#but I was so tired that instead of saving it in my drafts

[linolinoing]

Paddington (2014) — dir. Paul King // As we are (2024) — dir. Soze Yoon

[stylesispunk]

'Landed too hard'

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You save Joel's life from raiders but instead of thanking you, he gets mad at you.

or

You get hurt and you are forced to be vulnerable with each other.

wc: 7k

warnings: age gap, established relationship, angst, fluff, miscommunication, insecurities, mentions of blood, and fluff

a/n: i'm slowly coming back to this with this baby here that was on my drafts. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

The forest was too quiet for your liking. No birds, no wind, just the soft crunch of the snowy ground beneath your feet as you followed Joel, who was ahead of you, and Ellie. There was something in the air this day, eerie silence pressing on your chest, tension, and Joel had been on edge all day; his broad shoulders seemed tense under his jacket, his grip on the rifle was tighter than usual.

It felt like the premonition of something bad coming your way. So, you kept your knife close and your gun pressed under your hand. Staying alert in case something bad could happen.

“We’ll set up camp soon,” Joel muttered exasperated, his voice low without looking behind to you and Ellie.

Ellie groaned. “Finally. My feet feel like they’re gonna fall soon.”

You gave her a tired smile at her remark, but your eyes stayed on Joel's back. His jaw was tight, the scar on his temple crinkling deeper. You knew him well enough to read the signs; he was worried. More than usual today.

That’s why you didn’t even hear them coming.

One second, you were walking behind Joel, and the next, chaos broke out. Shouts echoed through the trees. Five, maybe six men, all armed, came out from nowhere. Joel shoved you and Ellie behind an overturned log.

“Stay down,” he growled, pressing his rifle into your hands. “If anyone gets close, you shoot. Don’t move unless I say so.”

“Joel—”

“Stay here."

You swallowed your fear and nodded, grabbing Ellie and pulling her down. Joel stepped out, drawing their attention, firing a shot that took one of the men down, then another, and so on.

But the rest came fast. Through the cracks in the log, you watched Joel fight. He moved like a man who’d done this a thousand times before, as you already know, but even then, it was too much to bear; he didn't feel strong enough as before. One of the raiders tackled him, and suddenly, Joel was on the ground, with one of those men’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could barely hear Ellie’s panicked breathing next to you.

Joel clawed at the man’s wrists, his face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t going to get out of it, and you couldn’t just sit there watching the man you loved die in front of you as if it wasn't worth saving.

“Stay here,” you told Ellie, voice shaking from rage.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” she whispered.

Your body moved before your mind could argue. You were already running before Ellie could have the chance to stop you.

You tackled the man strangling Joel, knocking him off balance, but before you could finish him, another set of hands grabbed you from behind. You struggled, kicking and clawing, managing to land a sharp elbow into the man’s ribs before twisting free. The first man lunged again, but you dodged, feeling the burn of a knife slicing across your cheek. The pain barely registered as you drove your own knife into the man’s neck, then turned and plunged it into the second attacker’s chest before he could think of recovering. Warm blood splattered your hands as the man crumpled, gasping his last breath.

You stood there, panting, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Joel coughed violently, rolling onto his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands hovering uselessly. “Joel? Hey, hey, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, still gasping for air. When he finally sat up, his brown eyes locked onto yours, not with gratitude, but with pure, burning rage.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he rasped, still coughing.

You blinked, the adrenaline still rushing through you. “I-I-I had to...He was going to—”

“And you didn't listen to me!" Joel slammed his fist into the dirt, his whole body trembling with anger. He hated when you had to put yourself in danger because he hadn't been strong enough to save the day. “I told you to stay hidden! What if he’d killed you?!”

“Well, he didn’t kill me,” you stated, “I saved your life.”

“And you risked yours doing it." His voice echoed through the trees, sharp and unforgiving. You felt your chest tighten, heat rising in your throat.

“Well, thanks to that risk you are not fucking dead." you spat back.

Joel stood up, wiping the blood from his hands. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. The space between you felt impossibly wide.

He ran a hand over his face, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at you right now. "You put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed. Do you even get that?"

"I get it. I just saved your ass." You shot back, the weight of the moment crashing over you. "And all you can do is yell at me?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists before he turned away. "I won't do this with you."

"Fine," you bit out.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. You glanced at Ellie, who stood off to the side, arms crossed as if sensing the tension.

You lifted a hand to your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky with blood. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the cut on your cheek burned, you sucked in a sharp breath. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the wound, concern flashing across her face, but she didn’t say anything. Joel still wasn’t looking at you, his back rigid as he adjusted his pack.

"We should get moving," he muttered, voice strained.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache in your throat. Without another word, the three of you fell into step, the silence stretching between you like the open wound on your cheek.

That night, you found a small clearing tucked between big trees, far enough from the road to feel safe enough to spend the night. The cold had settled deep, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the weak glow of the fire. Joel had barely spoken a word since the fight, his focus set on keeping watch, his back to you.

You weren’t hurt by his words or the outburst he had, but by the idea of him willingly dying and feeling at peace with it. How easy would it be for him to leave you behind and on your own?

You dismissed your thoughts as you dug through your pack for a rag, pressing it against the wound on your cheek. The sting made you wince, and you cursed under your breath.

A quiet shuffling caught your attention, and you looked up to see Ellie kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed.

"Here," she said, pulling a small bottle of alcohol from her pocket. "Let me help."

You hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small nod. She dampened the cloth with the liquid and reached for your face. The touch was gentle, but the sting made you hiss.

"Sorry," Ellie murmured, biting a laugh, concentrating as she cleaned the cut. "You’re lucky it’s not deeper."

You let out a small chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Lucky isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe this day.”

Ellie huffed, finishing up before pulling a bandage from her pack. "Well, you’re not dead, so that counts for something."

You smiled faintly, glancing toward Joel. He still hadn’t turned around. You sighed, looking back at Ellie. "Thanks, Ellie."

She just shrugged, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Anytime."

As the fire crackled softly between you, you finally felt a small sense of comfort, at least from Ellie. Joel, on the other hand, was still a storm brewing on the other side of your little camp.

Joel sat a few feet away, his gaze drifting to you as he kept watch. He noticed the way you shivered, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, but still, you slept. He hesitated, jaw tightening as he debated with himself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over your sleeping form.

You stirred slightly at the added warmth, a small, unconscious sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Joel lingered for a moment, watching you, before settling back down next to you as if he needed to remind himself you were still here.

The fire in your camp had burned down to glowing embers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cool morning air. Joel sat near it, his hands wrapped around his thermos, sipping coffee out of it, his eyes occasionally flicking over to where you slept.

Your back was to him, your body curled slightly, the jacket pulled high over your shoulder. The cut ran along your cheekbone from the fight the day before, reminding him of how you always put yourself in danger for him.

He hated himself for it. How he had come to the point where he felt useless to protect you.

Now, you looked peaceful despite the frown that creased your forehead. Joel knew that look. He knew you too well to know what was happening.

Ellie stirred next to him, stretching before getting to her feet. She glanced at you, then back at Joel.

“Should I wake her up?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ellie raised a brow. “Why?”

Joel sighed, glancing at you again before taking another sip of coffee. “She has a frown.”

Ellie blinked. “Yeah, because she’s mad at you. Even in her sleep.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, but there wasn’t much fight in it. “No. It’s different. She gets that when she gets migraine.” He ran a hand over his beard, glancing at you again. “Just let her sleep a little bit longer.”

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something softer in her gaze, “You really pay attention, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another slow sip of coffee, staring into the fire, fading. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “When it comes to her, of course I do.”

Ellie sighed, dropping back down next to him. “So are you gonna fix this or what?”

Joel tensed, setting his cup down beside him. “She doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Yeah, because you yelled at her.” She reminded him.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“She saved your ass, Joel.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That isn't the point.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, it kinda is. She did what you would’ve done for her.”

Joel was silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do you think she would be fine if you were dead?” she pressed on, sighing.

Instead of an answer, Joel reached for his bag, unbuckling the strap. He knew exactly where to look; tucked inside one of the side pockets were the pills he always carried for you, just in case.

Ellie, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, tilted her head. “Wait… do you carry her pills?”

Joel didn’t look up as he pulled out the small bottle, checking how many were left. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, like he didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.

Ellie crossed her arms. “Huh.”

Joel finally glanced at her. “What?”

Ellie smirked. “Nothin’. Just, you act all tough, but you’re, like, secretly the softest person ever for her.”

Joel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Keep it to yourself, kid,” as he moved toward you.

You stirred slightly as he knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your face with a careful hand. The sight of the cut on your cheek made his stomach twist again, but he pushed the feeling down. He had already failed to keep you from getting hurt once; he wouldn’t fail you now.

Gently, he set the bottle of pills down next to you, along with a canteen of water. He knew you still weren’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop taking care of you.

As he sat back, Ellie watched him with something unreadable in her expression.

Joel sighed, rubbing his thumb over the strap of your bag.

Ellie nodded. “You’re doing the right thing, at least.”

Joel wasn’t sure about that. But as he sat there, keeping watch while you slept, he figured it was all he could do for now.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the dull ache in your head. The second was the soft sound of the fire crackling and fading nearby. You blinked against the morning light, your body still heavy with exhaustion from the last day.

And then you saw the canteen and the small bottle of pills sitting beside you. You didn’t have to ask who put them there.

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who sat a few feet away, his back turned slightly toward you. He was sharpening his knife, and Ellie sat across from him, kicking at the dirt with her boot, sneaking glances at you like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You swallowed, your throat dry. Carefully, you pushed yourself up, wincing as your muscles protested. Your fingers brushed against the bottle of pills, and you hesitated before finally picking it up.

Joel’s voice came before you could say anything. “Drink some water with that.”

It was quiet. Gruff. Like he wasn’t sure where the two of you stood after yesterday.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond, but you didn’t have the energy to fight with him again. Instead, you obeyed, twisting the cap off and dry-swallowing the pill before chasing it with a sip of water.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw his shoulders drop just a little.

Ellie, of course, didn’t stay quiet for long. “Sooo, does this mean you guys are done being mad at each other?

You shot her a look. “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying—”

Joel cut in; his voice flat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Ellie huffed but dropped it, tearing off a piece of jerky with her teeth.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before stealing a glance at Joel. His eyes were still fixed on his knife, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the handle a little too tightly.

He was waiting. For you to say something. For you to forgive him.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples in a weak attempt to ease the pressure in your skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing ever really worked, except for him.

Joel had a way of grounding you when the pain got bad. He didn’t always have the right words, but he never needed them. He had his own way of taking care of you, of letting you know he was there. And right now, all you wanted was for him to kiss your temples the way he used to. The way he always did when you were hurting.

But things weren’t the same. You had fought, you had pulled away, and he had let you. And now, even though he was right there, he felt miles away.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, trying to push down the disappointment twisting in your chest. It was stupid to want that from him right now. After everything, you shouldn’t need him like that.

Except you did.

Joel shifted, and you felt him move closer, his presence clear even before he spoke. “Did you take the pills?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a long silence, and then, so softly you almost missed it— “Still hurts?”

You hesitated. Your pride screamed at you to say no. To brush him off and keep that last little bit of distance between you. But you were tired.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

Joel exhaled slowly. And then, finally, finally, you felt his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head just enough so he could lean in.

His lips pressed against your temple, lingering for just a second longer than they needed to.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin.

“Get ready, we have to go now,” he said, still closer to your face.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the sudden shift back to reality. The moment was brief, fleeting, just like every soft thing between you and Joel seemed to be.

He pulled away first, his hand dropping from your face like he hadn’t just touched you just a moment ago. Like he hadn’t just kissed you the way he always used to when you were hurting.

You cleared your throat, pushing yourself up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest. "Yeah, okay," you muttered, rubbing at your face as if you could wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel stood up, already shifting back into that closed-off version of himself, the one that had been there ever since your fight. The one who didn’t know how to bridge the gap now.

Ellie walked in just as you were attempting to stand, her eyes flicking between the two of you. "You guys look weird," she said, frowning.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now, Ellie."

She just smirked, clearly entertained by whatever tension was hanging in the air. "Whatever you say, lovebirds."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag to distract yourself. Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, but you pretended not to notice. Joel pretended to, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, watching you too closely, like he always did.

The road stretched ahead, cracked and broken, nature reclaiming what once belonged to people. You walked in silence, the weight of the morning still pressing against your chest. Your head ached, but you bit down on the pain, refusing to let it slow you down.

Joel was beside you, his pace slow, his presence solid as ever. But something about him felt distant. He was looking at you, and you could feel his gaze flickering toward you every few moments.

Before, his eyes had been filled with something warm, something certain. But now? Now, it felt like he was watching you from behind a wall, like he was making sure you were still there but refusing to let himself feel anything about it.

Ellie, for once, was quiet, kicking a stray rock as she walked ahead, letting the tension settle between the two of them.

Joel’s outburst had been raw and desperate, yes, but now, you saw it for what it was. Fear. Not just losing you. But what did it mean to him if he did it?

Because Joel didn’t think he deserved to have you. He thought he wasn’t enough, that he never had been. And maybe, he would never be the man you need it.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," you muttered, not even turning your head.

Joel tensed beside you. "Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to cry to let you in and forgive you, you shout at me and I'm angry about it."

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

"I am not," he said, voice rough. A lie.

You stopped walking. Finally, you turned to face him. "Then what is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you meant for it to be. "Because you had been like this for days, something's been different, and yesterday you just broke."

Joel exhaled slowly, looking away, his hands on his hips, his fingers flexing. "Nothing’s different."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Ellie stopped a few steps ahead, glancing between the two of you like she wanted to intervene but thought better of it.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders stiff, his mouth opening—then closing again. He had no answer. No real one, anyway.

Because the truth was, it had never been about you. It had always been about him. About the way he would rather push you away than let himself believe, even for a second, that he was allowed to keep you. That you would want to stay.

That you would choose him. But you were tired of being the only one fighting for this.

So, you just nodded, setting your jaw. "Alright," you murmured, turning back toward the road, ignoring the way your chest ached. "If nothing’s different, then let’s just keep moving."

He heard the way your voice broke at the end, and he just watched as you joined Ellie.

Joel stood there, hands tightening into fists at his sides as he watched you walk away. He’d done this again.

Ellie shot him a glance, her expression unreadable, before she turned her attention back to you. She said something low under her breath, nudging your shoulder. You didn’t look back.

And Joel? Joel just stood there, rooted in place, watching the one thing he was most afraid of slip through his fingers.

Because, deep down, he knew. It wasn’t the world that would take you from him. It was him. It was a matter of time.

A few hours later, when the cold still found its way deep down your bones. You followed Joel and Ellie into the old market, the air inside thick with dust and the remnants of a world long gone. The faded signs above the shop windows once advertised fruits and vegetables, but now they were nothing more than silent witnesses to the decay around them.

Joel stepped inside first, scanning the area with ease. His hand never strayed far from the rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t just looking for supplies; he was looking for danger, as always, and he was ready to find it. You watched him move with that quiet confidence that made him seem invincible.

He disappeared behind a corner, moving into the heart of the market.

Ellie, always ready for adventure, shifted impatiently next to you. “Is it safe?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the market.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes fixed on the place where Joel had vanished.

“He’ll let us know when it’s safe,” you said quietly, not taking your eyes away from him.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. “Yeah, but what if-”

You cut her off with a shake of your head. “He’s careful. He’ll check everything first.”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but she stayed quiet. You both waited in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the wind and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Then, Joel’s voice echoed from ahead. “Clear,” he called out as he reappeared from behind a row of shelves, his gaze briefly flicking over you before he turned to lead the way deeper into the market. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the wariness beneath it.

His fingers found their way to your shoulders, his touch was brief, just the slightest brush of his fingers against your jacket. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a habit he couldn't break.

You didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on scanning the shelves, looking for anything useful. Cans, medical supplies.

Ellie was already rummaging through a shelf, muttering under her breath about how people really liked canned beans before the world went to hell. Joel moved ahead.

You bent down, shifting through a pile of toppled boxes, when Joel’s voice came from behind you again, “You good?”

It was automatic, the way he asked. Like, even when he was keeping his distance, he still couldn’t help but care.

You hesitated, keeping your back to him. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Not the way his voice sounded. Not the way your chest ached every time he was close, but not close enough. And definitely not the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long on your shoulder again, as if he didn’t want to let go.

Joel was already moving toward another section of the market, scanning the rows of empty shelves, searching for anything of value. Ellie had drifted further ahead, already rummaging through a crate she found. You stayed close to the wall, the building’s dilapidated structure making you nervous, but you tried not to let the unease show.

You took a few more steps, carefully picking your way over the cracked floor, when suddenly, the ground beneath you gave way with a sharp, unsettling creak. Before you could react, your foot twisted, the bone snapping like a twig under the weight of the fall.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your ankle as you cried out, unable to stop yourself. The world spun for a moment as you collapsed, hands pressing to the ground to catch yourself, but the pain in your ankle was unbearable. You let out a sharp gasp, fighting the urge to cry out again as you felt something shift beneath the skin; your foot didn’t feel right.

"Shit," you muttered, trying to stay calm, but panic crept in with each breath. Your heart raced as you instinctively tried to pull yourself up, but your foot wouldn’t hold any weight. You couldn’t put it down.

Ellie’s voice broke through the fog of pain, distant but growing closer. “What happened?”

