win.”

They both pretend to believe her insinuation, even though they know she always cares about Max, not just when he wins races. Which circles back to the conversation they've had last night, and the way she tried to motivate him; it's been on their minds constantly throughout the day. It was just a joke, sure. But still, Max took the podium, and unconsciously credits her with a small percentage of his performance today.

When their eyes meet again, the air is suddenly suffocating, as if the past is racing back between them. She has no idea who moves first and, somehow, Max's hand finds hers, warm and steady. It’s just a simple gesture — delicate, innocent, but somehow it feels like so much more. It anchores them in the present. It keeps them aware of each other.

“That's the thing, no? You’ve always been there for me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I want you to know that I never took you for granted. Not once.”

“Max…” she's not often at a loss for words, but when she hears his, it's hard for her to say anything else.

Every barrier they had both put up and every wall she had ever created around their friendship seems to be collapsing the moment Max starts caressing the soft skin of her hand with his thumb. There is an undeniable desire between them, and they are both aware of it. However, their bond is much more important than a passing feeling. Right? A feeling that forms like a warm ball in her stomach, and makes his heart pound even faster when he notices her breath intensifying.

“In my eyes, you always deserve it,” she assures him, deciding to intertwine her fingers with his.

“Is that so?” he challenges her.

She nods, “You deserve to have everything you want because I know how hard you work to—”

Max leans in, just slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I wants us.”

Her heart races as she meets his eyes — a flawless ocean blue, in which she would gladly bathe. Or drown, even.

“I want you,” he continues, his free hand traveling to her bare thigh, squeezing it slightly, “I want to stop pretending like you’re not driving me fucking mad, and that I don’t care who you’re giving your attention to.”

For a moment, they both hold their breath, his forehead dropping against hers.

“Is it clear enough what I want?” asks Max, and she nods again. “No, baby. I need words,” he frowns against her skin, as if it pains him not to get her confirmation. The confirmation that he waited so long for, but didn't feel he had the right to ask for.

Until it was too much.

Until now.

“I hear you,” she finally replies. “But what if—”

“If, if, if,” he cutts her off. “I don’t give a fuck about imaginary scenarios anymore. If it's not what you want, tell me to stop, and I will.”

But she doesnt.

Instead, she spreads her thighs wider to make room for his hand to move forward — all the confirmation he needs. He grins instantly, closing his eyes for a split second, living the same feeling he gets when he's on the podium after a hard-won race, letting it all soak in.

Max’s hand is trailing further up her thigh, unable to help but keep the smirk on when he realizes that whatever they feel for each other, is mutual. He runs his finger lightly over the top of her lace panties, letting out a low sigh at the way her body responds to the slighlest touch. In return, she wraps her arms around Max's neck, looking at each other in anticipation. They know it right away — it’s like the fall of the Bastille, the moment before a revolution, when restraint gives way to a desire too powerful to ignore. They both know that after this, there’s no going back, no way to rebuild what’s been broken or control the outcome.

They know it’s not a calculated risk, and it can end so badly, but when Max leans in to kiss her — a kiss meant to suck every ounce of doubt out of her — the walls come crashing down. They melt into it, all the tension fading away. The hand between her thighs is now working her at the same pace as the kiss, soft whimpers cascading from her into Max’s mouth, making him lose it.

He almost can't believe this is really happening. But it’s as real as his win, and all he needs for tonight to get better is to bury his fingers in her cunt, preparing her for his cock, and pump her full of cum until none of them can take it anymore, just to make up for all the time they've lost while they were dancing around their insecurities.

Without any warnings, he drops to his knees between her legs as she lets her head rest on the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Max decides to take it slow.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he is afraid that maybe this is just a momentary lapse, and he won't get to have her like this for who knows how long. Therefore, he needs to take his time, savoring everything she's willing to give him. Now.

He gently pushes the thin fabric of her panties to the side, running his index finger over her slik, getting coated in her wetness even before he's halfway up to her clit. His thumb starts to gently rub against her warmth in circular motions over her soft skin of her moud, automatically feeling the urge to look up at her as she clasps her hands against the edge of the couch, her knuckles turning white.

His mouth goes dry.

“God, do you always get this worked up?” asks Max with a husky voice, trying to ignore how annoyed he gets at the thought of her pussy dripping as a result of someone else's touch. “Has anyone ever made you this wet?”

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand, but Max is way too focused on parting her folds with his fingers to register her whimpers and the way she's fighting to keep quiet — these rooms are not only narrow and practical, they also have extremely thin walls. Plus, her glossy, red clit is more captivating than any answer she'd give him.

The truth is, he doesn't even care, because his only goal now is to ruin her for whoever comes after him.

“So pretty,” he muses, pressing one digit inside, her pussy growing wetter as it tightens around his finger. Which encourages Max to add one more right away, gently scissoring them to stretch her out. “Fuck,” he exhales, as she pushes her hips into his hand.

“Max…” she drops her hand just as he's curling his fingers inside, touching her sweet spot repeatedly, pumping in and out with precision.

“Does that feel good, schatje?

“So. Good,” she whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling.

Max’s fingers start moving faster, establishing an agonizing pace, his eyes watching her reactions intently, seeing her back arching.

“Look at you, fuck,” he swears, leaning in to graze his lips against her thigh, leaving tiny kisses in their wake while he keeps his eyes on her.

A few more pumps of his fingers are enough to feel her clench hard around him, and finally letting go. Her moans are echoing in Max's ears like a siren call, tempting, potentially dangerous, while his fingers help her riding out her orgasm. His free hand is gently caressing her side the entire time, his lips pressing harder into her thigh, which makes her moan again.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. I can’t fuck you in here if you can’t keep quiet. And you want me to, yes? You want your sweet cunt fucked until you cum around my cock?”

“Mhm... The mouth on you, Verstappen,” she pants as quietly as possible, while grabbing his shoulders to pull him on top of her.

He helps her getting rid of her panties altogether, while their lips meet again in an explosion of new emotions, each more and more intense. Max knows their options are limited since it's such a small space, and doesn't hesitate to pull her into his arms, flipping them around so now he's laying on the couch, while she straddles him. His hands are instantly landing on her waist, listening to her giggle at the sudden change of positions.