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice followed almost immediately. You could hear the panic lacing his tone, the urgency in his steps as he turned back toward you. You were grateful for his presence when you saw him, his figure coming into view, moving fast.

He saw you on the ground, your face twisted in pain, and his heart dropped. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, kneeling down beside you with a speed that surprised you. His hands were gentle, but you could hear the frustration in his voice as he assessed the damage. "What the hell happened?"

“I—I fell,” you stammered, gritting your teeth as you tried to hold back more of the pain. You couldn’t focus on anything other than your ankle, the way it throbbed, the way your body seemed to give way under the weight of it.

Joel’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to carefully touch your injured ankle. “I’m gonna need you to stay still, alright?” His voice was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to let his worry show, but you could see it in his eyes. His hands worked quickly, checking for anything more serious, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Ellie, get over here,” Joel called out, his voice low and strained.

Ellie rushed back toward you, eyes wide with concern as she knelt beside you. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said through clenched teeth, trying to sound stronger than you felt. “It’s just my ankle.”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and Ellie, his mind clearly racing. “We need to get you out of here, now.” His hand gripped your shoulder for a moment, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if grounding himself in that brief contact.

Ellie was already standing, her expression determined as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go grab what we need.”

Joel nodded, but his focus never left you. He reached down, his hands carefully lifting you as he positioned himself behind you. "I'm gonna carry you. It's gonna hurt a little, but I need you to hang on."

You bit back a hiss of pain as he adjusted his hold on you, making sure not to jostle your foot too much, but you couldn’t suppress the way your body tensed at the movement. The pain was still sharp, but something was comforting in the way Joel’s arms secured around you.

“Joel,” you whispered, too exhausted to speak louder.

“I got you,” he muttered back, his voice almost a promise. "Just hang in there."

As he started to move, carrying you carefully toward a safer corner, you could feel your heart rate begin to slow, your pulse steadying slightly in the rhythm of his steps. But the ache in your ankle was still lingering.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the pain, trying to find some semblance of peace in the way Joel had his arms around you. Because no matter how mad you were, no matter how much you weren’t talking to him, Joel Miller was always going to take care of you.

Joel helped you settle into a quiet corner of the abandoned store, easing you down onto an old crate. He crouched in front of you, his hands working carefully as he pulled your boots off, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

Ellie hovered for a second, glancing between the two of you, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna go check the other side of the store. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

You didn’t respond. Joel didn’t either.

Once Ellie disappeared, Joel focused back on your ankle, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pack. He was quiet as he started wrapping, his fingers gentle but firm, pressing just enough to support your injury.

You watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to pretend you care about this.”

Joel’s hands stilled. His jaw ticked. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“Do you think I’m pretending?” His voice was low, rough. Almost offended by the way your voice sounded saying those words.

You looked away, focusing on the peeling paint on the walls. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. One second, you’re mad at me. The next, you’re acting like...like this.” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like it actually matters.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. “It does matter. You are the most important person to me. ”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you were yelling at me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was mad because you almost got yourself killed.”

“I was saving you.” You protested.

“I don’t need saving,” He replied, rough as always.

Your eyes snapped back to his, anger flashing in them. “And I don’t need you acting like I don’t have a say in whether or not I protect you."

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, like he was carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You frowned, your voice softer now. “Can’t what?”

His gaze met yours again, something raw behind it. “I can’t lose you.”

The words hit you hard. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint wind outside, the rustling of leaves.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “So do you think I want to lose you?”

Joel’s expression softened just a fraction. He sighed, reaching forward, his hand hesitating before resting gently on your knee.

Your breath caught. The fight, the tension, it was still there, but underneath it was something deeper.

“You are always so willing to die,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for the exact moment. Like, none of this matters to you. Like, I don’t matter.”

Joel’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, grounding you, but he didn’t say anything.

You sniffed, shaking your head. “Do you even know what that does to me? How it makes me feel?”

He swallowed hard, his throat working around the words he wasn’t saying.

“You walk into danger like you’ve already made peace with dying,” you continued, your voice raw. “And maybe you have. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I care. And you make me watch you throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. Like you don’t care if I have to watch you—”

Joel let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he spoke. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, swiping at your tears. “You sure don’t act like it.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look at you. “I’m not waiting to die.”

You scoffed, looking away.

“I’m not,” he insisted. His voice was rough, firm. “I just…I don’t know how to protect you.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the back of his neck. “I spent twenty years not giving a damn about whether I made it out of alive. And then you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.

You stared at him, waiting. His gaze met yours again, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable to your eyes.

"Do you think I would survive without you?" You asked him.

"You're strong," he stated.  

"That doesn't matter if the person I love and I protect throws himself to death," you said, tired of the cycle.

“I’m not trying to--” he started, but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You act like you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I do. And I don’t know what’s worse, watching you run into danger without thinking or knowing that if you died, you’d probably think I’d just move on.”

His brows furrowed. “That isn't-"

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around Joel’s wrist. “Do you love me, Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it, that maybe, after everything, he’d still hold back.

But then, his hand moved, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek. His touch was careful, reverent, like he was memorizing traces of your face.

“I do love you,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Your breath stilled.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “More than I ever meant to. More than I know what to do with.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

“Then stop trying to leave me behind,” you whispered, pleading to him.

He looked at you with such intensity, as if he was trying to see past the pain and fear, trying to understand something that had always eluded him.

“How do you even love someone like me?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly, the question laced with vulnerability, a side of him you rarely saw, something raw and unprotected. He was always protecting people.

Your heart hurt at the sound of it. You wanted to reach out and erase the doubt from his mind, to tell him that he didn’t have to question it. But instead, you just looked at him, letting the silence linger for a moment, trying to gather the right words to answer him.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “I love you because you’re you. Because through all the broken pieces, all the walls you’ve built around yourself, I still see the man who’s been there for me. You’re not perfect, and none of us are. But you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if taking in your words, processing them, before meeting your gaze again. His expression softened, the tightness in his jaw easing, but there was still that guarded look in his eyes. He was trying to fight something inside himself, something he had carried for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, almost to himself, but you heard it loud and clear. The doubt in his voice, something he couldn’t shake.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Stop saying that,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “You deserve me. You deserve everything good that’s coming your way. I’ve seen who you are, Joel. You’re not what you think you are.”

“Why do you think I keep pushing you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, like he was afraid of the answer himself.

You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly touching his, and your breath mingled in the quiet space between you. “Because you’re scared of letting yourself love me the way you do,” you said softly. “You’re scared of losing me. But pushing me away won’t make it any easier. It’ll just leave you with a regret you can’t undo.”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if your words had struck a chord in him, but it wasn’t enough to break him completely, not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m afraid if I let myself love you fully... if I let myself need you the way I do… I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t live with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you reached up to wipe it away, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. You could feel the pain in his words, the depth of his fear, and it only made you love him more.

Joel’s hand gently moved to your ankle, and despite everything that had just been said, the tenderness in his touch wasn’t lost on you. His rough fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully positioned your leg. You winced slightly at the discomfort, but it wasn’t the pain from your ankle that caught your attention; it was the way his eyes never left you, the quiet care he was showing in that moment.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, trying to keep his own emotions in check. You could tell he was trying to be calm for you, even though you knew he was anything but calm inside.

Joel’s fingers moved gently over your ankle, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. His touch was careful, and for once, it was soft, more like the careful tenderness of someone who didn’t want to hurt you, rather than the harshness that often came with survival.

You winced slightly when the bandage tightened, but he immediately eased his grip, looking at you with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but his care made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

Once your ankle was properly secured, Joel leaned back, looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place in them. He didn’t speak for a while, just stared at you like he was trying to decide something in his mind.

Joel’s gaze went to your ankle for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing the soft skin of your bandaged ankle. It was a gesture so tender, so unexpected, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice remained quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

You shook your head, still chuckling lightly, the sound feeling strange after everything that had happened. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Joel,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s just... never thought you’d be kissing my ankle better.”

Joel’s smirk softened into something more tender, and for a moment, there was nothing between you but the quiet understanding. His eyes dropped back to your ankle for a brief second before lifting to meet yours once more, his expression serious.  Without another word, he moved closer, his hand reaching to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he had shown when tending to your injury. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his lips just a breath away.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you, soft, lingering, as if it was everything he hadn’t been able to say before. You leaned into it, letting the kiss speak for you both, the tension between you finally easing, at least for this moment in the middle of this kiss.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Ellie’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

You and Joel broke apart instantly, your breath still tangled in his, as you turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Joel cleared his throat and sat back slightly, rubbing a hand over his beard like that would somehow erase what she’d just walked in on.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re already making out. Unbelievable.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Ellie—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s kinda sweet, but gross.”

Joel shot her a look, his voice flat. “Ellie.”

“What?” She shrugged, grinning. “Just saying. But, uh—maybe save the romance for later, lovebirds? We kinda got shit to do.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but when he glanced at you again, you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon,” he muttered, standing up and offering you a hand. “We should get movin’.”

You took his hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. As you stood, Ellie shot you both a smug look before turning on her heel.

As she walked away, you heard her mutter under her breath, “God, I hope I never have to see that again.”

As soon as you put weight on your injured ankle, a sharp pain shot up your leg, making you wince. You bit down on a curse, trying to tough it out, but Joel noticed immediately.

“Joel, it’s fine, I can walk,” you protested, but you could see the look in his eyes.

“Not gonna argue with me on this one. Up you go.” Before you could protest, he crouched slightly in front of you. “Get on.” He waited for you to settle onto his back, and you reluctantly complied, knowing it would be easier than walking on your own.

You blinked at him. “Joel, I can—”

He shot you a look over his shoulder. “I'm not asking...”

Ellie snorted. “Just get on, lovebird.”

You sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you effortlessly.

“Easy, old man,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip. “Call me that again, and I’m dropping you.”

You laughed softly, “Thanks,” you muttered after a moment, your face buried in his jacket, still feeling the warmth of his body. The way he carried you felt like a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You sighed against him, letting yourself relax just a little as Joel carried you forward with slow steps. Without thinking, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just above the collar of his jacket.

Joel stiffened for half a second, his grip on your legs tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You trying to distract me?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

A smirk played on your lips. “Is it working?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You laughed, placing another kiss on the same spot, “I love you, Joel.”

His steps faltered for just a moment, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your legs like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his jaw tight. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

But then, in that quiet, gruff voice of his, he murmured, “I love you too, darling. Always”.

[iydiamartinx]

PAN-DEMONIUM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.5k synopsis: When your boyfriend forgets to mention his dad is the Batman, things can escalate quickly.  a/n: Instead of working, I found another idea that I dug up from the depths of my crack fic drafts, hope y'all had a laugh.

The apartment was quiet—eerily so, save for the low, comforting sizzle of eggs on the stovetop. It was a familiar sound in the late hours, part of a routine that had etched itself into your life since you found out about your boyfriend’s double identity. Midnight cravings were a constant in this place. Jason would drag himself in from patrol, bruised, half-dead, and starving, usually too tired to eat anything but dry cereal or a protein bar. Somewhere along the way, you’d started preempting his return, slipping out of bed before he could crash onto the couch and coaxing something warm onto a plate.

Tonight was no different. You stood at the stove, barefoot and comfortably wrapped in one of his worn shirts—black, soft, smelling faintly of gunpowder and his cologne. You hummed absently, the tune unrecognizable and slightly off-key, as you nudged the eggs with a spatula. The warmth from the burner was a pleasant contrast to the cool of the tiled floor beneath your feet.

And then you heard it.

A sound—barely audible, but wrong. Not the front door. Not the creak of a windowpane. But something like the shifting of weight. The subtle scrape of a boot across hardwood.

You froze.

The spatula paused mid-motion. Your head tilted slightly, straining to listen. Jason always made noise when he came in. A thud of boots. A sarcastic remark. A muttered curse. Sometimes he’d whistle. Always something. And he never forgot to let you know it was him.

“Jason?” you called, your voice a notch quieter than you’d intended. “Is that you?”

No answer.

Your stomach dropped. A cold ripple of dread slid down your spine.

You moved quickly but quietly, turning the burner off. The comforting sizzle of eggs faded into silence. The spatula was abandoned in favour of the frying pan—heavier, more solid in your grip. You adjusted your hold on it, stepping away from the stove and edging slowly toward the hallway.

The shadow at the end of the hall was thicker than it should’ve been—wrong somehow, dense and unnatural. You squinted into the dark, heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes struggled to adjust. The hallway had always been dim at night, but this… this was different. It almost looked like the darkness itself was shifting. You took a cautious step forward—and then froze.

He was just suddenly there.

A towering figure. The black cape flowed down his frame like oil, and his cowl obscured his face, two glowing white slits where his eyes should’ve been. He looked like something out of your nightmares. 

You didn’t think. There was no time for logic or reason, only instinct.

With a half-scream, you swung the pan with everything you had.

CLANG.

The sound rang out like a bell, followed by a low, guttural grunt. The man staggered, head jerking to the side as one gloved hand came up to clutch where you’d struck him.

You stared, breathless, pan still raised like a weapon, frozen with adrenaline. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your mind spiralling—

And then the front door crashed open.

“What the fuck?!” Jason’s voice rang out, sharp and alarmed.

You spun around, the frying pan still trembling in your grip. “Jason!” you gasped, relief breaking through in a sudden tidal wave. “There’s a man—he—he broke in—I thought—I didn’t know what else to do—oh my god.”

Jason’s eyes flew past you, quickly scanning the scene—the eggs now dripping in gloppy streaks down the wall, the now-empty skillet in your hands, the looming figure still bent slightly forward, one hand pressed to his temple.

Jason blinked. His mouth opened. Then dropped.

“You hit Batman?!”

You blinked. Slowly turned back.

The man—Batman, the actual Batman—was slowly straightening up, gloved fingers rubbing his cowl covered temple where your frying pan had made contact. The cowl hadn’t even cracked. Not a single tear or dent. He just gave you the smallest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, as if he were trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

He looked less furious and more…inconvenienced. A little surprised, maybe. You hoped to God he wasn’t concussed.

You dropped the pan like it had burned you, it fell to the floor with such a loud sound both Jason and the Bat flinched. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, stepping back as panic began to claw its way up your throat. “Oh my god.” You whirled on your boyfriend, wide-eyed and flushed with horror. “I just assaulted Batman. I attacked Batman. I’m going to jail. He’s going to disappear me. Jason, they’re going to find me in Arkham.”

“Jason!” you hissed, slapping his arm with a mixture of panic and outrage. “This is serious! I just committed a felony—with your damn midnight snack!”

Still snorting, Jason tried to compose himself but failed spectacularly. His shoulders were shaking, breath hitching with every suppressed laugh as he leaned against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

He still hadn’t told you. Not the part about who Batman really was. That his adopted father was the Dark Knight himself. That the rest of his so-called siblings also ran around Gotham in capes and masks, playing vigilante just like he did. As far as you knew, Jason was the only one with a flair for crime-fighting and danger. He’d conveniently left out the bat-shaped elephant in the room.

“He’s not gonna press charges, babe,” Jason wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “Jesus. You hit the Bat over the head with a pan. With a pan!” He bent double again, laughing so hard he nearly choked. “Oh man—this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You glared at him like you might hurl the pan at him next, and your mortification only deepened when you turned back to Batman—your face pale as chalk.

“I am so sorry,” you blurted, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t know it was you. You were in the dark and you didn’t say anything and you’re—well—you’re literally terrifying.”

Batman’s silence stretched long enough that you were genuinely debating whether you should throw yourself out the window when he finally spoke.

Finally, he spoke, his voice gravelly and deep. “You hit me.” He almost sounded surprised, perhaps even confused.

You flinched. “I—I didn’t know it was you! You were just standing there in the dark! You didn’t even say anything! I thought you were a burglar! What was I supposed to do—offer you eggs?”

Behind you, Jason was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to smother his laughter. He wasn’t succeeding.

The Bat didn’t move.

You swallowed thickly, muttering now more to yourself than anyone else. “I can’t believe I assaulted Batman. I’m going to prison. Or Arkham. Or wherever he takes people when they attack him with a frying pan.”

Finally, Batman exhaled, the sound sharp and slow through his nose. “You should’ve been more aware of your surroundings.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse me? You brokeinto our apartment!”

Jason, ever helpful, mumbled under his breath, “Technically true.”

You shot him a glare but turned your frustration back to the source of your near heart attack. “You crept in like some B-rated horror movie villain!” you snapped, the lingering fear in your chest giving way to indignation. “And you have the audacity to lecture me about being aware of my surroundings? At least I listened to my instincts when I heard you move!”

“And your first instinct,” he said flatly, “was to attack me with cookware?”

You met his gaze without flinching this time. “It was cast iron.”

There was a beat of silence—and then Jason lost it all over again. He doubled over, wheezing, his laughter echoing off the hallway walls.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the humiliation. Your other arm remained wrapped around your ribs, like you were trying to hold together the shattered remains of your dignity. “Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palm. “This is so humiliating. I literally assaulted Batman.”

“I know!” Jason wheezed, nearly breathless with laughter. “It’s great. Literally the best day of my life.”

From behind you, the Dark Knight’s voice came again—low, grave, entirely too casual. “She’s got a strong swing.”

Jason turned toward him, still grinning like a lunatic. “You should see her when we play baseball.”

A long beat passed, silence settling again.

Then Batman looked directly at you, the white slits of his cowl narrowing slightly. “Next time,” he said evenly, “aim for the jaw. The cowl’s reinforced.”

You blinked. “Wait… what?”

But he was already gone, shadows swallowing the space where he’d stood.

You stared at the space he’d occupied, jaw slack. “I think I just made his criminal list.”

Jason came up behind you, arms wrapping snugly around your waist, still chuckling against the side of your neck. “Nah,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice. “If anything, I think you impressed him.”

You threw your arms out in exasperation—nearly clocking him in the face with your flailing limbs.

He ducked with a laugh.

“Why else would he tell me to aim for the jaw?” you demanded. “He thinks we’re gonna fight again. He’s preparing me for our next encounter!”

Jason didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Want me to get a new pan?”

“Jason!”

Next Chapter →

[dilf-docs]

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are

dbf!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (but this time it's sad not hot or both idk), smut, p. in v., virgin!reader, (forced??) creampie, fingering, riding, oral (f. receiving), corruption kink, reader has no daddy issues ++her dad is lovely nor mommy issues like me but a secret third thing, ANGST IN CAPITAL, situationship™, jumping very late to this trend or series IDK hope someone still lurks around this neighbourhood, joel has no kids and is unmarried cause i need him to be BITTER, in short this is very AU canon divergence at max coded

word count: 7,629 words

side note: IF U SAW IT POSTED BEFORE NO U DIDN'T IT WAS A HONEST MISTAKE (clicked publish instead of save draft) OKAY i just searched thru my top 2024 songs by spotify for some inspo and well!!!!!! my yet to be dilf RM's (or joon as i, his wife, loves to call him endearingly) song called heaven popped up! those are the vibes if u wanna give it a listen (PLS DO OKAY HE RANKED TOP KOREAN ALBUM THIS YEAR AND I SEE I'M GETTING OFF THE HOOK BUT HE DESERVES IT RAHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH) and yk i said it's got the miller vibe going on: ANGST™ okay stopping my rambling and letting y'all enjoy (or suffer, idk anymore: as u see, i have a thing for sad complicated old man and suffering myself, because i could've choose any other idea but here goes user dilf-docs the angst whore choosing to suffer again lolz)

part: I / II

It was winter when he first touched you.

Joel Miller: a name you've learned to pronounce like it was spoken on a different language that only you knew.

You've known him for years, a familiar face that stands in corners and only laughs when spoken to, begrundingly, like it's rather a favor than something of his amusement. A guy who would drop by your house until you learned his name like he'd learn the games you'd force him to play. A friend of your dad, who moved back to town and has haunted your house since he stepped a foot inside, tainting the walls with his pine phantom.

Joel's a face you've seen age as much as he's seen you grow out of your pigtails and child-like wonder: and perhaps that's why it's wrong.

It is all so wrong: the way your gaze lingers a bit too long over his tired and bitter expresion, looking for those flickers of softeness that appear when your dad calls him. Old friend, filled with affection, and Joel can't deny the only man who hasn't left his side a smile that he hopes is enough to express what he can't; he's not good with words.

It is all so wrong: how the sheets stick to your body while you scream his name, the sound drowning against your pillow, your body leaking with the secret of an unspoken desire that gets harder to hide with each passing day.

But you can't help it: one day the feelings started to blossom and the admiration left for the crush to harvest until it fully bloomed in your chest. Its petals have asfixiated you ever since.

On winter, you returned to town, like a vice. You always came back for the holidays, a silver of hope that shouldn't exist. You felt it in the air, impregnated with a heartbreak so cutting, it was hard to remember when the winter carried the happiness it should've; all that's left was the cold, harsh feeling.

"Y/n!" your dad embraces your body on a hug as warm as a fireplace, "you're home"

He passes you around the people over, because that's how he always is: joyful, the house full with guests that don't stop at family, but feel as close as those of blood. She came! he loudly yet proudly announces your homecoming, adding small sprinkles of how's college and how smart his little girl is (a nickname he can't let go of, not caring if you were ten then and now just above twenty), not caring if your face is as red as christmas easters.

"You have to stop, dad" you plead with annoyance, but a small smile betrays you, "no one wants to hear how I'm top of my class again, for the millionth time"

"Well, it's my house" he jokes, "so they better get used to it" he then looks around the room, as if he's forgetting something, "ah, someone I must bore with your stories is missing..."

He talks to some more people around and you have to plaster a smile and salute faces you can't recognize, but as on cue, the door flings open, some people near the entrance greeting a face you've yet to see and recognize. Your father gets there first, the smile that spreads across his face making your stomach tie in knots.

"Joel's here!" he delivers with excitement, unaware of how your polite smile falters.

"Joel's here" you repeat, grief laced within your words. Grief of what? You don't know, but you do know a part of you dies the more you look at Joel Miller the way you're not supposed to.

"Come say hi" your father insists, happy in his ignorance, despite your paced walk and stiff demeanor.

And walking your way is him, the man who owns your heart without knowing.

His hair is still as soft as ever, more tints of grey sprinkled through it. Your fingers itch to trace it, so you keep your fists closed until the red nails dig into the tight white flesh. He has more wrinkles, pronounced when his brows furrow at the sight of you.

"I know she's grown a lot, but I hope you still recognize her" your dad says with affection, "isn't she beautiful, my y/n? Grown into a whole lady"

Your heart hammers against your chest as Joel looks you up and down, but there is no emotion across his face.

"It's only been a year, but sure, she has" as stoic as ever, but it's enough to make your nerves wreck. You can't believe how much a simple stare and a few words can get to you.

But you were always like this: weak. Back then, at kindergarten grounds, when making a friend seemed the hardest task. Now, at university, when you wonder if something is wrong with you that always makes you the last option to choose.

Maybe that's why Joel, a man so strong in appearance and character, never liked you: that all those memories were a dream, and he just did it as an extension of his affection for your dad.

You'll never forget that dinner last year, on these same days, when for the first time, both your parents left you alone with Joel, their guest for the night. There was a storm outside, and it was almost funny how the brash wind against the window mimicked your steady heart. You didn't know he was coming, but when you did, you put on your best dress on purpose and dusted a makeup palette a friend gave you, yet he didn't even look your way.

"Do you hate me, Joel?" you asked in a whispered breathe, the cold silence as answer.

It's contradictory, really: your love grows where his hate does. More like hate, it's a disregard so cruel, you can't help but wonder if there's something wrong with you, making you attached to an older man that only seems to have apathy for you. Because one thing is attraction, but other is the deep adoration where you'd die if he were to ask you.

It's your fault, really, for turning his life into folklore. You still remember sitting on your father's lap as he talked your ear off, full of stories that Joel, always by his side, would quietly laugh, the fireplace casting shadow over a man who seemed to overpower the darkness that now is palpable on his gaze. He'd said your dad was making him greater than he really was, pinching your cheeks as he called you sugar, reasoning you were so sweet.

But since last year, something shifted: he started avoiding you, like he resented you.

And you never understood why. So every season you've searched in his eyes for a sign, anything, that can make you go back to that speacial relationship you had, missing him like a little kid. It's been a year, and you feel, if possible, more at loss than before.

Back to now, it's almost midnight, and most of the guests have gone already. You've tried to look cool in the eyes of those who are still there, conversation flowing easily through your eggnog-tinted tongue, yet you know it's all pretend.

"Excuse me" you can't take it anymore, the air suffocating you in anxiousness.

"Where are you going?" questions your mom, stopping you in your tracks before going up the stairs.

You turn around and feign a smile, "Up to my room"

"Are you okay?" your dad asks with worry.

"Yeah, just tired" you lie with ease, and the miles you've driven back it up.

"If you need anything, just tell" she says.

When you fall against the mattress, all the weight settles in. You close your eyes and count to ten, breathing in and breathing out.

The door creaks, so you get up as you open your eyes. "Dad" you start, knowing he's all about giving you talks, "Not now, please-"

"M' not y'r daddy"

You shiver despite the closed windows.

"Joel!" you jump, straightening yourself, "did dad send you?"

He doesn't respond, looking at you through brown warm eyes that reveal nothing. The pit in your stomach grows along awkward silence.

"It's cold outside, isn't it?" you attempt to make conversation, hating the silence. But you fail: he's still here, and regardless of his indifference, he doesn't leave.

Maybe it's the bit of alcohol from before, but you're standing over until you get close to his resting figure against the doorframe, the darkness of your room leaving his face, now barely lit by the light outside in the hallway. Joel's so close you can hear his breathing, and it surprises you the way it drags like a cigarette.

You feel confident for the first time, defiant even, tired of it all, like if it was his fault you loved him. You're sick of him viewing you like a naive kid who knows no better.

"Joel, why are you here?"

The lavender gets under his nose, his skin on fire. He looks at you again, but this time, the brown in his eyes darkens.

"Joel...?" you ask on a shaky breath.

Before you can register, there's warmth against your cheek. His fingers graze your face with an unspoken yearning on his fingertips, as he gently grabs your chin.

Your breath hitches, hand traveling to feel his on your face, to see if it's real and not a dream.

"Joel, what are you doing?"

He backs up, like your touch burns. And then looks at you, as if you're a stone on his shoe: just like all those boys back at the city, who have rejected you. You feel small, like crying.

"M' sorry" and walks out of your room, his scent up your nose. His limping figure walks down the hallway that now looks longer. You don't realize how long you've stared until you hear your father ask downstairs where was he.

It's like he was never there.

It was spring when he first kissed you.

It's funny how you still came back home after such disastrous holidays.

Joel stayed for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas and New Years, and when he hugged you in the living room full of guests, you had to pretend his fingers hadn't hold you differently before. You both lied your way out, and when you left, for the first time, you felt relieved, which is why it took some convincing from your father to make you return for spring.

"You couldn't miss this" he insists, "it's the best time to visit the cabin"

And you have to agree: a small cabin by the lake that your parents bought when they first moved in to town, a place you spent most of your childhood. Your father taught you how to fish there, and ever since, even as you moved away for college, you came back to do so, a tradition kept intact despite the years.

Your mom looks at you from the rear view mirror. "He wouldn't stop talking about it, afraid you wouldn't join us this year" your dad hushes her, embarrased, "oh! Don't act like you didn't"

Truth is, you'd still come: you miss the green tickling your bare feet, the cold water, and the sun kissing your skin as you lay outside. It's a lie you don't wait all year to leave the cold city and embrace the blooming spring.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, dad" you lay against the car's door, closing your eyes as you smile. He doesn't say anything, yet with the way your mom giggles, you know he probably got teary or something―your sappy old man.

The car stops, the cabin in front of you. You feel like crying, so many memories flooding you. Alright, you're being sappy just like your dad, but it's been a hard semester and you missed your family.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you something" he says as you get out. The small denim short rides up as you stretch, your legs numb from the trip.

"Yeah?"

A car honks from behind. You jump, loosing balance as you trip. "Ow!" you land on the grass, embarrasingly so.

"C'mere" you look up, the sun blinding his face. "Lemme help ya', sugar"

The nickname feels like a slap to your face, so you stay there stupid, body stiff as you raise up, Joel's face flooding your field of vision.

"That's what I forgot to tell you" your dad laughs, "or who"

You're not laughing. Joel Miller is here and it's ruines your trip.

"Well, you should've" you took his hand just for the show, because you know your mom is observant. If there was an electric rush, you must've imagined it, just as the way his hands fall to his sides, twitching.

Over the next couple of days, you try to ignore him as much as you can, pretending your spring hasn't changed: fishing, laying down, sun and baths.

"Hey"

Your sun glasses rest on your nose as you raise from your spot, laying on a towel on the grass as you sunbathe.

"What'd want, Joel?" your tone is icy, contrasting the warmer climate.

"M' going to the lake" he mumbles, then stays silent. It's almost as if he's waiting for you to answer.

"Okay?" you lay down again, "have fun"

"Y'r dad said you'd teach me" he raises a fishing row.

You groan in annoyance, getting up from your spot, "why doesn't he do it?"

"Said y'r the best" then coughs, "besides, I think him and your momma needed some time alone..."

You walk past, shoulder brushing against his. You've never been this childish before, but your anger fuels your emotions: rage when you see him and remember how the warm of his touch turned cold in seconds.

You arrive at the small dock, sitting on the rather hot wood. You don't flinch, trying to prove nothing. Joel sits next to you and makes a face at the burning sensation.

"What?" you mock, venom dripping from your tone, "can't handle some heat?"

He just scoffs, passing the row to you with a little more force than necessary.

Your petty revenge is splashing his shirt, damping the cotton with the lake's water.

"I'm sorry" you apologize, feigning an innocent tone, "wanted to freshen up"

"Thought ya could handle the heat" Joel grumbles.

Then he curses under his breath, taking the shirt off and tossing it to the side.

You take in now shirtless body, admiring the strong muscles, broad shoulders and sturdy back. He sits next to you, his belly pushing just above the seam of his shorts. You recoil, almost as if heat radiated off his body, your cheeks burning. Your hands tremble as you hold the row, and it takes every strength of you to not succumb to the dangerous view; it's all too tempting.

"Y'r gonna teach me or what?" he breaks your train of thoughts, his voice so low, as if you were a little animal he was trying not to scare off, "just gonna stare? Ain't y'r daddy taught ya some manners?"

A current shoots through your body and looses itself in the middle of your legs.

You divert your gaze, ashamed. "Don't know what you're talking about"

"Liar" but it's so soft, it sounds more like an observation than an accusation.

"Drop it, Joel" you focus on the water but you know your mind is elsewhere.

"Sugar..."

You feel like throwing up. Why after ignoring you is he calling you like he used to? When he was your favorite person in the world and you were his. He used to hold you close, but now acts like your touch is poisoned. Joel confuses you too much; he's got you feeling like screaming at the sky.

"I said drop it, Joel" you seethe, "you may be old, but you're not deaf"

"And you may be young" his fingers remove the glasses from your face, your wary eyes in exhibit, "but y'r too bold"

They stay there, on your face, his rough fingertips touching your soft sun-kissed skin.

You don't know why you do it, but you do.

You get up, your legs on his face. Until then, you don't realize how close you two were.

"I'm not bold, Joel" you whisper, "I'm scared"

And then you jump.

The world reduces to a blur, body as light as a feather. The sensation of falling is familiar and you don't know why.

It's barely a second, like a blink.

The cold water hitting your body brings you back to reality.

You can't see, it's all dark. But you feel free: you may be underwater, but over him.

You feel like you got the upper hand, but then the water starts moving and a huge splash next to you makes you look back.

Joel jumped too.

"What are you doing?!" you shout.

What are you doing to me? What do you want from me? What will you do to me?

"Takin' a splash" he answers, like it's obvious.

"You know what I meant" your tone is rather spiteful.

"And you had'a teach me" he's again in front of you, barely inches away, "so I guess we're both dissapointed we didn't get what we wanted"

There's water dripping from his hair, falling to his face. Water drops adorn his eyelashes, warm eyes deeper than ever, and you feel like drowning even as your body floats.

"And what do you want?" you challenge, the question implying only so much.

His lips clash into yours, hungry like a wolf. Your hands immediately grip his neck for support as his tongue forcefully gets inside of you, water droplets filling your taste buds. You gasp for air, all of your body pressed against his.

"That answer y'r question?" tone defiant, as if he's also a player on this game that's just started.

You just don't know yet how much you've got to loose.

It was summer when he became yours.

You'd never anticipated coming back home as much as now.

The lingering feeling of his scruffy beard against yours, back pressed against the walls of the shed at midnight while he devoured your lips in a hungry kiss has stayed with you since you left the cabin, trapped in the salt air. Now you're coming back for more, butterflies in the low of your belly as you remember his words:

"When y'get back, I'll have ya' a surprise"

You park at your house, searching for the keys under the rug, but they aren't there. You knock to no answer, so you call your dad and mom, only for both of the calls to go directly to voicemail. Yes, you came a day earlier than planned, but your parents are always home the week you arrive, so something must be going on.

Before you worry, a voice behind you says:

"Ain't nobody inside. Y'r folks went out"

It's Joel, looking as good as the last day you saw him. Just to taste him again, you were complaint on every single of his requirements, one being no contact. He claimed he didn't want to distract you back at college, and you didn't ask any more questions, afraid you'd press a wrong button and loose what felt like a dream.

"Really?" you walk out of your porch to where he is, resisting the urge to kiss him in the middle of your neighbourhood's street.

"Hmh" he nods, "said they ain't comin' back soon"

"They told you so?" you question, "why do I feel you had something to do with it?"

"Ain't do shit" he crosses his arms, the t-shirt sleeves making his arm muscles more prominent. He then coughs, "just recommended y'r dad a nice restaurant outside town. Maybe they'll be later than night, traffic is kinda packed at late"

You smile, "Joel?"

He doesn't look at you, "yes?"

You fail to suppress a giggle, "did you just get rid of my parents?"

"No" he answers, stern. "Now" he looks around, all doors closed, "why don't 'cha come inside? Sun is hittin' hard"

He's a terrible liar.

As soon as you enter his house, you can't believe you've never been there before, visits usually in your house.

It's exactly what you expected: a simple and sober decoration that hides a welcoming feeling somewhere. There's something else you notice: the lack of pictures.