“Hi,” Max smiles at her, his face radiating with pure excitement.

“Hi,” the girl parrots, wrapping her arms around his neck, tenderly playing with her fingers in the hair at the back of his head.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” she says, returning the smile.

“I fucking want to, but we don't have to if you have the slighlest doubt,” Max reminds her. “I'll jerk off in the shower later.”

She presses the pads of her fingers on his swollen lips to shut him up. “I want to,” she assures him, “I'm just scared it'll ruin us.”

Max cups her chin in his hand, his eyes heavy with understanding and the desire to prove her wrong, “Not gonna happen.”

“How are you so sure?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“I'm not, but I'll give you head if—”

She bursts out laughing as soon as she realizes Max is quoting her, “You are absolutely outrageous.”

Max keeps his hold on her waist as she shifts around, a slightly nervous but excited breath leaving his chest while she gets comfortable on top of him. “Tell me what you want, schat.”

In response, her fingers start fumbling with the knot he tied around his waist earlier, tugging at his fireproof with an urgency she can barely contain. Once her hands are making contact with his bare chest, warm and firm, she's sliding the rest of his racing suit past his waist, until it pools around Max's hips. She feels the rush as he pushes the rest of it down his legs, sucking in a breath of air at the sight of him.

“Max, you…,” she swallows the lump that got stuck in her throat, raising her eyes to look at him, slightly worried; nothing could've prepared her for how big Max is. “I've never heard you bragging about your dick.”

He chuckles at her words, his eyes turning into two adorable crescents moons on his face.

He's changed a lot over the years, of course. Max was only 16 when they had sex for the first time. But seeing him under her like that it's just a reminder of how small she feels against him now. His big hands can encircle her waist if he wanted to, and his arms could easily break her if he held her too tightly.

She looks down and notices the stark contrast between them: his broad shoulders, his strength, and their heights.

With her body nearly dwarfed by his, she is overcome with trepidation as she questions whether they will even fit together. However, she notices that Max is already trying to ease her concerns without saying a word, as he lifts her chin and meets her eyes with a tenderness that releases all the tension.

“You can take it, baby,” he assures her, guiding himself towards her entrance.

She lowers herself on him, slowly, intently, so easily that her hot cunt is practically sliding along his length, forcing Max to swallow a moan at how her wetness spreads over him. He pushes his hips forward, impatient, watching his cock disappear between her thighs. It drives them both absolutely crazy.

The intensity, the intimacy and all the places they make contact would normally be way too much. But then, Max pulls his hips down, only to fuck back in, feeling her relaxing on top of him.

The fit is perfect.

Her body is finally full. Complete.

“God, look at you,” he almost chokes, palming her ass under the skirt to help her spread more around him. “You're so beautiful.”

She cries out a moan, feeling as if her body gets split in two in real time, in the best way possible. His cock is so big that she's pretty sure she can feel him between her lungs.

Max means to say something else, but his words get stuck in his throat as the air gets knocked out of his lungs. A gasp leaves his parted lips as she sinks down on him completely — finally — his arms immediately wrapping around her waist, holding onto his girl like she's his lifeline. His chest sparks with a goran as he looks at her, the blue in his eyes darkening at the feeling.

“So tight, baby, I can’t wait to fuck you,” says Max, his hands getting lost under her shirt, palming her breasts. “You feel so good already. Gonna make me cum so fast,” he adds in a breathless mess, his heart pounding in his chest at the feeling of her body against his.

It’s a consuming feeling, that leaves them both senseless.

Max starts to move slowly, guiding her up and down his cock, until they set a steady rhythm. They're an amalgam of moans and gasps, as his hands rest on her waist tighter than before, fucking in deeper with each thrust. The sounds they make and the way they hold each other brings them together in a new way. It's scary and exciting and far too risky, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is the way she holds onto him, mouth ajar as they look at each other. She uses him to anchor herself while she sinks deeper, again and again, until pleasure is all she knows.

“Oh… Max. Max, please,” she beggs, the sound of them connecting reverberating throughout the entire room.

At the sight of her flushed face and parted lips, Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes trailing down her body to where they’re joined, just to see how she takes him in with such ease. The image causes a low groan to leave his mouth, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. She takes him so well, to the point of getting his own thighs wet as her pussy drips with their combined pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good on me, love. So good for me, that’s it,” he moans softly, his eyes falling shut to allow him to feel her everywhere in his body.

“Max… I can’t… Please, it’s too much.”

His eyes snap open to look at her again. Hearing her on the edge of desperation and feeling her body starting to shake with pleasure on top of him, it’s enough for Max to take charge, even though he’s not the one on top. Without a thought, he moves his hands back on her waist, holding her still as he lifts up his hips to start moving from underneath.

“Hold on to me, baby. I got you.”

He manages to send her to a whole another realm as he intensifies the pace, while the sounds of their bodies slapping together animates the room.

“That’s it, fuuuck. Let me take care of you,” he's breathing hard between thrusts, feeling dizzy as his climax builds, the heat in his stomach burning hotter.

He’s consumed by her in the most satisfying way — she is all that he feels and sees, her body pliant over his, her sweet noises in his ear being the only thing he can focus on as he looks at her through his lashes.

Max’s name cascades from her mouth, over and over again, until she starts clenching around his length — he knows that she’s close, and he’s right there with her.

His breath sounds shaky when he speaks again, “Where do you want me, baby?”

She knows that it's not a good idea for him finish inside her, but the thought of Max owning her like that gives her goosebumbs all over her body.

“Inside,” she gasps, burying her fingers in his hair and leaning over for a messy kiss. “Want to feel you...”

“Yeah, you want me to fill your pretty pussy? That you kept from me for so long?” asks Max against her jaw, his voice coming out in a low, sultry moan, just as a few drops of sweat gather along his hairline.

He lets his head fall back with a low groan, fucking his cock deeper and making her see stars in the process.

“Oh, god! Max,” she gasps, her voice coming out almost like a warning.