"Make yourself comfortable" he says, coughing, looking akward all of a sudden. You want to laugh and coo his now insecure demeanor, shy in your present. If he seemed sure before, he doesn't anymore. "I''ll get ya' some water"

"Joel?" your voice comes out low, equalling a purr. His cock twitches in his pants at the way you call him.

"Yes?" he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"I hope you didn't bring me into your house just for a glass" then you sit on the couch, the small short you're wearing riding up your thighs. "Besides, I'm not thirsty"

He doesn't move, almost as if he's lost the ability to react; in a trance.

"What do you want?" voice deep, like he'd give you anything you ask.

"Have you forgot already, old man?" you quip. "You promised me something" even if your voice is steady, your fingers tremble when you start un-buttoning your shirt, "and I'm waiting for it"

If he could drool like a dog, he would. He slowly gets closer to you, until he's towering over your sitting figure.

"Ya' think it's funny tempting me like that, sugar? Playing with an old fuck as me like that?"

You whimper, resolve melting quickly. "N-no" you feel ashamed, hand ready to button yourself again until his hand grabs yours, stopping you from doing so.

"I'm sorry, sugar" he raises your body swiftly, making you stand up. "Actions have consequences, and I'm gonna teach ya' some"

When his lips land on yours, you feel you've reached heaven again. His mouth easily know your roads, traveling to every spot he can to deepen the kiss. He eats you out like he's starved, sweat starting to pool in your foreheads. He grabs you by the waist, pulling your closer if possible, your chest clashing against his pecs. His heart hammers against you, and that's all you hear aside your raggedy breaths and famished clashing. You grab his hair again, feeling the soft texture under your fingers. Joel moans against your lips when you bite his, something a friend told you to do, and it's proven to work.

"Where'd you learn that, huh?" you taste like strawberries, the proof on his now coated shiny lips and your disheveled gloss. His grip turns stronger, "thought ya' were innocent, little vixen"

"I still am" you avoid his gaze, and even if his hold falters, when you look again into his eyes, there's a flame burning in them. "But I want you to have it, Joel"

"Sugar-" starts, condescending.

"Don't" you immediatly cut him off. "I'm an adult, I know what I want"

"I just want ya' to be sure" but his cock is already hard, "don't want ya' to regret it"

"I could never regret you, Joel" you whisper.

He picks up your body, that despite the years, is still as strong as ever. He goes up the stairs, looking at you so lovingly, you feel like anything is possible.

Maybe this is how it feels like.

He softly drops you onto the mattress, that dips under your weight. You place yourself against the bed head, and when Joel gets in, it creaks.

"I'm gonna make ya' feel so good, sugar. I promise" he slurs, "Now be a good girl and open up for me"

Your part your legs, and he's taking down your shorts until your lingerine is exposed. With wandering fingers, he traces your inner thights, delighted at the way you squirm under his touch. He then travels to your pussy, the clothe the only thing separating him from your bare cunt.

"Has anyone eat ya' down here before?" he can smell your arousal, seeing the wet spot in the middle of your panties. He's salivating at the fresh meal. You deny, embarrased, but he seems content at that, "those dumb college boys haven't treated you right? Then lemme show y'how a real man's supposed to eat ya'"

He strips you off your panties, landing somewhere on the floor. You shudder at the sudden breeze on your bare core.

"Already drippin' for me?" he softly laughs, "we ain't even started"

He dives down, the rough of his facial hair sending tickles through your body. He gives a small lick at first, as if testing. When you let out a small moan, he feels invencible. He keeps the ministrations going, more cute sounds escaping your lips. He wants to hear more of them, addicted to the sound, heat pooling when he remembers he's the one causing them.

"Liking it, sugar?" he stops to ask, his voice provoking more vibrations that hit your core in a pleasant way.

"D-don't stop" you plead in the middle of a whine.

He eats you like a madman. Slurping and sloshing sounds bounce off the walls, your hands gripping his greying locks tightly as his face pushes further into your puffy heat, sucking on the sensitive clit. With his filthy mouth, he takes on of the lips on his mouth, robbing a loud groan out of you.

"Your pussy, God" his breath fans against it, "tastes so good, sugar, sweet like you" he licks more, making it get wetter. You didn't know you had that in you, nothing compared to when you tried to touch yourself back at your dorm, too ashamed to try anything else.

He groans against your heat, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

He then gets up, showing you his thick digits like one shows something new to a baby, "guess what?" you have no idea, and your innocent doe eye'd gaze makes him squirm at the thought of being the first to touch untainted territories (in many ways).

"M' gonna finger you baby, okay? I promise's gonna feel good" Joel assures as he slowly inserts one of his fingers. You arch your back as you felt his fingers in your warm walls. He then puts another, thick fingers in and out of your pussy, your arousal dripping down his wrist. You squirm and whine, thighs shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. There's a weird tension happening down there. "J-Joel" you pant, "I feel-" 

"Let it go, sugar" he doesn't stop, "I'm here for ya' and y'r sweet cunt"

Liquid soon gushes out. "Fuck" he curses. You shy away and looking everywhere but his eyes. 

"Feels good?" you nodded incoherently, "wanna feel even better?"

He gets rid of his pants, the silhoutte hard under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it.

"Joel..." you call his name, hesitant. Fuck, he's so horny he could care less if he's too big for your first.

"We'll go slow" he leans forward to kiss your forehead, "I know'll take it"

"O-okay" you're still not sure and a bit afraid, but you want him, so you surrender to him.

You feel something heavy go inside your folds. You look down to see his enormous cock sliding in between your tight walls, the skin glistening in your slick,round tip leaking with his precum.

"Tell me" he's soft on you, despite what you're doing, "I'll stop if it hurts"

It does. It burns: how your cunt tries to adapt to his girth, stretching in a painful but delicious feeling.

"N-no" your voice comes out strained, drops of blood falling into the sheets, "keep going"

"Such a greedy thing are ya'?" Joel laughs, truly laughs, the rich sound coming deep from his chest, "what would daddy say?"

"Shut up" you bite, holding onto his shoulders for stability. Please, don't let me fall.

Half way in, he pulls out before diving back in, helping you adjust to his size slowly. Your eyes are trained on the way his cock disappears inside your leaking pussy.

"Should'I keep goin'?" he asks.

"K-keep going" you say softly, and with that, he gently starts inching into you.

"Good girl" he coos.

His cock stretches out your virgin hole perfectly, like it was meant for him. He feels himself melting at the sight of you, something to worry about later. Not now, when your breath hitches as he fills you up. Your cunt fit snug around his length, like you were made for him.

Joel drops his head on your shoulder as he fully entered you, tired, his energy not as much as when he was young. Beads of summer sweat shimmer in your bodies, as not only that but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his dick make you warm.

Joel takes in a moment to see the mess he's made of you: parted lips, shut eyes, nails digging on his neck. You were deep in pleasure: because of him. His dick twitches at that, and inside of you, it makes you whimper.

"M' gonna start movin', 'kay? Tell me if it's too much"

His weight presses over your body before starting to pull out and push back in. The thrusts start slow, soon picking up a rhytmic pace. Joel grips your hips with his rough big hands, to then start fucking into you.

"Mhm" you whine.

"Mhm, what? Use your words, sugar"

"I-it feels so good, Joel" despite the pain, despite the doubts, the haze is so envolving, he's made of you a moaning mess, drunk in pleasure; the feeling of him inside of you has you seeing stars.

"Y-you feel good too, baby" he pants, your pussy gushing at each thrust. He starts going harder, making you scream.

"Who you belong to, sugar?" his hot breath pours in your ear, "say it"

"You, Joel" you whisper the answer like a sacred oath, "Just you. I'm all yours"

Before you can say anything else, his dick touches a spot within you. Such a sweet spot, that has you moaning and feeling something unlike anything you've experienced before: it washes over you as you clamp down on him. You hear yourself cry, voice barely recognizable. Your vision goes blurry, then mind blank.

Joel groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his cock, drooling with your juice.

"Such a nice girl for me, sugar. Did so well" he whispers, and a dark tought crosses his mind. He feels dirty, taking advantage of your age and naivety, your figure still half-gone, "think you want me, all of me?"

You nod, still out of your mind, and before you can process the real meaning of his words, hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you. Joel presses his lips into yours to shut your moans, kissing you hard.

"You good?" you can only nod, still in shock, the events dawning over you. "Don't worry, I'll buy ya' a pill before your folks come back"

The sun shines outside; there's still time. You just wonder how much.

It was autumn when he said I love you.

Yellow and orange leaves fall in the roads not taken as you've fallen for Joel.

Ever since summer, you've been waiting for the next time to see him: sleeping with him being the last thought, touching yourself to his voice on your mind, drawing hearts in the bylines of your notes. His figure, first a dream, then a fleeting hope and now a high you need to feel once again, because you can't let go of the way he fucked you, your cries of pleasure, how your walls stretched for him and the way he held you that afternoon and the next nights you escaped your house, crossing the street under the moonlight, hiding as a criminal.

But you'd do anything to feel him, his heart beating against your chest like it was yours to bear. You need to see him, so you're doing the most stupid choice of your life.

There's a pause after you knock, and then Joel opens his door.

"Sugar!" he looks surprised, then angry and finally scared. "The fuck you doin' here? Ain't you supposed to come 'til winter?"

"I couldn't wait" you whine in desperation, clinging onto him like a koala. You'd searched for something, anything, that smelled like him back at the city, but even his flannel shirt you'd stolen had started to loose its smell.

He looks around, "do your-"

"No" you pause, "they don't know I'm here"

He curses under his breath, realizing just how much you're deep in this. He's fucked: fucked because he'll comply even if he knows this has to stop.

"I have the keys" you pick the dirt under your nails, a nervous habit of yours, "for the cabin"

Joel remembers last spring, how he ate you inside the walls of the shed, wishing for more. More came the next summer, and now you're hear again, looking at with with that look he hates: like you'd burn the world just to keep him warm.

"How'd you do that?"

"Took them last summer" you reveal your plan all along, "just in case" yet you had already made your mind before leaving town.

"Damn it, sugar" he's speechless, "you're fucking crazy"

You giggle despite the uneasiness creeping up, "just for you, Joel"

He takes you to the cabin on his car, yours already there. And you'd walked to his house? You have indeed, lost your mind.

"What're we supposed to do?" he thinks out loud.

You groan, "I don't know, Joel. But I didn't drive miles just for you to stand there"

He can't lie and say he hasn't thought about you: your lashes, soft when closed; the way his room still smelled like you even after two weeks of your parting, or how the sun seemed to highlight all your perfect spots. He even thinks of you on his bathroom while he grabs his dick, fucking himself to the memorized song of your moans and uneven breaths as he pulled in and out of you.

"Then get inside" he's demanding, and your panties wet at the tone and the voice you missed so much, "it's cold out'ere"

As soon as you close the door, he's grabbing your face with force, that it almost seems like two people fighting, not two who missed each other.

"Joel" you mumble, breathless.

"Missed ya' so much, sugar" he confesses against your lips. A trail of saliva hangs; silver of hope. "It was killin' me"

"I missed you too, Joel" you deepen the kiss, tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. "Couldn't stop thinking about you"

"Yeah?" he sits on the living room's couch, creaking under the sudden weight. "Tell me what that pretty head of yours was thinkin'"

"You" in a heartbeat, and you see his gaze go from dark to something else, lurking behind; you're scared to find out what it is.

Joel motions you to come over. You take your shoes and pants off, siting on his lap.

"Yeah-?" his voice falters, "tell me what"

"How our names sound together, how pretty you are..." you wander. "I also thought about you, all of you, inside of me"

"Watch that filthy mout of yours, sugar" he chastises but there's no anger behind his reprimand, "one summer bouncing on my cock an' y'r already a needy slut"

You whine at his words, rubbing yourself against his tight.

"D-don't" he undoes his belt and jeans, leaving only his underwear. Your desperate fingers pull them down, revealing his already pulsating cock, "don't tease this ole' man and just do the real thing"

He lets you use him, his hips rocking forwards despite his creaking bones, your swollen clit dragging against his pelvis. He sees your face, how you bite your lip as you test your needs, fucking yourself while you ride him. He lets you because: one, he's old and tired, and two, he wants to see you until he's memorized every small detail of your face. He lets you edge yourself close, crying as you feel it coming, but then he plants his feet onto the wooden floor, his boots making a hollow sound that echoes through the walls, the only other sound aside your cries, and thrusts his length up into you.

You yelp at the sudden sensation of his cock inside of you again.

"Think I'd let ya' have it all?" he mocks, "need to fuck y'r pretty pussy too; gotta have it for myself. Would ya' let me?"

You can't deny him anything.

"Yes, Joel" his hands immediatly grab your hips with a pressure so strong, you fear there'll soon be a bruise there. His cock buries fully within you. The air fills with a strong scent, just your moans and his grunts bouncing off the walls, soon warming up from the cold, the crease of his eyebrow pronounced as he realeases, coating your folds with his cum.

"God, sugar" he sounds a bit embarrased, "look at you, makin' me cum so fast"

But he's too enamoured by the sight of you on top of him, still riding him despite his quick orgasm, so he cups your face gently, the beads of sweat on your forehead falling into his hand. He feels more alive than ever, like his life has just started. Oh, he can picture it: coming home to the smell of your food, kissing the absence of the day off your mouth, to then bend you over the counter. He wants so much more, but he knows it can't be, yet, he's far too gone to even think about turning around.

You lift your hips until his cock slips out of you, using your fingers to bring it back. His cum clings to your folds as you sink back down, hips barely lifting you back up before you keep him buried inside of you. He loves watching you slide down his length, slipping in and out of your puffy cunt as his cock softens. It pushes his cum back into your cunt, sticky over your clit as it drips to your thighs.

You did bring a pill this time, so you don't care of the mess his thick flood of cum that dribbles out of you has made on your pussy and his clothes.

"Fuck" you let out, sex-filled mind speaking up. "Don't ever leave me again"

"I won't" he answers hastily, then regrets it. But you don't know that.

Instead, numbness takes over your body, the events of last hours finally draining your body. Sleep settles in, and you nest your head on Joel's sweaty shoulder.

"Lemme take you to bed" you hear his half-drowned voice, carrying your body to the main bedroom.

Joel Miller was always a mystery to you: a man who seemed impossible to break, his world hiding behind a permanent scowl. It felt like his heart was locked, seemingly unbreakable, but where he was rough, his edges had softened for you.

He places you over the bed softly, dipping next to you. Joel's strong arms embrace you, pulling your tired figure closer. His face hides in your neck and his soft belly pushes against the curve of your back, all while he presses a soft kiss to it.

"I think I love you" he murmurs to no one in particular.

But you hear.

It was winter again, when he broke your heart.

Before the holidays, you'd drop by every other weekend. Cancelling plans, waiting for his call. For his grave voice to say Come over, and you'd speed up the brakes with an urgency only he had taught you.

You'd find yourself in the cabin, loosing track of time that rushed like a bottle of wine. Kissing until your mouth was swollen and the only thing that satisfied your hunger was his lips, fucking until sunrise and his bones ached. He'd then offer a tired smile, and you'd sing a soft tune in front of the fireplace while cuddling.

They say home is where the heart is. And it felt like one.

It was during one of those escapades that you showed up with your newest adquisition: a small cursive J just above your thigh, hiding under the plaid of your skirt.

It was your first fight. He shouted at you like he had never before, scolding you like a father would to a naive kid, the hatred you hadn't seen since he touched you that night a year ago, resurfacing.

"We're loosing ourselves" his voice cracked, sounding defeated. But then he'd suck the skin around it until it turned red.

The back and forth became the only thing keeping you alive, the need for his touch as addictive and destructive as a drug.

Which is why Christmas hadn't felt this jolly since being a kid.

You're back, and as you hug your dad and mom, you scour the place for his face: the one you've grown to yearn and love.

Your dad exchanges a glance with your mother and then looks at you weirdly before answering.

"He isn't coming; I thought you knew"

You don't care about the future explanations or the calls of your name, storming off and crossing the street to his place.

"Joel!" you shout, knocking desperately, "open the door!"

When you don't get an answer, you search for the spare key hiding under a pot in the porch. As you make your way inside, you spot Joel sitting in front of the fireplace, his eyes lost in the fire.

"Joel" you softly call his name. At that, he snaps, standing up. His eyes glow with the flames, circling in doubt.

"Sugar?" like he didn't expect you to actually search him on his absence, "what'd doing here?"

"I could ask you the same" you laugh, sardonically. "Don't know how I'll explain running off like that, so thanks, by the way"

"M' sorry"

The words fall heavy in the air, suddenly thick. Something tells you he isn't apologizing exactly for that.

There's something like guilt and fear simmering in his eyes. You think about all those times in the cabin, spring and autumn, and you're reminded of those three words he's said and you haven't. The realization hits you, and you're quick to reach him, grabbing his hand.

"Joel?" you call again. "I- I need to tell you something"

"So do I" but he sounds reluctant, "you go first"

"I don't know what's happening" your lip quivers, eyes glossy. God, he feels terrible, "but I want you to know that I love you"

He gasps, like you've slapped him across the face.

"No" he starts, pushing you away. He lets go of your hand, and the sudden cold hits you.

"I thought I still had time..." his shoulders slump in defeat, "guess I'm wrong"

"What do you mean?" anger and sadness flood your words.

"You can't love me" the words cut through you, and you're sick.