He takes it as an invitation to fuck her harder, feeling her tensing, then becoming boneless on top of him as he rides her orgasm. Max follows closely, moaning loudly as his hips move slopply, spilling inside of her, rolling his eyes at the feeling of her body milking his release.

“So fucking good, schatje.”

She wants to agree with him, but her mind is far too foggy and all she can do is run her hand over his skin, which is slick with a thin layer of sweat. She cups his face in her small palm while her other hand rests on his neck, sealing their lips together in a much slower, tender kiss.

Their tongues meet in a slow dance, tasting each other, making Max smile under it. She presses her forehead on his, a content smile appearing on her face this time, both of them completely blissed out.

Max’s hands runs along her thighs, admiring the feel of her soft skin under his touch as he speaks in a low, husky voice that still sounds breathless, “How the hell are you real?”

“Don’t ask me anything for the next five business days.”

He chuckles softly, giving her one more kiss before helping her up so he can gently pull out of her. She gasps again at the emptiness he leaves behind, feeling Max’s cum mixed with her own release oozing out of her. He swallows dryly, forcing his hand to gather up the result of their pleasure and fuck his fingers back in her cunt a few times before she collapses on top of him.

Max softens under her, tracing his hand through the waves of her hair, and for a moment, he looks as though he might say something. Something that could change the entire trajectory of their friendship.

Friendship.

He puffs out a laugh at the word.

“What?” she asks, curiously raising her eyes to look at him.

He looks so incredibly beautiful as he breathes slowly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. When it comes to Max, his beauty goes beyond his appearance; beneath the fierce, self-assured driver the outside world perceives, he displays now a softness and sensibility that only she has access to.

“You still owe me a blow job,” he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin.

A laugh escapes her, soft and giddy, but as she pulls back, the intensity in his gaze remains.

Oh, he’s serious.

“I’ll find you tomorrow, after the race,” she says, her voice soft, almost as if she’s making a promise.

“What if I don’t win?”

She laughs, “A podium also counts.”

For now, that’s enough for him.

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

[rose-petles]

니키 - ruined make-out sessions -> N.NK

Warning → Kissing / Making out.

Paring → Clingbf!Niki x SoftieGfFem!Reader

Synopsis → Its been two months since he has kissed your lips.

You jumped when you placed your toothbrush back in the holder and looked into the mirror, only to find niki standing there behind you.

He giggled as he put his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest before he laid her chin on your shoulder.

"You scared me."

Your eyes locked in the mirror and he pouted sadly.

"Sorry. I just couldn't stand being away from you for another minute."

You turned around and looped your arms around his neck to pull him closer if that was even possible now.

"It's been two months since I last saw you. Two months without your arms around me, without being able to kiss you." He whispered the last part against your lips as he leaned in to steal another lingering kiss from your lips.

"I love being on tour. Don't get me wrong. You know being on tour. Don't get me wrong. You know how much I love it. But it's not easy being so far away from my girl."

You hooked your fingers under his chin, already craving the taste of his lips again. He breathed out a soft sigh as he gently laid his hand on your cheek, wanting to feel your soft and warm skin against his fingertips.

"I've missed you too, nini. So much."

You quickly melted into his kisses and hid touch as he let his hands roam along your body. He suddenly started to walk backward until he led you out of the bathroom and into the hotel room where you fell onto the mattress, fingers intertwined.

He pulled away to stare at you adoringly for a moment. You were wearing his shirt. It was nothing new. You find yourself stealing them all the time.

He even left his favorites behind for you, spraying his perfume on the fabric to let his smell linger until the day you reunited; which came much sooner than he expected, thanks to your wonderful surprise visit today.

He dropped his forehead onto yours and pecked your lips as he kept his eyes locked with yours.

You looked pulchritudinous, just laying there all smiles while you stared at his endearingly and eagerly awaited the next brush of her lips on your own.

"I'm so happy you're here." He whispered before trailing kisses to your neck.

"Me too, niki. I missed you lots." You mumbled as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes to let more of your skin be kissed lovingly by the sweet brush of his lips.

He put his fingers under your chin a moment later because as much as he loves kissing your neck and hearing those sighs fall from your lips, he loves the taste of your lips and the way they move against his own.

He deepened the kiss and brushed his fingers along your skin. You jumped when he lifted up his shirt you had on and his warm fingers fell to your skin.

But his touch was so calming, so doting, and after two long months without feeling his passionate touch, you basked in every second of his concupiscent caresses.

You held him close, so close that you could feel every swift beat of his heart against your own.

You couldn't help the soft sigh that fell from your lips as he pulled away from your lips once more to kiss and gently bite at your skin.

He’s missed you an inexpressable amount and he planned on showing you just how much; by loving on you and holding you as tight as she could.

But just as his lips brushed against that one special spot on your neck, the door of the hotel room was opening and you both jumped in shock.

Jake stood wide-eyed, looking just as shocked as you and Niki.

Niki cleared her throat awkwardly while you buried your face in his neck. Your cheeks were redder than ever before and niki would usually tease you for that, but his ears were just as red.

"Jake? What's up?"

"Uh," Jake mumbled and shook his head, trying to think of why he walked into the room in the first place.

"You didn't knock?" Niki wondered.

"No, I did. And Sunoo and Heeseung called before that. But neither of you answered and now we know why." He tried to crack a joke, but you were all too shocked and too awkward to laugh.

"Sunghoon wanted to know if you wanted to go out?Y/n's here, it's her first night, and we thought we'd do something fun to celebrate but... I think you found other ways to celebrate." You whined in embarrassment and niki shook his head.

"We'll be down in a few minutes."

Jake never left a room so fast before, simply nodding and slamming the hotel door behind him.

You and Niki stared at each other for a moment before he climbed off of you.

"Well. the next week should be fun. Having to look Jake in the eyes after that."

Niki chuckled and reached for your hand.

"Yeah. But I'll take the teasing. At least I've got you here and that's all that matters to me."

You laid your head on his shoulder and she kissed your head lingeringly.

"I feel the same way, nini."

He turned your cheek and leaned in for another kiss. But you pulled away quickly, taking him by the hand and leading her to the bathroom.

"Come on, we gotta get ready. The boys are waiting for us."

He whined as you dragged him into the bathroom to get ready, already craving your kisses again.

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Copyright © 2024 rose-petle/Rostle. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[moonstruckme]

hiiiii mae!! hope ur having a good day/night, i was wondering if you would do a emt!marauders (or just remus) fic with a reader who maybe has past medical trauma or something so she really hates going to the doctors and avoids unplanned visits at all costs and one day she gets hurt doing something and she tells herself she’s fine but she’s really not (maybe she has like a concussion or something) and she tries to tell the boys she’s okay and she doesn’t need to go to the hospital but they’re like “yes you do u literally don’t know what day it is” and she kinda starts freaking out and they comfort her????

so sorry if you’ve done something like this you’ve written a LOT of fics (which is amazing i love them all) and i haven’t gotten the chance to read them all yet! anyways hope you have a great day i love ur fics so much!!!!!!

Thank you for your request, love you <3

cw: concussion, hospital mention, implied medical fear/past trauma

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 770 words

“This is supposed to be the sort of thing that only happens to old ladies,” Sirius mutters. “Look at James, dollface.” 

James’ smile is encouraging. “He knows he’s full of shit. We see people fall in showers all the time, it’s not an age thing. You don’t have to be geriatric for soap to be slippery.” 

You know, distantly, that they’re both trying to keep things light for your benefit, but their playacting isn’t helping you. You feel trapped, backed into a corner, and your lovely boyfriends who only want the best for you feel like your captors. 

Sirius clicks off the light he was shining in your eyes just as Remus comes back with your clothes. They exchange a look you don’t like. 

“Here, sweetheart, put this on.” Remus helps you get a sweatshirt over your head, extra careful to hold the collar away from the aching bump on the back of your head. 

You stand from the bed bemusedly as he starts putting your sweatpants on for you, too. You don’t love the vibe of all this coddling, either; the boys are usually only this delicate with you when they’re very concerned, very pitying, or both. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, though you already know. It’s not as if you would usually hang about in your towel all night after a shower, but they’re getting you dressed for a reason. 

James’ brows twitch together sympathetically. Sirius’ voice is gentle. “Baby, we need to go get your head looked at.” 

Your upset blooms fast and hot, tears choking you. “Why?” 

“You have a concussion, sweet girl. It seems fairly bad already, and it could get worse.” 

“But you’re…you always say hospitals can’t even do anything for those.” You know you sound childish, whiny and difficult, but you can’t help yourself. Your boyfriends don’t seem to hold it against you. James rubs your arm while Remus pulls your socks on with sweet, lingering touches. A tear squeezes out of your eye. “Why do I have to go?” 

“You’re right, there’s not much they can do,” says Remus. His voice is calm and even, a balm to your frazzled nerves. “But a concussion can be dangerous, and without tests we won’t know how dangerous it is or if there’s anything they can help with.” 

“That’s all we’re going for, angel,” James says lightly. “Just some tests. It won’t take terribly long, and we can stay with you most of the time.” 

You’re hardly hearing him, shaking your head despite the way it aches. More tears crest your cheeks, your breaths wet and quick. “Can’t we wait and go tomorrow?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” James takes your hand, squeezing your fingers. “We can’t, my love, but it’s going to be okay.” 

“I really can’t.” You pull your hand from his, wiping underneath your eyes. Your hair is still wet from the shower, cold seeping into your fresh sweatshirt. “I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.” Your voice chokes into a quiet squeak on the last few words. 

Remus coos and sits beside you on the bed, wrapping you up in a hug. You cry into his shoulder as he rocks you gently, murmuring against the side of your head. “Please,” you try again. 

He holds you closer. “I know, darling.” His voice is a low whisper. “I know it’s hard for you, and I know it’s scary, but we’ll be there with you. It’s not going to be as bad as you’re thinking. What we’re going for is really very simple, and Sirius can explain it to you on the way, hm? You’ll be alright.” 

When you calm some, he goes to warm the car, passing you off to Sirius and James to get your shoes on. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you, baby,” Sirius promises, kissing the shell of your ear as he walks you outside. His arm is heavy around your shoulders and James is quick to take your hand after locking the door behind you, bolstering you for what’s ahead. “You think we’re gonna let you get hurt? This is going to be the easiest hospital visit you ever had. We run this place, they’ll have us in and out.” 

“I wouldn’t say we run it,” Remus says drily as you three pile into the backseat. “More like we engage with it, in twelve hour shifts, four to five times a week.” 

“But we do have lots of friends,” James chips in. 

“Exactly.” Sirius busies himself with wiping the last of your tears while James gets your seatbelt on. “Like the radiographer at Bellevue. You’ll see, baby. We’ve got you covered.”

[leilanihours]

# ABOUT YOU

pairing: paige bueckers x reporter!reader

word count: 1389

warnings: none !

summary: paige reunites with her favorite reporter.

⭑ from lani: first fic in literal MONTHS!! sorry for the unexpected hiatus ☹️ but we are so back (hopefully) also idk if i love this or hate this i was just inspired by the dub today

masterlist !

"THE UCONN HUSKIES are your 2025 ncaa champions!"

colorful confetti falls blissfully from the ceiling of the sold-out arena, the scene playing out like the end of an award-winning movie.

joyous screams and celebrations fill your ears as  the team jumps up and down, taking pride in their hard work and well-deserved win.

you can't help but smile brightly at the girls in front of you. you knew the effort they put into this season, you knew of the adversity they faced leading up to this moment.

it didn't feel right for you to be standing here with them considering you weren't an official part of the team, but you were damn grateful that you were here.

after a few minutes of compliments, hugs, and pictures, paige bueckers pulled you aside from the large group.

"hey," she greets loudly, still loosely grasping your hand, “where you been?”

“what do you mean? I’ve been here all game?” you say, puzzled by her question.

“i haven’t seen you since the regular season ended.”

“oh i stayed at school for most of the tournament,” you explain, “i was only assigned to report for this game. why?”