Sick of your rusting wheels that only move when he tells you to. Because that force, the dominance, Joel Miller seems to carry over the rest of the people, doesn't cut as deep as it cuts through you.

It's almost done with a benevolent authority, like he knows of said power and doesn't want to abuse it.

So now he's ordering you to stop loving him, like this year has meant nothing. Nothing.

"Love, funny word" your words carry rage, "do you even know what that means?" you try to hold back the tears in vain, "you don't, yet you say them so freely, like they mean nothing to you" he makes a surprised face, and you savour the pain reflected on his face, alike of yours. "Yes, I heard you, Joel. Y-you made me the happiest girl on the planet, but now I realize you're so full of shit"

You turn around, trying not to see his face, because you know that the more you look at him, the more seconds you add and the harder it would be to erase the memories you'll have to burn.

"Did you ever love me, Joel?" it pains you to whisper out loud.

"I love you, sugar" his voice is horse, like something had cut through it. "That's why I'm doing this"

"Are you, Joel?" you sigh, "if you loved me, wouldn't you want me to stay?"

"This won't end well" it's his answer, trying to reason, "I don't want to hold you back"

Coward. Asshole. Idiot.

Your tone is icy like the storm outside, "but it's already ended"

He's about to speak but you cut him off.

You can only smile. "I've given you everything and you took it. I really thought you were giving me your everything, but I realize now, that I know what you are. You don't need to hide it" he looks at you like it is you who's hurted him the most, "you're hard to love, Joel. But I tried"

He'll regret it. You know and you want to: you want him to feel the empty days blur with one another, that he remembers late at night what you had and he ended, so when he feels alone, the ghost of your free love haunts him with the happy days and sweet taste of your lips. Just then, he'll understand what your year of loving really meant.

You leave his house empty, a knife twisted in your heart. He's the only one who's got the key, and you know it will be long until anyone else can break it open.

But it's okay: if being with Joel was heaven, you'll happily burn in the flames of what's left.

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @tomshiddles

[cherlawa-panna]

NOOO I FORGOT THAT FRANCIS HAD BARNEY'S HAIR CURSE 😭 Not too bad as Barney because it happened once, but STILL. My man changes his hair color in the middle of fight/conversation like his uncle lmao

I need Barney dying Francis' hair ASAP. In "nothing-bad-ever-happened" where Francis is just a normal kid, YOU BET he tried to dye his hair alone for the first time but ruined it by giving himself not the color he wanted. And Barney saw this and was like "shit, kid, gimme it before your parents get a heart attack" and fixed it.

BTW you made me realize how Francis is so similiar to Barney and Ben aaaaaa. Francis a secret love of Barney and Ben confirmed??? (jk jk I know Francis would throw out if someone said that to him lol). But seriously, the idea that Francis looks so much like Ben is kinda killing me. Imagine if Ben got bald because of old age at some point and Francis has a panic attack because "WHAT IF HE WILL GET BOLD THIS YOUNG TOO???" because Francis a little copy of Ben so he's so worried 😭

Also I can't with Francis not knowing who is Bobbi. I think I saw it somewhere that Francis is in fact Bobbi's child?? But I'm not sure where or if it's canon. But if it's true then WHY CLINT DIDN'T MAKE SURE THAT FRANCIS KNOW ABOUT BOBBI???? Because if she's not around then she's for sure dead 'cuz SHE WOULDN'T ABANDON CLINT WITH A CHILD, HELLO??? Clint I just want to talk, CLint why are you running, CLINT-

Anywayyyy, Ash aAAAAAAAAAA. My beloved, gods. When I'll finish my planned posts with Barney I would lovve to analyze her because she's so perfect ugh. Not suprising, she has good genes (aka Kate Bishop's genes).

"Francis: Okay sis so you owns a kingdom and I have to share my room with James Futzing Rogers." I'M CACKLING.

Clint and his pancakes <333 you made me want to listen to the podcast AGAIN

Yess let's put Nadia and her friends here too. Since Bobbi is co-parenting her with Janet, I bet Janet was like "you have them on the weekend, I need a time for myself" and Bobbi was like "ok" and got them into the most bizzare road trip ever. Unless we want to bring Janet too and have Janet vs. Clint drama where they fight for Bobbi's heart because Janet x Bobbi is almost a canon. I mean, the writer of The Unstoppable Wasp made them look suspiciously gay on purpose:

i'm kinda mad that they're not official canon. If Clint can have a lot of partners after their divorce then Bobbi should have too.Lance Hunter is not enough.

"Barney: I don’t think this damn car can get anymore crowded, I’m gonna shove someone into trunk" wait Barney until Clint invite Simone and her kids, because they're family too. Then you'll be forced to sit on the roof of car since there wouldn't be much of space <3 (I'm the true believer of Simone x Barney, I'm not even sorry. LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE TOGETHER)

(I'm pretty sure they forgot to color Barney's hand on her waist btw, because she has a weird bump on her side lol)

Barney doesn't want to bring Simone into Clint's bullshit but Simone is already packing her suitcases because this lady wouldn't never say 'no' to a free vacation. All of them would need to buy their own bus because there's too much people here HJHJHDJHFDBFJBDFJ

I never heard about Alkhema so I'm gonna need to check her out for sure. She sounds cool lol

"Barbara who goes by Bobbi🤝 Natasha who goes by Ash🤝Charles who goes by Barney" they're so family coded i can't.

Ben who is forced against his will into "forgiving her absent sister" arc and to travel with people who killed other people:

"And I think they at least accidently(really?) left Barney and Francis at the gas station once. " Francis was too busy choosing snacks at gas station so they forgot about him and Barney argued with Bobbi and she left his ass on purpose 😭

@cherlawa-panna

Ohhhhhhhhh Thaaaaanks!!!! I’m sooooooo happy you like our bumping road trip!!! (Sobbing and Screaming)

I always hc that Francis (surely can be flirty and talkative) would totally be outshone by his chatterbox sarcastic parents，he’d be so happy to see Clint again and surprisingly finds his other parent is a total badass legend hero, but in 3 days my boy’s gonna be annoyed to d’eath by our birds’ jokes and all sorts of dog person behaviors.

And srsly, we have 4 Francis in 4 different universe and looked like 4 different people. 

(His babyface looks very Bobbi to me and he wears black n white in the cartoon movie)

And this dude from #2-5 Avengers (2010) is a gloomy statue like Uncle Ben.

Another Francis from #9-14 in Avengers World. One of the issues his hair’s painted auburn.

(Seems he has no idea who’s Bobbi, and what’s an aberration??? marvel! I need his full backstory!!)

Lil ‘dude just looked like Uncle Barney, and 3 issues later he’s blonde again.

guess boy loves dyeing his hair like his uncle.

Bobbi to Francis: This boy’s basically my brother (looks) 

Clint to Francis: This boy’s basically my brother (personality)

Barney to Francis：The kid’s basically sulky Clint (when I left him leg in a cast at Circus) but 10 times worse, pretty sure he’s gonna assassinate me when I doze off. (cause you use him as cushion)

Looks like Ash uses compound bow and Francis uses recurve bow. I heard people who use compound bow and people who use recurve bow don’t get along (Due to Clint’s influence on me since elementary school, I have a recurve bow and do archery sometimes but ain’t familiar with the archery community). 

Anyway I guess Francis and Ash are fine. Ash would love a slightly younger sibling and Francis’s jaw would drop when hearing about Ash’s story and somehow she’s a queen in their trash world now (yeah way cooler than a teen rebel leader sorry bro)

Francis: Okay sis so you owns a kingdom and I have to share my room with James Futzing Rogers.

Bobbi to Ash: OMGShe’s so Kate.

Clint to Ash: OMGShe’s so Kate.

Ash: bc Kate’s my birth mom, who I know nothing about til a few days ago she showed up when my Clint tried kill Zemo the King but now I’m Zemo, yep it’s complicated never mind let’s go karaoke!

From the podcast we get some cute domestic Clint even though he went paranoid later and sought revenge (also to protect Ash). Clint used to cook her breakfasts and they had different pancakes depending on which day it is, he remembered who Ash went to 1st grade with even after he left Roberta and Ash for 10 years. He’s described gentle and caring😭 So I guess having Clint’s barbecue would bring her memories back. (baby you deserve all the happily ever after)

Imaging how happy a chef he’d be when cooking for his loved ones🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Since Roberta’s personality is a little different from our Bobbi (I get it, in the podcast both Clint and Kate are a bit on edge so they need someone more stable. But still, hearing she and Ash arguing and Ash calls Clint a diva is killing me.)

Ash would see our Bobbi more like a hella fun big sis and Bobbi would call on Nadia and Ying to join the crew (Don’t worry Ying’s gonna stop them before those three burn someone’s house down)

(Barney: I don’t think this damn car can get anymore crowded, I’m gonna shove someone into trunk)

Bobbi and Clint would show Ash and Francis videos of Lucky and Ka-Zar the corgi then force their kids to choose whose puppy’s cuter.

If we expand the family, Alkhema(the evil robot based on Bobbi’s brain pattern) can also count as one (horribly)

She’s gonna go “Hiyyya kids” and gets beaten by the kids bc Nadia and Ying were assassins, Ash hates Ultron in her world as gov surveillance and Francis just wants to burn every Ultron-like thing up.

Barbara who goes by Bobbi🤝 Natasha who goes by Ash🤝Charles who goes by Barney

Ben: Okay Bobbi so your boyfriend we met embarrassingly last time is actually your husband you knew for 9 days then you proposed and divorced and died and divorced and got back together and you have two teen kids from other universes (clearly there are other universes👌) one leads rebels in his universe the other disguises as the dictator in hers, but neither of them knows who you are and the grumpy man sitting next to me was once a mob person, supervillain, terrorist I guess I’m fine totally fine.

And I think they at least accidently(really?) left Barney and Francis at the gas station once. 

Barney: I could have been wasting my life sunbathing on my own island as always Clint owes me big.

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

Routine V

Mini Series

Wanda Maximoff x fem wife!reader

Summary: Routines can get tiring quickly, especially when you’re the only one working towards keeping them.

A/n: We meet again friends. I am very happy to be updating this fic once more. Also happy to inform that I have found a direction in which to take it!!! I hope you enjoy reading it.

Word count: 1400 approx

She was at a crossroads, there was nothing that she could do to stop you from leaving. She hadn’t stopped pacing the room since you left. That's when she saw it… Her saving grace. Maybe if she did this one thing she could at least open the door if not maybe just unlock it, something. At this point that was definitely better than nothing. Your passport and what looked like important papers were left sitting on the kitchen counter. You had left in a furious haze, something was meant to be left behind. You just didn’t think it would be your passport and work visa. That was the one thing that you thought you had in lock, the one thing that you couldn't forget… And you forgot it. Truthfully you knew that something was missing the moment that you stepped into the car with Kate, but you chalked it up to the stress that Wanda had caused.   

There was a time that anything that remotely felt like a fight was a no go. You never wanted to fight with Wanda, nothing about arguing with her seemed pleasant. In the beginning it was obvious she was scared and all of it was new. You danced around obvious issues the two of you had. One issue was a rather big one being Vision. It was strange their connection. It was something you knew would have easily gone the other way had you not been in the picture. They understood each other; you felt like the odd man out in your own relationship with her. It wasn’t until you exploded one day that the issue was addressed. Thinking back Wanda should have seen this coming. It almost ended the relationship before it really even began. She was tempted to call you, she really was. But she’d just crossed a very big boundary. Instead she texted Kate.

Her text was read almost immediately the text bubble kept appearing but nothing was sent. Wanda instead sent another message. ‘I’ll meet you at the gate, lose Y/n for a minute and I’ll give you her passport.’ She only received a thumbs up and she was on her way. It was high time Wanda started taking action. She wasn’t going to fail you now. 

You were lying. You had no idea where you got the confidence from but it was a complete lie. You loved her so much it hurt. She didn’t read your mind that time and it hurt that she believed you. Tears welled in your eyes, this day wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to leave peacefully, and now you had no idea what you were doing. She shook you. Wanda came into your life and turned it upside down and now she’s done it again. It was rough. Kate had been fidgety for the past twenty minutes. “Are you okay?” You managed to get the words out. She stilled wide eyed. “Uhm shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You hummed. “Probably… I’m just tired of the same thing over and over again.” You sighed. “There are so many things that I wanted to say. But she was right in front of me and the words disappeared.” Kate nodded, her eyes still fixed on the road. 

“Do you think… that uhm you’ll get back together?” She asked the obvious question. It only made your shoulders deflate more. Not because she asked, “It’s not up to me.” but because of how pitiful the answer was. And it was entirely up to her. You hadn't even been able to bring yourself to draft the papers. The fear that she’d actually sign them still managed to keep you up at night. What if she did, what then? “My heart… it aches constantly. Like something was ripped from me.” Kate cleared her throat. “You’re leaving Y/n… You're going abroad for god knows how long.” You nodded. “How else can I show her what she’s doing to me? Years Kate I’ve put up with it for years.” Kate nodded. “I did not suffer in silence, I let her know at every turn how she was compromising us.” Your words were laced with anger and conviction. And so quickly the sadness gave way to raw anger.  

Wanda felt she should have thought this entire situation out more. Here she was in her car on her way to the airport, filled with hundreds if not thousands of people. And the most daunting part being that you’re unaware. Her mind was already starting to hold her hostage. She made the treck mostly on autopilot. Then there was the whole getting through security, nothing her powers couldn’t handle. Only she somehow couldn’t. She had not felt this lack of control since ultron, she was tripping where she had learned repeatedly not to. It was overwhelming navigating through the masses of people trying to get to their flights, homes, families. Everyone's thoughts traversed constantly. Eventually and not without struggle she had found Kate, near a coffee shop.

“Finally! I thought you’d make this hard for me.” Kate’s words washed right through her. The only thing she could hear now was an angry ring, mocking her. She shook her head softly trying to dissipate the sound. Then she stilled, she could sense it. Her powers out of pure reflex sought you out. And another pang of sadness ran through her. She’d never been able to sense your anger. A slap in the face a testament as to how unwelcome she truly was. A tug at her arm brought her back. She was clutching your passport in her hand. The folder already in Kate’s possession. Kate sighed. “Are you okay?” She relented and finally asked the question. That seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she was in. She let go of the Passaport like it burned her. Kate noticed her distress and asked again. “My powers… are acting up, I'll be fine.” Kate nodded, not fully convinced. 

Kate had decided she’d throw Wanda a life line. She did not think someone could make a change so drastically in a matter of hours. This Wanda that was standing in front of her was not the same one she witnessed yell indignantly at you. This Wanda looked defeated, vulnerable. “She’s still waiting for you…” Kate said. Taking the woman in, and for a moment she wasn’t sure Wanda had heard her. Then tears started rolling down her face. “I don’t think she is…” the words came out tersely and clipped. “She's angry, she has every right to be. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s waiting… so give her time.” Kate sighed, taking a step back. “Fight for her…” She turned on her heel and walked away. Wanda seconds later managed to do the same. Her resolve slowly cemented.

Kate made her way back just as you started looking for her. She looks slightly flushed. Two coffees in hand, a folder tucked in between her arm and torso. Your eyes widened at the sight. “I didn’t even realize I was missing that!” You exclaimed. Taking a cup out of her hand, and the folder at the same time. “Kate, you're a lifesaver.” She nodded, taking a long sip of her drink. Then silence followed, you could have sworn you felt something. It made your heart race. You remembered the familiar feeling. A slight fuzz just out of reach in your mind. You couldn’t help but look around. Could it be, or was it just her lingering in your mind. Then once again Kate brought you back into the present. “Here your boarding group is about to be called.” Kate pulled you up from your seat making toward the line now forming.

Right as your ticket was scanned. She pulled you to the side slightly. “Promise you’re coming back.” You managed a small smile. “I will, I don’t think your mother will keep me away forever.” You joked. Keeping an eye on the people boarding. Kate nodded trying to reassure herself. “You forgot your passport… she brought them here. That's why I was gone for a minute.” Your heart started racing. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.” Then before you could even respond an airline worker was ushering through into the boarding tunnel. The last thing Kate managed to say was for you to call her when you landed. 

A/n: Please leave a like if you liked it!!! Late because I completely forgot to schedule. :(

Tag list: @fxckmiup @username23345 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ 

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Pinecone Emergency - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

bye i meant to save this to my drafts but accidentally posted it earlier😭

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.65k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Haymitch is twenty paces ahead, cackling like he just committed a war crime.

“Coward!” you yell, breathless.

He doesn’t turn around—just yells back, “Not my fault you can’t handle the truth!”

“You said my tea tasted like swamp water!”

“I was being generous!”

Your hands curl into fists. “You’re a menace to society!”

“And you’re slow,” he calls, veering suddenly left through a patch of brush.

You curse, stumble, and dive after him, leaves snagging your arms and twigs snapping underfoot. You don’t even know what this chase is about anymore—some combination of insults, spilled flour, and a dare to “fight me like a man, Abernathy.”

You don’t catch him, of course. He’s wiry and fast for someone who claims to be ancient. By the time you both collapse onto a sunlit patch of grass near the edge of the woods, you’re panting and dizzy with laughter.

“You’re the worst,” you gasp, flopping onto your back.

He drops down beside you, smug. “And you’re still laying there instead of doing something about it.”

You elbow him in the ribs. “Only because murder is illegal.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You glance over at him, hair sticking to your forehead, chest still heaving with breath. “Why do you always have to start something?”