“i dunno,” paige shrugs with a smirk, “i’ve just been missing my favorite interviewer, that’s all.”

“careful, bueckers,” you warn, mirroring her teasing experession.

“so we doing an interview or what?”

"you want to? right now?“ you ask, surprised.

"'course i do," she says, "long as you're the one asking me the questions."

"okay obsessed..." you joke with a laugh.

“man, just shut up and talk sweet to me," she rolls her eyes playfully.

"so that's the reason you wanted me to interview you?" you deadpan.

“i mean…kinda?” she laughs, causing you to jokingly walk away from her, “i’m playin, i’m playin,” she grabs your arm and gently pulls you back to her, this time a little closer than before, “i just wanna talk to you.”

“you just won a natty and you want to talk to me about the technicalities?” you ask, confused.

“yes and no,” she offers, “I just wanna talk to you, is that so wrong?”

"alright, whatever, let's do it,” you giggle, making paige’s eyes brighten immediately.

once you called over your assigned camera crew, you picked up your mic and began the interview.

"i'm here with uconn superstar, paige bueckers, who just carried her team all the way to a national championship, and tonight i have the honor of speaking with her about her experience."

"hey, y/n," she smirks down at you with her hands behind her back.

"hi, paige," you blush, "so, this is the first national championship win for the women's program at uconn since 2016, what does it mean to you that you were part of the team that brought that title home?"

"it means a lot to me, truly," she starts thoughtfully, "it's been a bit of a struggle to make that stretch all the way to the end. we've gotten real close these past few seasons, but unfortunately we weren't able to close it out. this time around, though, with all my amazing teammates, it tastes a little sweeter. espeically considering that this is my fifth and last year here. it's like a little cherry on top, you know?"

"yeah of course," you agree, nodding, "you really deserve it considering the crazy career you've had."

"thank you, y/n," she smiles sincerely.

"on the topic of this being your last year as a college player, once you head into that locker room, what will you say to the young players awaiting years of experience to come..."

you continue with the interview, asking questions back-to-back that you genuinely wanted to know the answers to, or that you thought her fans wanted to hear about.

you were so caught up in the authenticity and professionalism of the report that you failed to notice the way paige was looking at you.

she was entranced. her eyes were locked onto yours the entire time, as if you were the only two people in the room. she nodded along as your sweet voice brought her to calm state of mind. whenever you interviewed her, she was able to disregard the pressure of the cameras and the media controversies. she felt safe and at peace.

with the way she stared at you, one might think that you were some sort of supernatural being that put her under a spell.

"yo, look," ice nudged aubrey with her elbow, "you see paige with that reporter?"

"oh yeah," she nodded, looking at the two of you, "that's y/n. she's a student at uconn and a reporter-in-training with espn. she's pretty chill," aubrey explains.

“well, shit, whoever she is, she got paige down bad,” ice laughs.

"what do you mean? they're not even close. at least i don't think they are."

"well they look like they are," ice says, "you don't see the way paige is looking at her?"

“lowkeyy,” aubrey raises her eyebrows, “you might be right ‘cus tell me why one second paige was next to me, and the next she was running around looking for someone..”

“it was prolly y/n!”

“no shit,” aubrey deadpans, ice responding with a shove and scoff.

they both stand silently for a moment, observing you and paige from afar. they watch as you laugh with their teammate, the smiles on your faces so genuine and contagious.

"i don't play my edits on repeat!" paige laughs as she hopelessly throws her hands in the air.

"alright, alright," you sigh as you try to subvert your laughter, "well thanks for talking with me tonight, paige, and huge congratulations to you and your team."

"thanks, y/n, it's always fun talking to you," paige smiles as she moves to hug you before waving to the camera.

"anddd cut," the cameraman says, "alright we're offline..."

you momentarily break free from paige’s grasp to thank your co-workers and wish them a good night. you’re about to start packing up your own equipment when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your frame.

“paige-“

“hollon, ma,” she mumbles into your hair, “just lemme stay like this for a bit.”

“you okay, superstar?” you giggle, hugging her back nonetheless. you wrap your arms around paige’s torso, squeezing slightly as you rest your head on her chest.

“yeah, i just-“ she sighs in content, “i just missed you.”

paige’s statement left you confused. you had only became friends with the girl that past school year, and you didn’t think that you were the closest friends. sure, you saw each other at games and occasionally around campus or at certain functions, but that was pretty much it. 

what you didn’t know, however, was that paige had taken a strong liking to you. her little crush on you was tiptoeing into unprofessional waters, but seeing you on the sideline at all her games with the brightest smile and most enticing personality made her heart soften a little bit.

over the course of the season, you became a sense of serenity for her amidst the hectic tornados of game days. if her shots weren’t falling, all she had to do was listen to the sound of your cheers of encouragement to get her confidence boosted. or if geno forced her to ride bench for a little bit, one glance in your direction would lift her mood and keep her motivated.

little things like that made the short exchanges she had with you more meaningful. to you, it might have just seemed like a means for you to do your job, but to paige, it was her way of slowly building a deeper relationship with you with hopes of sparking something that only existed in her daydreams.

maybe part of you wasn’t interested in her in that way or wanted to prioritize your progressing career, but on the other hand, maybe you just wanted to say “fuck professionalism” and just let your heart lead the way.

maybe you really were starting to develop feelings for the america’s favorite athlete.