Haymitch throws an arm across his face, grinning. “Because you always finish it. Eventually. After a tantrum.”

You lunge for him.

Haymitch scrambles to his feet, laughter tearing out of him in broken wheezes as you jump on his back like a deranged Koala.

“You absolute gremlin—” he chokes out, trying to shake you off.

“You started it!” you shout, clinging to him like revenge personified.

“I made one comment—”

“You said my tea was swamp water!”

“Technically I said it was generously swamp-inspired.”

You dig your heel into his stomach, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Violent!” he accuses.

“Deserved!”

He tumbles, both of you hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and insults. He groans like an old man, which only fuels your chaos further.

“Did I break your hip, sunshine?” you ask sweetly, breathless. The teasing nickname had stuck, you don’t even intentionally say it anymore.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps,” he mutters, face-down in the grass.

You flop beside him, laughing so hard your ribs ache. “That’s fair.”

There’s a long moment where neither of you moves—just panting and staring up at the leafy canopy above, bits of sky peeking through in soft blue slivers.

“I’m too old for this,” he mutters.

“You’re the one who ran,” you say between gulps of air. “I just… followed the chaos.”

He huffs a tired breath, face still buried in the grass. “Remind me to stop inviting myself over.”

“You never actually stop,” you mumble, grinning.

Haymitch lifts his head just enough to glance at you. His hair is sticking out in every direction and there’s a tiny leaf stuck to his temple.

You reach over and flick it off without thinking.

He squints at you. “Thanks, honey.”

Your stomach flutters like a traitor.

You study the leaves above you, willing your heart to shut up. “So,” you say, tone light, “on a scale from ‘mildly antagonistic’ to ‘full gremlin,’ how do I rank today?”

He hums, pretending to think. “You’re off the chart.”

You glance sideways. “High or low?”

“Beneath the chart,” he says solemnly. “Under the paper. In the dirt.”

“Wow.” You sigh dramatically. “And here I was thinking I was charming.”

Haymitch leans up on one elbow, looking down at you with an exasperated grin. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re grumpy.”

“And you like it.”

You go still for a heartbeat too long—then shove a blade of grass in his face. “No comment.”

He sputters, brushes it off, and flops back beside you with a groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin at the sky. “Maybe. But you’ll go out laughing.”

“Or screaming.”

“Or both.”

There’s a beat of quiet—this time not chaotic, just… easy. The grass is soft beneath you, the sunlight warm against your skin. You can hear birds somewhere deeper in the woods, the wind nudging the treetops.

You shift just slightly, your arm brushing his.

You stay there for a while, breathing in sync with the trees around you, the quiet filling in all the places where adrenaline used to be. The sun is warm on your face. The grass is prickly in that pleasant, summer-skin kind of way.

Haymitch lets out a low groan beside you, more dramatic than necessary.

“What now?” you murmur.

“Think I bruised my pride.”

You snort. “Didn’t realize you still had any.”

He turns his head just enough to glare at you. “Keep talking, honey. I’ll start charging rent for every insult.”

“You’d make more off charging per scowl.”

“Or every time you threaten my life.”

You hum. “We could pool the profits. Open a stand.”

“‘Sarcasm and Emotional Instability,’” he says. “Family-friendly hours.”

You grin up at the sky. “We’d be rich.”

There’s a beat of silence. Birds chirp somewhere overhead. A breeze moves through the grass, gentle, rustling the trees like a lullaby.

Haymitch shifts beside you, propping himself up on one elbow with a wince. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re violent.”

You glance at him, heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

He’s not looking at you—just brushing dirt off his sleeve like he didn’t say anything remotely flustering.

You recover quickly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t one,” he says.

You nudge his arm. “Liar.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You sit up with a sigh, plucking a stray leaf from your hair. “We probably look feral.”

“You are feral.”

He stands slowly with a groan, offers a hand. You take it, and for a second—just a second—his grip tightens like he’s not quite ready to let go.

But then he does.

And it’s just your hand again, and him brushing grass off his pants like he didn’t just make your heart skip in a way that should be illegal.

You try to steady yourself. “So. Tea and medical attention back at my place?”

“Only if I get first dibs on the couch,” he says.

You start walking side by side, back toward the trail. “You always get the couch.”

“That’s because I earned it,” he mutters. “Surviving you should come with a medal.”

You bump his shoulder gently. “You’d miss me if I stopped being a menace.”

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Then, quieter than usual, not looking at you: “Yeah. I would.”

You blink.

But before you can reply, he clears his throat and changes the subject entirely. “Bet your tea still tastes like swamp water, though.”

You groan. “You were doing so well.”

He smirks. “Gotta stay consistent.”

And just like that, the warmth comes back. Steady. Unspoken. Like moss beneath bare feet and sun through leaves. Like maybe, just maybe, this is how something real starts.

Even if neither of you says it out loud.

You don’t even know what you trip over.

One second, you’re walking with all the smug grace of someone who just survived a flirt-laced forest duel, and the next—

Your foot catches something stupid and invisible. The ground lurches. Your ankle twists sideways with a sharp, hot jolt of pain, and you hit the dirt with a breathless oof.

Haymitch stops so fast you nearly trip him on your way down. “What the hell—?”

“I’m fine,” you say immediately, hands braced on the ground, your voice far too loud and far too defensive to be convincing.

Haymitch raises both eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

You glare at the patch of earth like it personally betrayed you. “Something was there. It ambushed me.”

“You tripped over air.”

You wave a hand. “Violent air.”

He crouches beside you with a suspicious look. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand.” You puff up a little. “I’m not fragile.”

You go to prove it—shoving yourself upright with all the pride of a wounded raccoon—only for your weight to hit the wrong foot.

The pain spikes immediately, white-hot and fast, and you let out a sharp, shocked, “Okay yeah no, not fine—”

You drop back to the ground with a hiss, clutching your ankle.

Haymitch stares at you.

You stare at your foot like it owes you money.

Then you glance up, trying not to look like you’re in actual pain. “Maybe just… a minor sprain. A teeny one.”

“You’re full of shit.”

You scowl. “That’s rude.”

He straightens with a dramatic sigh, hands on his hips. “Do I need to carry you?”

Your entire face combusts on the spot. “No.”

“Because it’s either that or you crawl.”

You look down at your stupid, throbbing ankle. “I could… hobble.”

He’s already bending down again. “You’re gonna fall over and land on a squirrel.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Only if the squirrel sues.”

You start to argue but then he’s sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back.

“Haymitch—”

“Don’t make it weird,” he mutters.

You go very still.

He lifts you with a grunt, like you weigh absolutely nothing, which is so rude and so unfair and should not be allowed.

Your arms immediately go around his neck on instinct—definitely not because it’s nice, or warm, or because you can feel the way his chest shifts when he breathes. Definitely not.

He starts walking. “This what you wanted, honey? Dramatic rescue, carried through the woods like a romance novel heroine?”

“If you drop me, I’m taking you down with me.”

He snorts. “Noted.”

You glance up at him, face burning. “…You better not be enjoying this.”

He doesn’t look down, doesn’t even smirk. Just says, easy as anything, “Wouldn’t be carrying you if I wasn’t.”

And you absolutely do not melt like a puddle in his arms.

You don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until Haymitch kicks the door to your house open with his boot and mutters, “You alive, or do I need to check for a concussion too?”

You jolt slightly in his arms. “Sorry. Just—mentally preparing to face the embarrassment.”

“Of falling?”

“Of being carried by the grumpiest man alive.”

He smirks. “Could’ve left you in the woods.”

“I would’ve haunted you.”

He sets you down on the couch with more care than you expect, one hand lingering at your back for a second longer than necessary before he pulls away and straightens up. “Where do you keep your first aid stuff?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” you mumble, trying to keep your foot elevated without whimpering like a child.

He’s gone and back in under a minute, dropping the kit beside you and crouching down to examine your ankle. His fingers brush your skin—light, steady, a little rough from years of work and worse—and you do not flinch.

Except you absolutely do.

“You’re twitchy,” he says without looking up.

“Your hands are cold.”

“They’re not.”

“Then you’re cold.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You want help or not?”

You grumble something unintelligible, but let him peel your sock down and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling. You wince.

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” he mutters. “Just a bad sprain.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve had five.”

You blink. “You’ve had five sprained ankles?”

He shrugs, reaching into the kit. “Give or take.”

“Doing what?”

“Mostly escaping things.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t elaborate.

Then he lifts your foot slightly and presses a cold wrap against the swelling. You hiss in a breath through your teeth, grabbing a couch cushion and strangling it.

“You could’ve warned me,” you whimper.

“I did,” he says, smug. “You just talk too much.”

You kick at him with your other foot. He catches it without looking.

The room goes quiet for a second.

You don’t know why it feels weird, except—you’re holding your breath. Because his hand is still on your leg. Because he’s still crouched in front of you, eyes focused, jaw set, brows furrowed like you matter more than you should.

You look at him. Really look.

And unfortunately, your brain picks now to go: God, he’s hot.

Which is stupid, and incorrect, and illegal.

You sit up too fast. “I can do it myself.”

He looks up slowly. “You sure?”

“Yes, sunshine.”

“Because—”

“I’m fine,” you lie, grabbing the wrap and immediately fumbling it.

He watches you for maybe two seconds before he sighs and gently takes it back. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m great at this.”

“You’re trying to ice your shin.”

You scowl. “It’s adjacent to the injury.”

He wraps the ankle slowly, firmly, efficiently—and again you do not melt.

Except your whole chest is warm and fluttery and weird and why are his hands so gentle, and why does he smell like mint and woodsmoke and why is this your life now—

“You’re staring,” he says without looking up.

You blink. “I am not.”

“You’re absolutely staring.”

“Shut up.”

“I’d ask what you’re thinking, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

You cross your arms. “I’m thinking that this is very inconvenient.”

He finally looks at you. “Your ankle?”

You hesitate. “Among other things.”

His brow furrows slightly. “What does that mean?”

You panic. “Nothing!”

“Are you blushing?”

“No!”

“You’re absolutely blushing.”

“You’re delirious.”

Haymitch leans back on his heels, eyeing you. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

You throw a pillow at him. “Out!”

He dodges it effortlessly. “Not a chance.”

And somehow, in the middle of pain and denial and all the weird feelings curling up behind your ribs, you smile.

Because he’s still here.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t actually mind being carried after all.

Haymitch finishes tying off the wrap with a level of focus that borders on insulting. You’re pretty sure he’s doing it just to avoid making eye contact.

“There,” he mutters, brushing off his hands. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

You blink. “You’re leaving?”

He stands, stretching with a low groan. “I smell like sweat, dirt, and whatever horror was growing in that field. I’m going to shower.”

You look down at your wrapped ankle. “And you’re just abandoning me in my time of need?”

He points at your leg. “It’s a sprain, not a war wound.”

You scowl. “You don’t know my pain.”

He rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “Don’t move. I’ll send backup.”

You open your mouth to protest—but before you can even demand clarification, he’s already out the door.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock that doesn’t wait for permission before the door creaks open.

“Hey, Pinecone,” Peeta says, voice half-guilty, half-amused. “I come bearing moral support.”

You blink at him from your nest of blankets and drama on the couch. “He sent you?”

Peeta walks in holding a mug in each hand. “Yup. Said, and I quote, ‘I’m not worried or anything, but she’s clumsy and might try to do something dumb. Go sit on her.’”

You flush immediately. “Sit with me. He meant sit with me.”

Peeta shrugs, handing you a mug. “Who’s to say?”

You hiss into the steam rising from the mint tea. “I cannot believe this man.”

Peeta settles beside you, casual. “I can. This is very on-brand.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m going to die.”

“You sprained your ankle.”

“No, I mean emotionally.”

Peeta sips his tea. “Ah. The spiral is beginning.”

You lower your hands just enough to glare at him. “He wrapped my ankle, Peeta.”

“Yes, he did.”

“He touched my skin.”

“He does have hands.”

“He smirked at me when I blushed!”

“That tracks.”

You let out a wail. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Peeta pats your head like a tired babysitter. “There it is.”

“I thought I was doing better!” you cry, half-muffled in your hands. “I thought I was being normal!”

“You’ve never been normal.”

You throw a blanket over your face. “He touched my foot.”

“Hot.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re helpless and I’m bored.”

You collapse sideways onto the couch with a groan. “I am going to combust the next time he breathes in my direction.”

Peeta raises an eyebrow. “It’s wild that he’s the alcoholic and you’re the one making reckless declarations.”

You reach over and whack him with your pillow. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, Pinecone,” he says sweetly, then pauses. “So… how long before you admit you’re in love with him?”

You groan and stuff your face into the pillow. “Get out of my house.”

“Can’t. Doctor’s orders. I have to keep your ankle elevated and your emotional damage contained.”

You kick your good foot at him and miss.

He smiles, patient and insufferable.

You’ve gone quiet.

Peeta doesn’t press you. He just sits there, nursing his tea, waiting for whatever storm is building behind your eyes to finally crash down.

You twist the edge of the blanket in your hands.

“He’s going to get tired of me,” you say suddenly, voice flat.

Peeta frowns. “What?”

You stare ahead, not really seeing anything. “I’m annoying. I spiral. I talk too much. I insult him. He’s going to get sick of it.”

Peeta doesn’t answer right away. Just lets the silence breathe.

Then he says, gently, “He’s the one who helped you today. You didn’t make him.”

Your throat tightens. “Only because I’m a walking disaster.”

“Or,” Peeta says, “because he likes being around you and wanted to help.”

You shake your head. “No. He tolerates me. There’s a difference.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think he ties up ankle braces and throws sarcastic insults at just anyone?”

“He’s just being decent.”

“You really think Haymitch Abernathy goes around being decent for fun?”

You crack a weak, bitter smile. “Fair point.”

Peeta leans his head against the back of the couch. “Look, I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you say too quickly.

He just looks at you.

You groan. “Okay, fine. I’m terrified. Happy?”

“Not even a little.”

You press your face into your hands again. “He’s not supposed to matter this much. I’ve done so well at not letting anyone matter this much.”

“Yeah,” Peeta says, “and how’s that been working out for you?”

You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch like you could disappear into it. “I don’t know what to do. Every time he calls me honey I feel like my bones are made of bees.”

Peeta blinks. “That’s an objectively terrifying sentence.”

You make a helpless sound. “It’s your fault for feeding me cinnamon bread and reintroducing me to human emotion!”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, you’ll survive.”

“I won’t. I’m going to die of foot embarrassment and unrequited pining.”

Peeta pats your shin. “I’m sure your obituary will be very dramatic.”

You throw a pillow at him, again. “I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it forever.”

“I’ll get it printed on a mug for you.”

You pout for a moment, then whisper, “I also smell awful.”

Peeta blinks. “Okay. New spiral unlocked.”

“No, I mean—I was literally running around the woods sweating and then I fell in dirt. I can’t even shower because I’m hurt now and—ugh, kill me.”

He raises both eyebrows. “Is this where I offer to help?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Ew, no. This is where you get up and go fetch your terrifyingly competent girlfriend.”

Peeta chuckles, rising from the couch. “You sure?”

You fling a slipper at his leg. “Go. Now. Tell her to bring the strong herbs and no judgment.”

“She’ll bring at least one of those.”

As he opens the front door, you call after him, “And tell her to hurry before I dissolve into a puddle of self-loathing!”

Peeta waves over his shoulder. “She won’t be surprised.”

You’re still dramatically draped across the couch with your hair fanned out like a tragic woodland creature when the front door opens again. You crane your neck just enough to see Katniss step inside, eyes narrowed in quiet confusion.

“I heard there was an emergency,” she says flatly.

“I’m disgusting,” you say, dead serious.

Her eyebrows lift a fraction. “Right.”

“I’m covered in sweat, leaves, shame, probably a tick or two, and I can’t shower because I have a limp.” You gesture dramatically at your wrapped ankle. “It’s over for me. You have to do something.”

Katniss blinks once. “Peeta said you needed help. He did not say it was going to be this.”

You let your head flop backward with a wail. “Katniss Everdeen, if you do not take pity on my pitiful soul and help me bathe before I die of mortification, I am going to haunt you forever.”

She closes the door behind her and walks slowly into the room. “And here I thought you were emotionally stable again.”

“I was. Briefly. Until Haymitch carried me like I weighed nothing and tied my ankle up like it was nothing and smirked like it was nothing—”

“Okay,” she says, setting her herbs down. “That’s enough.”

You lift your face. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Katniss sighs like this is the hardest decision of her life. “Fine. But if you start crying about your feelings while I’m helping you scrub your back, I’m leaving.”

“Deal,” you sniff. “I’ll save the emotional breakdown for when you’re brushing out my hair.”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the bathroom. “Get your towel. And for the love of all that is green and minty, try not to fall again.”

You hobble after her like a wounded deer.

There is no dignity left.

Only suds, shame, and the solemn, silent bond forged between girls who have washed each other’s hair in times of emotional crisis.

You emerge from the bathroom like a freshly wrung dishrag with damp hair and a hoodie that smells like sunshine and clean laundry. Your ankle still aches, your pride is nonexistent, and you’re reasonably certain Katniss is never going to let you live this down.

You’re both in the kitchen now, Katniss reorganizing your herbs like nothing happened.

“Thank you,” you say softly, clutching your cup of water like a lifeline.

She doesn’t look up. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t sprain anything else.”

You salute with your cup. “Yes, Captain Practical.”

She snorts. “You’re insufferable.”

You smile into the rim of your cup. “I know.”

Your front door opens and you freeze, staring at Katniss for a second before turning your head.

Haymitch stands there, hair still damp from his shower, shirt half untucked, and an expression that’s somewhere between his usual scowl and something you might call concerned—if you were feeling generous.

“You live,” he says dryly.

“I do,” you say. “Clean, hydrated, humbled.”

He looks past you toward Katniss. “She cry?”

“Only about the bugs.”

You glare at them both. “I’m right here.”

Haymitch smirks and steps inside. “Yeah, I noticed. The dramatics echo.”

You limp back to the couch with your mug. “Mocking me in my time of need. Classic.”

“You seemed fine enough to yell about soap fifteen minutes ago,” Katniss says.

You wish so badly you had something to throw at her. “Snitches get stitches.”

“And limps.”

Haymitch drops into the chair across from you like he owns the place. “You need anything else, or can we stop pretending this was a crisis?”

You narrow your eyes. “I need snacks. And a new sense of dignity.”

“I’ll bring the snacks,” Peeta calls through the open window, “but the dignity might be a lost cause.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I’m never getting over this.”

Haymitch leans back, arms crossed, watching you with a crooked smile. “Oh, I think you’ll survive.”

You peek through your fingers. “That’s a bold claim.”

He shrugs. “You’ve lived through worse.”

And maybe it’s the warmth still clinging to your skin, or the way the soft light from the window hits the side of his face, but you feel your chest flutter again—stupid, traitorous, and undeniable.

You lower your hands and stare at your cup.

Haymitch glances at your ankle, then back at your face. “Pain bad?”

“Manageable,” you say. “Embarrassment, worse.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’ll live, honey.”

You don’t say anything.

You just sip your water and try not to think about how good he looks with damp hair and concern hidden behind sarcasm.

Katniss leaves soon after, muttering something about needing to check her traps. Peeta stays long enough to deliver a questionable batch of cookies and make one more joke at your expense before heading home too.

And just like that—it’s quiet again.

Just you and Haymitch. The room soft with early evening light. The weight of everything a little lighter than before.

You stand up from the table a little too quickly for someone with a sprained ankle.

Haymitch clocks it immediately.

You try to wave him off. “I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not,” he says flatly. And before you can argue or limp even two steps toward the living room, he moves.

One second you’re upright and stubborn, the next you’re in the air, scooped up like it’s nothing. His arm hooks under your knees, the other wrapped firm around your back, and your breath punches right out of you. Somehow your water didn’t spill.

“Haymitch!”

He doesn’t look at you. Just starts walking toward the couch like this is something you do daily. “If you’re gonna be dramatic, at least do it off your feet.”

“I wasn’t being dramatic!”

“You were limping like a dying goat.”

“I had it handled!”

“You’ve handled enough today. Sit down.”

“I was going to!”

He smirks. “Eventually.”

You scowl at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admits.

You don’t dignify that with a response, mostly because you’re still too distracted by the way his shoulder feels against your back and how absurdly strong his arms are. His grip is careful, steady—like he knows exactly how to hold you without jostling your ankle, or maybe like he’s done this before.

Which is an even worse thought.

He reaches the couch and lowers you slowly, gently—one hand still under your knees until you’re settled into the cushions. You glare at him as he straightens.

“You didn’t even ask.”

“I knew you’d say no.”

“That’s not the point.”

He leans down, bracing his arms on the back of the couch on either side of you. “You complaining?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Cross your arms. “Maybe.”

His mouth twitches, smug. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You lift your chin. “I’m independent.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“You’re a brat.”

You smile sweetly. “Still carried me, though.”

He lets out a soft snort, pushing off the couch and dropping into the armchair with a tired groan. “Next time, I’m rolling you in a wheelbarrow.”

“I’ll light it on fire.”

“Wouldn’t be the first thing you’ve tried to set on fire.”

You settle back against the cushions, trying to will your cheeks not to flush. “Still not apologizing.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t expect you to.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You really do like carrying people around, huh?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “You offering to make it a regular thing?”

You blink. “Was that a flirt, sunshine?”

He looks at you, deadpan. “If it was, you’d know.”

You go a little still.

Then quickly pretend to sip your water.

He smirks to himself, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed like he didn’t just completely short-circuit your nervous system.

You exhale slowly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He gestures at your ankle. “Nah. Looks like you’ve got that covered.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m throwing my cup at you.”

“You’ll miss.”

“Not if I throw it like this,” you say, holding it like you’ve just invented a new Olympic sport.

He shakes his head, still grinning. “Hopeless.”

But his voice is soft.

His smile lingers.

And your heart, stupid traitor that it is, skips a beat.

Next Part

[simpingforheros]

Lover Man

Pairing: Roy Harper X Single Mom! Female! Reader

Summary: Roy Harper gave up on love after his relationship with Cheshire never went anywhere other than creating his bundle of joy that was Lian Harper. That was until she came knocking on his door.

Warnings: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact, Female Reader/Female Pronouns/ Female Anatomy, Fluff eventually turning into Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Close Proximity, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Implied Abuse, Heavy Make-Out Session, Dry Humping, Implied Breeding Kink, Roy Harper being our Gentle King ((only this time)).

A/N: Soooo I had another Roy fanfic written completely in the drafts…and I hated it 💀. So I rewrote it and here it is. It’s a wee bit longer than my normal fanfics and I wanted to add more fluff and more descriptive detail instead of just smut. Please leave me some comments if you like this or if you don’t lol. Thank you.

A/N: I got my own ginger so it makes me wanna write about my second favorite ginger since I hardly see writing for him outside of him being a throuple with Jason. Roy Harper is just as hot as Jason because man’s literally got himself out of a bad place just for his daughter 😭🥹. Our responsibility king. Also Lian is aged up to 7 years old in this.

Dividers >>>> @cafekitsune

Roy Harper was a hardworking man. He slaves over his small mercenary missions with the occasional events of saving the city in the mix of raising a 4 foot ball of energy all on his own. He felt exhausted most the time, but that exhaustion keeps him out of trouble. It also gets him out of any venture for a personal life.

Sure, Roy had the Outlaws who would swing by after missions just to hangout and drink, and the Titans make a rare appearance to visit their favorite niece. Even Ollie and Dinah would occasionally come by to visit. But, after Jade came and left him high and dry, his heart was hollow…

Lian was his whole world and stars. He never thought he could love someone as much as he loved his little girl. He dragged himself out of his drug addiction just so he can take care of her, and she should be enough to make the backbreaking labor enough.

However, he notices how the doodled Mother’s Day cards that used to litter the fridge for Jade began to dwindle as her eyes began to look longingly at the other parents who had two parents and a pair or two of siblings. Lian says she’s happy to live with her Dad, who was her bestest friend in the world, but the occasional crayon drawings say otherwise.

The stick figures of Lian and Roy with a faceless woman and another stick figure child making it very clear that Lian wanted a mother figure, or at least a sibling.

Maybe one day Roy can give it to her…but right now he was too tired.

“What do you mean you forgot??” Roy yells into the phone as he speed walks back to his apartment complex.

He should have known better than to ask Garfield to wait at his apartment for Lian to come home and babysit for a couple of hours while he went grocery shopping. This week has been hell on him. He’s been dealing with some of Black Mask’s crew trying to expand to Star City and when he would try to get some sleep, the noise of some new neighbors moving in woke him up constantly. This was really his only chance to go do anything and Beast Boy forgot to come.

“I asked you to do one thing, Gar! Be here and watch Lian until I got back. How can forget to watch a 7 year old girl?” Roy seethes as he walks into the main lobby and bolting up the stairs.

His heart was pounding with all the possible scenarios. He knows he’s overreacting, that she was just probably sitting by the locked door either entertaining herself or crying. But he also couldn’t help but be paranoid that she strayed off to go find him or someone snatched her up.

His worst fear coming to reality as he walks onto his floor and sees no one. He quickly gets to his door and jiggles the nob, feeling the secured lock.

Just as Roy was about to scream at Garfield again to relieve the unrelenting anxiety, the sound of a door opening behind him catches his attention as a familiar ring fills the static.

“Daddy!” Lian yells as Roy turns around, relief filling his body as he kneels down to greet the girl.

“Oh fuck, you scared me.” He says, as he sighs in relief. His strong arms holding the small girl tight to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the girl mumbles with sympathy pooling in her dark eyes. “I was walking Wren and she wanted me to see her new room.”

‘Wren? Who’s Wren?’ Roy thought as he quirks his eyebrow just as movement catches his eyes again to the door.

Another little girl was standing in the door way to the apartment. She looked the same age as Lian with colorful ribbons in her hair and the matching Star Academy uniform on as Lian.

‘Another Star Academy student? There isn’t any other student living here…’

Then the realization that this was one of the new neighbors hits him as a taller figure appears behind Wren. Her voice throwing Roy in a trance as she scolds the girl.

“Wren, I told you to not stare. Especially at strangers.” Her voice gently but protective as she kept her eyes on Roy. Her hand already on her daughter’s shoulder as her daughter apologizes.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I wanted to see Lian’s Dad and see if I can come over…”

The woman was the same age as him from what he can tell. Healthy, glowing skin despite the dark bags under her eyes. Her hair glowed like a halo in the fluorescent light of the hallway despite the messy frizz of what he thought used to be a protective hairstyle that her work day destroyed. Her boxy scrubs doing noting to hide her figure as the familiar logo of Star City General Hospital shined brightly.

“Dad.” Lian’s inpatient voice cuts through his daze as he looks to his daughter.

“Huh?” He says as his daughter giggles.

“I said, can I show Wren my room? I wanna show her all my Bluey toys.” She says excitedly.

His eyes briefly flickering over to the other excited little girl before stating gently, “I have no problem with it, but did you ask Wren’s mom if she can.”

“Yea! Miss (L/N) said it was alright.” She says happily.

‘Miss? I guess she’s not married…’ he thought as he handed Lian his keys with a joking quip, “Don’r throw a party while I’m over here talking to Miss (L/N).”

The girls giggle before running over to Roy’s apartment and entering. Roy stands up to his full height as he gives the mother a smile. She returns it with her own as she says,

“Normally Wren is pretty shy, so I was happy to see she made friends with a good kid.” She says as she pushes some stray hair out of her face before offering him her hand. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“Roy. Roy Harper.” He introduces himself as he shakes her hand. He couldn’t help but smile brighter as they pulled their hands away, proud that his daughter helped out a new kid.

“Lian doesn’t have much of a shy side to her. I blame it on her mom’s genetics.” He jokes with a soft chuckle.

“You and your wife must be proud.” She says softly as she props her hip against the doorframe.

“Oh no, I’m not married.” He corrects her as he nervously stuffs his hands in his pocket as he felt a pang of gloom over his heart. “It’s just me and Lian.”

Her eyes dropped as she crosses her arms over her chest as she mumbles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…”

“No, youre alright.” He assures her with a shrug. “Honestly, I should be apologizing for your first impression of me being my kid locked out of my apartment.”

She giggles as she waves him off as she says, “Lian told me that her normal babysitters weren’t in town and that ‘Uncle Gar’ was suppose to be here.”

“Yeaaa.” He groans as he defends himself. “I promise that i’m normally on top of the babysitting situation since I normally work nights.”

She nods as she says, “I understand. I have to find my own babysitter now that I moved across the country. I work days at the hospital.”

The idea seeming to strike them at the same time as both their little girls scream in delight as they play in the apartment over.

A compromise between two single parents.

The deal was easy and benefited both of them. Since she had to work 12 hour shifts on a 3 on, two off basis, (Y/N) would drop the girls off at school on her way to work, and Roy adjusted his “work” time so he can be home when they come home from school and babysit until Wren’s mom gets off from work.

When (Y/N) was off and Roy is working, She will keep both girls at her apartment and gets them ready for school in the mornings before they tag off.

During the rare occurrence that Roy had to go away on a “business trip”, the girls would just be with (Y/N) full time with Roy’s promise that it will only be a week and he will watch them when the weekend comes so she can rest.

This has been the routine for three months, and Roy enjoyed it more than he should. It felt great knowing that Lian was in capable, non vigilante hands when he was away and she had a female role model to who doesn’t fight crime in spandex.

Roy also adored Wren. She took a minute to break out of her shell, but she reminded him a lot of Jason. A quiet type who surprised him with her temper and mischief. He can see why (Y/N) is the kind of parent she is and how she easily keeps Wren and Lian in line.

Over the weeks, Wren and Lian became the dynamic duo of Star Academy. They did everything together and would cry if they couldn’t. The two even begged their respective parents for matching Bluey backpacks and sparkly shoes so they can match all the time. They even developed a cute habit of leaving colored drawings under the apartment doors for the other to find. The friendship was very heart warming and helped form the bond between their parents.

The two had a lot in common too. More than they expected.

“Wanna beer?” Roy offered as he stood up from the couch.

“No thank you.” She answers as she focuses on wrapping the present infront of her.

Tomorrow was Wren’s birthday, and while the girls are having a sleep over in Lian’s room, Roy and (Y/N) prepped for her birthday party.

“You sure, doll?” He says as he grabs a couple beers. He sits beside her and holds his open bottle near her as he jokes. “You gonna let me drink alone, and make me look depressed?”

Her eyes darken as she scoots away from him. The air turning cold as she snaps on him. “I said No, Roy.”

Roy immediately freezes before frowning in concern. He puts the beer on the coffee table as he whispers to her. “Hey, I’m sorry…”

Her eyes relax as her shoulders slump. She sighs softly as she mumbles. “No, I’m sorry…”

She reaches into her pocket a pulls out a familiar looking token and hands it to him. A 5 year sobriety coin. His brows shoot up as he looks at her in shock.

She giggles somberly as she says, “it’s not mine. It’s my Dad’s.”

She pulls her knees to her chest as she looks to the wall around the muted tv. Pictures lining the wall of Lian and Roy with some of just them or with friends. She smiles softly as she recounts.

“My dad was a bad alcoholic, but a good dad. He would take me with him everywhere he could and it would be like everyday was a good day. I was too young to realize he drank too much or he yelled at my mom a little too harshly.” She says as she picks at the material of her socked covered feet.

“It wasn’t until I got pregnant with Wren that he realized he had to sober up. He managed to stay clean for almost 6 years until a drunk driver hit him.” She chuckles sadly as she sees the irony in her dad’s death. “He even help me leave my ex who was also a bad drinker. I guess seeing my dad doing it my whole life, I thought it was normal…”

Her arms wrapping around herself before finally looking back at Roy. Her eyes meeting his green ones, her gaze watery as she wipes the tears away.

“I’m sorry, that was too much to put on you..” she said as her voice wavers a bit. “You can drink though I don’t-“

Roy gets up and takes his beers to the kitchen. Confused by his abruptness, she follows him, only to see him dumping out his open beer and starting to dump out the other one. She looks at him confused as he finishes dumping the liquid out before he pulls out his wallet and pulls out a coin.

He hands both coins to her as she reads the one he pulled out of his wallet. 7 years sobriety.

“You were…?” She mumbles is disbelief before he answers.

“Yep, former heroine addict…” he says as he leans back against the counter. His arms flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes shining with seriousness as he says,

“I understand why your dad got help. I did the same thing when I found out about Lian, and I don’t ever wanna do anything that can jeopardize giving her a better life than I had…”

An emotion crosses his face that makes her nervous but excited as he admits.

“And I don’t want to do anything that would drive you out of mine.”

“Please, (Y/N)!” Lian begs as Wren stands behind her with her puppy dog eyes shining behind her.

Those were the famous last words that were said when Lian and Wren convinced her to allow them to go to a slumber party while Roy was out of town. (Y/N) didn’t see the harm since it was Friday night and the girls had been good. Besides, Roy was supposed to be home late tonight so he can enjoy his Saturday morning resting.

It was a good idea. Or at least that’s what she thought before she got mugged on her way home from dropping off the girls.

The woman didn’t see it coming when she was snatched off the street and pinned to an alley wall as a disgust voice coos at her.

“Easy, Babygirl.” The masked man purrs as his dirty finger nails digged into her arms. “Just give me your purse and we can both walk away happy.”

“Fuck off!” She says as she tries to yank away from him .

“Now don’t be such a-!” His growl interrupted as the swoop of air shoots between them. She looks to where it lands and sees a red arrow buried into the wall behind them. The mugger was the first to look back to where it came from before gasping,

“Arsenal? What’s he doing here?” He curses as he pulls (Y/N) in front of him, making the struggling woman a human shield. “I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to hurt the bitch!” He says as he pulls out a knife and holds it to her neck.

(Y/N) only heard about the vigilante through the news. Apparently he used to be Green Arrow’s sidekick before he went solo for some reason and he was a rough guy. He works with the Red Hood who was known for killing criminals so she understood why the man was scared as a figure dropped down from a rooftop with his bow ready to shoot.

Her panic setting in as the bite of the blade was pressed hard to her neck, the anxious blade knicking her. Her panic eyes were set on the archer as she watches him slowly approach.

He looked…familiar. His height and built was impressive despite him being more on the leaner side and his features not obstructed by his sunglasses and hat reminded her of Roy…

“Let the girl go.” Arsenal warns the burglar. His voice was deep, but it didn’t sound natural. It was like he was trying to make his voice sound different. “You’re just pissing me off more and I’m gonna end up breaking your eye socket in.”