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[menod-the-otter]

01: no but it could be worse 02: @panry 03: a lot of things. my #1 biggest regret ever is losing one of my closest irl friends at the start of this year, and coming out to my mother when i wasnt ready at all is a very close #2 04: yea 05: complicated? aromantic but with a lot of random sexts with ppl 06: in a way that can send a powerful message to the powers that make peoples lives worse 07: salted sticks 08: i dont like sports, the last one i played is volleyball in todays PE class 09: yes, always 10: ive never gotten in a big fight, at max exchanged blows with someone and went out own ways. last time i hit someone with malicious intent was around spring of this year 11: my friends, they mean the world and more to me 12: when i got an extreme fever earlier this autumn i couldnt sleep for an entire night but i dont think it made quite up to 48 hours 13: dont even get me started 14: i miss my online friends when they arent awake, every day 15: used to have a guinea pig. his name was chewey 16: impossible to say, mostly neutreal with a slight hint of both good and bad, though the specifics of what im feeling at any given point could never be given a name 17: never made out with anyone :fire_emoji: 18: only the dangerous ones. and even them im moresso aware of the danger they pose as opposed to an irrational fear 19: only to win the lottery, i wouldnt change anithing ive done even if i regret it. im shaped by my past and ive learnt from my mistakes. if i didnt make them in the past i may make them in the future. 20: nowhere, i hug my big bear plush and pretend its people, though, if that counts 21: stay at home and chill 22: NEVER. 23: i dont 24: i used to be really good at english. still am, i just dont learn it anymore. got too good at it to learn it i guess 25: complicated 26: macdonals menu 27: i dont think so? 28: no 29: never had a bf 30: neighbours loud 31: yeah :) my friends love me very very much and i love them even more 32: orange is the goattt 33: i dont think so 34: oh boy. i get absolutely absurd dreams and this was weird even for me. itd take way too long to describe. like literally 5x longer than this post already is /srs 35: my classmates 36: im rather irrational when it comes to this. when someone just wronged me , yes, too easily even. when someone wrongs my idea of themselves, usually no 37: forget, memory issues go hard 38: hard to say. im not sure if i ever had an objectivly best year of my life. its all been different 39: never kissed anyone 40: no but thats hot 51 (why are 10 just missing): lasagna 52: no 53: porn 54: sometimes yes 55: id like to think not 56: like 0 57: no 58: huge storm outside, wind blowing a lot 59: yes 60: no 61: it can be silly and i like it but in the way where its like '' - my tumby hurts - oh poor baby'' and not like ''hey baby'', the second way is weird and straight white man vibes 62: my friends, nature 63: already have! 64: ive never kissed anyone 65: i panic and feel guilty about it 66: yeah 67: my classmate 68: @panry 69: no 70: @panry

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

summary: To fall in love with both life and death is almost impossible. They contradict each other, they are different sides to the same coin. Agatha once managed the impossible. But time and grief can break almost anything, and this time it breaks what feels like everything.

a/n: there will be more parts to this. I find this dynamic rather interesting and I am definitely going to explore it. not a lot of warning in this part except for mild swearing. slightly protective Rio.

...

Life and Death go hand in hand.

One can not exist without the other. 

It’s a partnership that transcends time itself.

Agatha Harkness does not understand this. She can not, because for the longest time all she has ever known is death.

All she has ever done is take. She takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left to give. Until there is nothing left you can give.

Death will love her. Life will despise her. 

That is how it will be for centuries.

…

The witches’ road is a place that does not welcome you. It fights you every step of the way.

It is a graveyard. It takes what it wants without thoughts of sympathy or solace. It digs up fear and trauma like gold. It twists and stretches and tears the desires of witches brave enough to step foot on the road.

You hate it and yet you are summoned.

The dirt between your fingers is a sensation that feels as familiar as holding death's hand. Clawing your way from beneath the earth is not something you're very familiar with.

You're not usually summoned alongside her, this is different.

The echoes of multiple screams ring in your ears as you crawl your way out of a fresh grave, growling through clenched teeth when you finally break the surface.

Your joints and bones pop as you twist and jerk to realign what's been broken. You swear you're going to ring the witch's neck that's summoned you. 

You tilt your head and feel a crack in your neck, you grimace before you jerk your head and relief seeps into your muscles.

With a flex of your fingers you adjust your clothes before the colors of the leaves scattered amongst the ground catches your eye.

Just as the realization settles and you finally understand where you are, a hand that brushes against the length of your back is the only thing that seems to ground you. You lean into her touch with a slow forced exhale.

Rio is here, that is the only comfort you feel. 

You absolutely hate the witches’ road.

When you finally glance up at the witches who were just screaming bloody murder, you notice her right away. 

Her thick brown hair falling against her shoulders, the white button up shirt that complements her dress pants, the locket that’s always with her. 

Agatha Harkness and this coven of four have summoned you and Rio to the road. 

The rage that heats your blood is a sensation that you will never get used to, it burns like the sun and yet it's all you can feel as you glare daggers at her.

The only thing that stops you from lunging at her is Rio’s quick reaction. The hand that was resting on your back has encircled your waist, she tugs you back against her, resting her chin on your shoulder. 

“Easy there tiger.” Her soft chuckle of amusement is not distraction enough from what you want to say. 

“What the fuck are you doing Agatha?” Your words are harsh and yet you feel no sympathy when she flinches at your tone.

“Excuse me?” The witch in the pink dress places a hand over her heart like you personally offended her. 

“You’re excused.” You pay her no mind, your eyes are only on Agatha. “Now answer the question.”

Agatha says nothing. Her eyes look from you to Rio and back like she can barely believe what she’s seeing. Like she didn’t intend for this to happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Rio teases, her smile predatory, the hold on your waist a touch possessive. 

“How did you—?” This time she points at the two of you. 

“We were in the neighborhood.” Rio interrupts her with a casual response. There is no need to explain further, she will know the truth.

“But uhh,” The youngest member of the coven, a teenage boy, lifts his hand up like he’s waiting to voice his question. You frown at the notion, not quite understanding.

“Yes Teen?” The oldest of the group turns to look at the kid who answers once the attention turns to him. 

“Why are there two of them?” He gestures between you and Rio, his confusion clear as he then turns to look at Agatha like she has all the answers.

You scoff at the thought, she knows nothing. Not when it comes to you and especially not when it comes to Rio. That was made very clear centuries ago.

Agatha glares at you as if this time you truly have offended her but all you do is glare right back.

The moment of eye contact drags on longer than you thought it would. The witch's pride is a strong thing and you know she hates backing down first but you are not in the mood to give in. 

You refuse to give her what she wants.

When fingers dance along the thin fabric that covers your ribs you jerk involuntarily, turn to glare at Rio. She gives you an innocent smile but her eyes burn with something that silently tells you to calm down.

“Doesn't matter.” Agatha's anger is a harsh bite, hiding the vulnerability that comes with seeing the both of you. “We have a green witch. Now let's go.”

The whoosh of her coat is followed by a slow breath that relaxes your shoulders. You can not let your anger get the best of you while here. The road will only take it and twist it until it gets a chance to throw it in your face.

“Being summoned is so much fun isn't it? Just like old times.” Rio teases you, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder in a silent apology. 

Before you can turn and properly question her about why you are here a voice calls your attention. “Uhh hello?” 

You roll your eyes but turn to glance at the three witches that have lingered after Agatha stormed off.

“Hello.” You merely say in return. You owe these witches nothing more.

“So uh did we summon two green witches?” The witch with red in her hair gestures to the two of you. You feel Rio shake her head from where her face is still pressed into your shoulder, her chuckle is low enough that the others do not hear it. 

You find her amusement endearing and annoying.

“To keep things simple, yes.” 

The continued looks of confusion merely make you smirk at the unsuspecting women. 

With one last brush of fingers over your ribs, one last ghost of a kiss that tickles the skin of your neck, Rio steps away. Her smile is bright, the twinkle in her dark eyes promise nothing but mischief and self entertainment.

“We're supposed to walk this thing right?” She steps around you and points toward the road. When she only gets a few shrugs of consensus she hums in response before leaving you behind with these confused witches.

You shake your head with a soft smile, of course she would find a way to ignore all your questions for even just a little bit longer.

“Let's get this over with.”

[louiseolivier]

08x06 Delulu

Tevan are at the Italian restaurant. The Hot Waiter flirts with Buck. Buck's kinda oblivious. He unintentionally flirts back. Buck pays this time, and inside the folder with his card and receipt is Hot Waiter's phone number. Buck is a little weirded out because he feels like it's obvious he and Tommy are on a date.

For the most part, Tommy watches Buck and Hot Waiter's interaction in amusement. He jokes whether Buck is he's going to call him, and Buck is taken aback. Then Tommy gets serious.

"We haven't really talked about the kind of relationship you want."

Buck's confused. "What does that mean?"

"Just that there's more than one way to be in a relationship. I've been in a couple that were open."

"Open?"

"We were allowed to sleep with other people."

"I know what it means, Tommy. Is that what you want?"

"I want you to be happy. I want you to know I'm amenable to that if you're interested. Truth be told, Evan, the most important thing is that you're in my life, whether we’re together or not. 

Suddenly, the Ironside siren goes off in Buck’s head, and he’s spiraling.  

Tommy clasps his hand and looks at him like he’s the goddamn sun, moon, and stars. “Think about it. It’s not like it’s something you have to decide today.”

Cue Buck, going to Bobby. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck, but I’ve seen you two together. I don’t think breaking up is something Tommy is even thinking about. The other stuff...you should talk to Tommy. Be upfront. Be honest. 

Cue Buck, going to Maddie. “Buck, he kissed you while you were still covered in boils. I saw that with my own eyes and wished I hadn’t. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but he does seem very committed to you. And to be perfectly honest, the open relationship doesn’t sound like something he’d suggest out of thin air. Maybe you said something...”

“You’re blaming me? Come on, Maddie! You know damn well that’s not how I roll. I slept around, yeah, but not while I was in a relationship - and don’t you dare bring up Taylor! Besides, an agreed upon “open” means consensual. I just - how did I miss that this was something he was interested in? Why would he wait six months to bring it up?”

A sound of disgust emanates from the corner of the call center's breakroom, and the Buckley siblings' heads swivel to its location. Josh is sitting at a table, sipping his coffee and rolling his eyes. “You sweet naive baby bi.” He gets up from his chair, sidles up to Buck, and eyes the donuts he brought for Maddie. “I don’t suppose there's a Bavarian cream in there?”

“There’s a jelly,” Buck says. 

“But jellies are my favorite,” Maddie complains. 

“Too bad. I’m about to help your chaotic brother out, so I deserve it.” Josh bites into the donut and gives an appreciative moan. “Oh god, I haven’t had refined sugar in three days. How I missed you.”

“Back to me, please,” Buck says with a whine.

“Look, it’s pretty simple. There are only two types of guys who want to open up a relationship after the six-month mark. Assholes carrying multiple red flags or..”

“Tommy’s not an asshole,” Buck tells him firmly. 

“Considering he’d whittle a rocking chair if you asked him to, I’d agree. Buck, my guess is he’s scared. He's worried that if he doesn't give you a free pass, that you'll get bored with him and leave.”

“That’s so stupid,” Buck cries in dismay. 

Maddie lays a supportive hand on his bicep. 

“It is,” Josh agrees. “But just because your man is a solid L.A. nine doesn’t mean he’s not carrying around a lot of insecurities. Talk to him. Tell him. And hey, if it all blows up on you, send him my way. I’d love to be that man’s shoulder to cry on.”

Buck shows up at Tommy’s door. Tommy is supposed to come to his after finishing his laundry, but Buck doesn’t want to wait that long. “Hey,” Tommy greets him with that scrunchy smile Buck loves so much. 

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else,” Buck tells him as he barges through the door. 

“Oh-kay,” Tommy says, closing the door behind Buck. 

“Do you want to have sex with other men?”

Tommy crosses his arms, and his head tilts towards the ground. “No. I’ve come to learn that’s not an ideal situation for me.”

Buck scoffs. “Then why suggest it?”

The buzzer on the washer goes off, and Tommy moves towards it to switch out the load. “I don’t know. I’m pretty used to you flirting with everyone.”

“You think I flirt?” 

“Evan, you told the waiter you liked his chinos while eyeing his ass. Most of the time, I think it’s cute how you rile people up without realizing it, but then I have a thought like, what if Hot Waiter would be a better match for you? So I panicked and threw out that suggestion.” 

“Jesus, Tommy. For the past six months, my brain has been consumed by nothing but you. Yet you think I can be swayed by some guy in a comfortable pair of pants? I only want you.”

“I know. I do. You prove that to me every day. I didn’t suggest it because I don’t trust you.” Tommy tosses one of Buck’s hoodies into the dryer and starts it. He can’t keep eye contact with Buck for more than a few seconds, and he looks paler than when Buck first arrived. Tommy’s also picking his middle fingernail with his thumb, and that’s Tommy’s tell that he’s feeling overwhelmed. “Uh, so like, I’m in this for the long haul. I think you’re it for me, Evan, and I don’t want you to ever feel like you’ve settled or...”

“I love you,” Buck tells him with a certainty he doesn’t think he felt even eight hours ago, but it’s the god’s honest truth. “Just seeing you makes me feel so full I could combust. ”

Tommy’s eyes are glossy and he blinks rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He finally locks eyes with Buck. “Loving you has been living in the back of my mind since...I honestly don’t know how long. I’ve been trying to temper my expectations because I haven’t been super successful in relationships. But then you started leaving clothes here, and suddenly you’ve infiltrated my life like no one else has been willing to. Next thing I know, I’m at a funeral for a long dead cowboy. I watched you embrace the memory of a forgotten man, and I realized I couldn’t love you more, Evan. Boils and all.”

Aaaaand that’s it. I’m tapped out.

[lovemomhatepolice]

drew starkey nswf alphabet (part 2)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) There is no chance that it will touch you after alcohol. That is, when only you are after alcohol. Even though you are in a relationship and even though you trust each other implicitly, THERE IS NO SUCH OPTION. Even if you look at him with your pleading eyes, even dripping, no. Well, unless you are both slightly tipsy and then you land in each other's arms, even more willingly than usual (which is all too strange)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Heck, you guys are even fighting over it. There's no way you're going to get around it without plowing both ways. Drew loves, LOVES to lie between your thighs - oh and you love how he is there, because your man is very talented. But you also take his breath away as you climb into his lap and caress him with your mouth. Let's hope it never ends, right?

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Let's be honest - Drew is a man of a million talents. You want him to fuck you hard, with your face pressed into a pillow, begging for it to stop, even though you don't really want it to - he will. If you're in a romantic mood and want to seal it with sex, he'll be sensual and calm. Whatever you desire

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) If you do not have the opportunity to have sex longer, quickies also are ok. But as I mentioned, Drew doesn't like to skip the “elements” of your intercourse, so quickies are not to his liking. But sometimes you both want it, and what can you do?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) This man is turning 31!!! (Funnily enough - he turns it tomorrow) We all seem to know very well how well he takes care of his sister-in-law. So it's no wonder he doesn't mind if you don't use protection or are not on the pill. Oh, he would love to have children with you, even if you are quite a bit younger. If you were ready, he could fuck you all night long just to put that baby inside you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) It depends on how aroused he is. Usually you can easily do two-three rounds if you are not tired. Drew doesn't like to finish after one round, who would he be if he didn't fondle his woman to her limits?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He has. Not a lot, but I think she keeps a vibrator at her house to sometimes support her actions and improve your sex. He's not some big fan, but he likes to experiment

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He doesn't do it all that often - in fact, mostly when you're heavily aroused against him, and he (due to the fact that he's quite elderly) takes a little advantage of it. He prolongs with doing you good with his mouth, moves slowly inside you, oh, but how he returns the favor afterwards

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Oh, he is loud! Drew doesn't suppress his moans, loud breaths or saying how wonderful you are to him, how beautiful your body is and how much he loves you. He is sonorous and I think that is his advantage. Imagine that damn sexy voice of his worshiping you...

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Maybe it's because he's an actor - and such a perversion came out of his work, or maybe he just saw such a thing once in a porn. Drew had the thought, and more than once, of having sex with you as one of his film characters. I don't know, he wanted to get into Rafe's or Trevor's shoes and fuck you like they could (meaning he could)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Drew has a lot to show off. He's all big, so it's also no surprise that his boxers are constantly bulging. But I guess that doesn't bother anyone, right? Especially in your bed, as you finally feel as full as you should

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) There are times when he can behave himself and tries not to pay so much attention to how sexy his girlfriend is, but this is rare. Even at the family home, he tries to take you aside, at least for a moment to go to the restroom to have a hot kissing session, and then go back to the family as if nothing ever happened. Oh, he can't take his hands off you and it takes so little for him to be at your every beck and call

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) You talk to each other for a long time before you fall asleep, but for Drew, first of all, it is important that you fall asleep first, only then will he feel properly to fall asleep - with the knowledge that his whole world is safe in his arms

A/N: part one if anyone missed it!! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open, and I am very close to 600 followers! if you just like my work - take a look at the masterlist, give a heart, pass, and maybe even follow! it really means a lot to me and helps me grow by reaching more people :) please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[oncewild]

the outrage in the reblogs and replies questioning how much people who do this like to read are funny because ultimately this comes down to preference and why a person reads. skimming -- and specifically reading first and last sentences of a paragraph and looking for signals (like quotations) that might indicate particularly relevant informaton -- are techniques people are taught in grad school when you can't closely read everything you're assigned. this is also a skill and reading tool.

are people forced to read? no. they could probably take their time and read carefully if they're not on a deadline to return a book or whatever. but there are so many interesting books out there, & it's not hard to imagine some people feel pressed to get through their TBR pile or are so excited to know what's happening next that they skim to find out faster. I'd find it hard to believe that none of the folks in the replies read less carefully when the plot reaches its peak.

is it a good reading practice? not really. is skimming probably why some people leave genuinely headass reviews on goodreads or whatever? i'd imagine. is practicing your literacy skills why you read? probably not.

most of us read because we like stories. & it's goofy to act as if booktok invented skimming (which was obviously invented by middle schoolers assigned yet another book from the dead white guy lit book list that hasn't changed in 60 years). there are absolutely benefits to training our brains and bodies to read closely for a sustained amount of time and then going back to reflect on what we've read, but most of us aren't doing that with everything we read anyways. sometimes we're just out there to enjoy a story.

I love to read. I've taught dozens and dozens and dozens of children how to read over my years of teaching, and even more adults how to read in a second or third language. but the way people talk about literacy tends to be deeply reactionary, ignores the value of orality, and misses a lot of literacy's value.

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?