The criminal trembles before deciding the best escape plan. He grabs ahold of her purse before throwing her in Arsenal’s direction. Unprepared to the violent shove, (Y/N) falls to the ground before the vigilante can catch her. Her yelp filling space as the hero kneels down beside her to make sure she wasn’t stabbed.

“Hey, you alright?” He says as he scans her body for any serious injury.

She pushes herself up, cringes as her wrist throbs. His large gloved hands on her back and shoulder as he helps her stand when she notices his exposed arm. A familiar faded green tattoo visible on his bicep as the pieces fall together.

“Roy?…” She asks as she looks up Arsenal. Despite his eyes being covered, she can tell he was looking at her in a panic that she figured him out.

“Yea…” He confirms before looking behind her as he realizes the motherfucker stole her purse. He pulls his aviators down to the bridge of his nose, his eyes shining in concern as he mumbles to her.

“Go home. I’ll meet you there so we can talk about it.”

The look in his eyes and the pounding adrenaline makes her fear melt away as she nods her head.

“Okay.”

The throbbing pain in her wrist didn’t stop when she finally made it back to her apartment building, acting as her anchor as the revelation that Roy’s secret night job was him being a Robin Hood copycat.

Thinking back on it, she should have figured he wasn’t a normal guy. Constant bruises, noticeable limps, and stolen ibuprofen were a routine in their life.

The thought made her stop for a second in the stair way.

Their life. The one they shared for months basically together. At first it was just two single parents helping each other out while their daughters bonded. Then her and Roy began to get close, close enough to where they were constant in each other’s apartments as the other child was.

Now he saved her life…maybe he already did that the first day in the city and she babysat a kid she didn’t know…

As she reaches the arch way between the two apartments, her hands searches her pockets for her keys when disappointment answers her.

The keys were in her purse.

With a sigh, she decides to sit on the ground besides Roy’s door as she waits. (Y/N) curls herself into a ball with her knees to her chest as she felt the familiar feeling of exhaustion nipping her eyelashes.

(Y/N) was a hard working woman. When she wasn’t working herself like a dog in the Emergency Room, she was handling a 4 foot ball of attitude. She didn’t have time for any ventures outside of that. She loves Wren with all her heart, but that doesn’t help the hollow part of her heart from throbbing…maybe someday she can give Wren a father who’s worth something. But right now, she was too damn tired.

The door opens behind her as she jumps awake. The woman didn’t even realize she almost fell asleep, but a warm hand opens in front of her as she looks up.

Roy was standing in front of her now. A grey zip up was pulled over his shoulders to cover his costume as her purse hanged on his arm. His soft smile made her stomach flutter as he breaks the silence.

“I guess I got some explaining to do…”

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead she gives him her hand and stands up with his help. Her injured wrist cradled to her chest as they enter the apartment. The movement still felt natural despite the circumstances. Roy didn’t even have to ask about her arm to know she needed first aid on her wrist.

He tended to her sprained wrist as he tells her his life story. She already knew about the general events of his childhood and his life with Oliver Queen, but didn’t know he was a sidekick turned mercenary. The whole story made her head spin as she thought about the man tending to her as a boy wearing yellow and red spandex and managing to attract a female assassin who was Lian’s actual mother…

“So…” Roy says as he expects some sort of reaction out of her.

“So… You are a vigilante…Ollie and Dinah are too.” She recounts as she rubs her bandaged wrists. “And your ex is an assassin…”

(Y/N) sighs before looking at the nervous ginger fidgeting in his seat. His nerves were haywire.

‘What if she leaves?’

‘What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me or Lian anymore?”

‘Is she gonna keep Wren from Lian and Me?’

“Okay”

The phrase makes Roy’s neck snap was he blinks wildly at her. His heart pounding as he scans her completely calm face with a soft smile on her face as she giggles at his baffled expression.

“Okay? That’s all you gotta say?”

“I mean sure I’m not a fan of the whole putting yourself in danger shtick, but if that’s the only downside to you, then I’m okay with it.” She says calmly before giving him a serious glare. “Just as long as the girls are never endangered.”

Roy couldn’t help but fall out of his chair and on his knees infront of her as he laughs. His hands pulling her into his lap as he enjoys the chill of relief as his body yearns for the reassurance of her touch. It wasn’t until he cupped her face that he realized just how intimate their position was.

Definitely not something friends should be doing….

But are they just friends?

“Roy…” She mumbles. Her eyes speaking to his soul as the exhaustion and months of connecting and yearning reach the apex. Or maybe it was the reflection of his own feelings bubbling up as he moves her hair away from her face.

“I promise I’ll never let anything happen to you or our girls…I can’t afford to lose them…or us.”

The first move wasn’t clear. The blur of teeth and tongue distracting him as their hands held the pair close. His hands adjusting her to straddle his lap as hers ran through his hair and over his strong shoulders. His mouth trailing down her jawline and caresses her throat as her hips began to grind into his.

“Aw, poor thing…” Roy coos as his hips rolled to meet hers. His eyes shining with adoration as he marks her smooth skin. “How long has it been since anyone took care of you?”

She rolls her eyes at his teasing before pulling his head back by his hair. “When was the last time you got took care of, Red?”

He glares playfully with a smirk as he says, “Don’t call me Red.”

She giggles as she presses a soft kiss to his cheek before trailing along his jawline. Her breath burning his soul as she whispers, “Then how about…baby?”

He rips her back away by her nape before crashing his lips onto hers. The desperation dewing the walls around them as their soft moans and movement of clothes made their company.

His hands hungry as he finally pulls away from her long enough to push off her sweatshirt. A groan of appreciation fills the space as he admires her body. Every visible scar, freckle, mole, stretch mark, and roll made him want to explore every story that lead her to his arms. But that’s for another time.

His mouth watered as he looks back up at her.

“So pretty, Ma…”

His prayer is followed by his mouth devouring her skin as he kisses her collarbone. Her feathery moans filling the space while his hands caresses her exposed torso. He trails down to the valley of her breasts before pushing the offending bra up so they spill out. Roy couldn’t resist kissing around her sensitive skin, teasing her as her hands tangle in the mess of ginger on his head.

“Baby please…” she whines as her hips roll impulsively on his.

Her underwear was impossibly uncomfortable. Her body burning like iron as her intimate parts tried to cool down. The friction of her jean covered core against the rough tackle gear of his suit did not help as his hand began to grope her other breast.

His chuckle vibrates against the globe of fat as his fingers pinch the stiffening nub.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed? My, you certainly are a romantic.”

Before she can shoot back at him, he withdraws completely from her chest and his hands roughly cup her thighs. In a swift motion, Roy picks her up as he stands up from the floor. The pair share a soft laugh as her brief shock and his amusement leads them to his bedroom.

Once he places her on the bed, (Y/N) sheds off her sweatshirt and bra as Roy whistles in appreciation.

“I love when you strip for me.” He jokes as lust clouded his vision. “Can you do that again but slower?”

She glares at him as she leans back onto her hands as she tilts her head. Mischief fills her eyes as she examines him up and down with her lip between her teeth.

“Then how about you put a show on for me since you want one?” She teases.

His smirk widens as he decides to follow her suggestion. Roy rolls his shoulders back before reaching to slowly unzip the jacket covering his suit. Making a show of pulling it off his arms before twirling it over his head and tossing it.

Laughing follows his movements as he slowly strips off his gear as her hungry and amused eyes followed every rolling muscle exposed to her.

“Damn…” She whispers as a nearly nude Roy begins to crawl on the bed towards her. His prominent bones straining against his boxers as she continues. “And I wondered why you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

He laughs as he cages her in his arms. His ginger hair acting as a curtain over his forehead as he shrugs above her. “Maybe I was waiting on the right one.”

Their lips meet again as their hands began to map out each other. Soon all the rest of the clothes joined the floor.

His erection bobbing between them as his eyes remains trained on hers. His fingers trailing down to her exposed sex, groaning as he runs a finger between her folds.

“Already wet? And without foreplay?” He asks as faux sympathy plays on his face. “My darling clearly neglected that she gets wet from a few kisses…”

“I’m not neglected…” She protests before she whimpers as the bite from his finger entering her unused cunt hits her.

“I wasn’t talking body you directly, baby.” He corrects as his finger thrusts softly along her fleshy walls. The lewd sounds of her moans mixed with her wet sex made him melt as she begs,

“Fuck…quit teasing already, you bastard…”

He decides to oblige by adding another finger to speed up his pace. The thumb on the other hand joining the fun as it rubbed patterns into her puffy clit.

“I got get you all nice and ready..” Roy mumbles as he leans down to press soft kisses on her stomach up to her breasts. The mixture of gentle pecks mixed with the harsh stimulation below driving his lover insane as her hips arched to meet his hands.

“You deserve all that I can give for being such a good mom .” He praises her as he feels her walls clench around his knuckles when he finds the spongy mass he was searching for.

He contradicts himself by abusing that with archer like precision as the coil roughly tightens in her gut. (Y/N)’s gasps and cries desperate for the climax as she grips the hard flesh of his back. Just as she was reaching the peak, he stops.

“Asshole!” She curses at him as he pulls out of her. He chuckles before licking the tip of his soiled finger. Her eyes burning onto his mouth as he groans at the taste.

“Sweet as I thought..” he praises as he uses the hand to pump his cock. He climbs on top of her as he continues. “I’m gonna have to have a better taste next time, but I need you too bad right now…”

She calms her raging breaths as she smiles softly. “Next time?”

Roy pulls her legs up to her chest as he hooks her ankles on his shoulders. His red hot tip played with her clit as he rubs it through her soaked folds. He chuckles at her hopeful voice as he leans down to press a soft peck to her lips.

“Of course,” Roy whispers as his tip catches the entrance. “I don’t think I can go back to being friends after this..”

He slowly pushes into her as her hands shoot onto him as best she could. With her legs pinned to her chest, she can only grasp his bicep and his lower back as she is forced to endure the painful stretch of her neglected cunt welcoming him.

A groan ripping in his throat as he finally seats himself fully into her before peppering kisses on her face.

“Was gonna ask you out on a nice date without the kids around…gonna see if we would be a good fit.” He mutters as his mind seems to run on blanks. His hips rolling to gain some friction in the tight confines of her walls.

Her little breathless moans encouraging him as Roy begins to thrust shallowly to work her open before he pulls out almost completely. He slams back into her befor continuing his non coherent comment.

“But fuck…I don’t regret this. God, if I knew you would look so fucking hot in my bed…” He groans as his head dips to bite along her neck. “And your pussy is so tight…It’s driving me crazy. I wonder how a sweet thing like you could like me…”

His cock messaging all the right nerves in her as (Y/N)’s nails clawed into him. Her moans turning to incoherent shrieks as his tip abuses her spot, remembering exactly where it was when he found it earlier. Her guts twisting at both the words and his abusing pace. The denied orgasm from earlier building back up as her desperation grew wilder.

“God, Roy…So full…so good.”

Fuck she looked pretty. Her lips wet with tears and sip as she cries. Her eyes blown out in addictive lust and watery tears. Roy couldn’t help but cup her jaw in his hand and kisses her. The now familiar taste of mint and nicotine making her more addicted as his tongue claimed every inch of hers. He pulls away as his groans start matching her whines as his hand snakes between them to rub her clit.

“Honey, I may have to fuck a baby into you…” He mumbles as he buries his face in her neck. Her walls responding in a vice grip as he roughens his pace to meet their impending climax. “You like that, pretty girl? Want me to knock you up and give Wren and Lian a little sibling? Give you a nice big family with a white picket fence? God, you’re such a sweet thing that I wouldn’t mind keeping you as my pretty little girlfriend…”

“Roy!” She whines as her body shakes. Her walls closing in on him as she finally reaches her peak. Her eyes rolling back as stars cross her vision before Roy slams into her one more time as his hot cum fills her welcoming womb.

The pair remain still for a moment as soft pecks were exchange. Roy gently pulls out before he helps his love stretch back out. His hands massaging her thighs before grabbing his abandoned jacket to wipe her thighs and himself clean.

“You wanna go out tomorrow?” Her cracked voice catching the archer off guard before he smiles.

“With or without children?”

“Without. They are at a sleep over and gonna go to the zoo tomorrow with their friends.”

“Then it’s a date.”

A/N: Okay I didn’t know how to end this because Ngl I was tired on working on this tbh. I hope y’all enjoyed reading this and let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs are encouraged.

@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT CONDONE MY WORKS TO BE STOLEN, PLAGIARIZED, COPIED, REPOSTED, OR TRANSFERRED ONTO OTHER BLOGS, ACCOUNTS, AND WEBSITES.

[carn4g3]

Hi! Could u make a ticcy toby x male reader hurt/comfort-ish oneshot where the reader feels ignored in a way, like ppl dont rly care to listen to them or let them express themself? And gets comforted with words of affirmation/physical affection If that makes sense lol its ok if not tho! Have a nice day :)

Rookie Mistake | Ticci Toby x Male Reader

Summary - One of these days, you're going to give Tim a taste of his own damn medicine. But, for now, you have Toby.

TWs: Descriptions of blood, dead bodies & murder, reader has some anger issues, indirect mentions of abuse

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Tumblr kept eating this ask without my permission, I swear it disappeared at least 3 or 4 times before I finally caught it and saved it to my drafts. I rewrote sections of this a few times so lmk if something isn't as clear as I thought it was lol

"I'm supposed to do this and clean up on a solo mission?" You asked the masked man incredulously.

Tim looked less than interested in the question, a loud sigh leaving him as though you were just another chore, "You can handle that, can't you?"

His response felt more like a trap than an actual expression of concern. If you said you could, he would dismiss the rest of your complaint. On the other hand, the opposite answer would only spur him to poke further at your abilities-- like you hadn't heard from him and everyone else a million times over.

"You always have Brian with you for clean up," You chose to answer with instead, "Why don't I get someone?"

"Everyone has more important things to do than help you out, rookie." Tim scoffed.

You scowled at the nickname. It didn't take long for you to not only receive the moniker but also grow incredibly tired of it. Damn near everyone called you it now, and you were beginning to gather that the tone wasn’t always just playful teasing. People like Tim said it out of a place of superiority— thinking they were better simply because they had been around for longer.

"Really? And what important things are you doing." You scoffed in disbelief.

"Watch yourself." Tim shot back sternly.

This was hardly the first time you had fought with the man. At first, you had been pretty obedient towards all of those who took on "teaching" you. You reveled in their advice, taking their harshness as an opportunity to grow, and even enduring their verbal assault as something you would just grow used to. After months of it, you felt fortunate that your senses finally returned to you. Of course, it wasn't without the help of Toby. He fought with Tim just as much, probably even more, and he helped you realize how much of an asshole Tim really was.

"Grow a pair and do your dirty work yourself." You replied, letting the words spew out before you even really thought them over.

You could tell he was mad, fists clenched at his sides as though he was barely restraining himself from throwing a punch. The subtle shift of his mask suggested he was grinding his jaw, something he did as to not lash out fully. A normal person would be relieved, but you could only feel more irritated when he chose to be the "bigger" person. He had to have known it upset you. That was the only explanation for why he would do it.

"It's your job," Tim said tersely, "Don't do it and you'll answer to the Operator."

His tone suggested the conversation was done there. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he took a few steps back to return to whatever depths of the woods he had crawled from.

"Fuckin' asshole." You knew he hadn't missed the muttered words when his movements paused, shoulders tensing as though he were daring you to say it again.

"I said you're a fuckin asshole!" You repeated louder.

Deciding that you would be the one with the last word, you made your own exit. Glancing over your shoulder, you had hoped to see Tim still standing there-- reeling from your verbal assault. Instead, he was retreating silently just as you were.

You were exhausted-- no, beyond that. All but dragging your body through the woods, muscle memory was pretty much the only thing that got you back to the rundown cabin now sitting before you. The exterior was almost entirely dark given that the porch light had long since succumbed to the dust, cobwebs, and moss that patterned every nook and cranny of the building. Despite that, a sliver of illumination peaked its way out from between the drawn curtains just left of the doorway: the kitchen light, if you remembered correctly. Forcing your aching muscles to pull you up the creaky front steps, you reached for the doorknob. As expected it twisted with ease; the man inside never really did remember to lock it.  

Eyes falling lazily over the interior, you found that your suspicions about the light source were proved right. To your left, the dim yellow glow of the kitchen light cast a net of illumination that extended only a few feet from the room’s entryway. Shutting and locking the door behind you, you easily found the object of your interest rustling around the pantry. Loose tufts of hair and edges of dirtied, blood spattered clothes peeking out from behind the door, Toby seemed to be surveying it for options. 

"I'm home." You greeted abysmally.

"Hi." Toby replied, clearly engrossed in his task.

The kitchen space was minimal, pretty much a glorified hallway, but you managed to brush past him anyways. Settling on his right side, you let your head fall to his shoulder as you observed the sparse pantry. It had been a while since the last supply run, and it wasn't like either of you had the luxury of free time to go shopping.

"There's Doritos." You noted the party sized bag that had been folded shut.

"Yeah," Toby's body lurched, but it didn't deter you from your position for very long, "You look like sh... shit."

You sent a half assed glare his way, "So do you, dick."

You didn't even need to fully take in the other man's appearance to gather that much. Just like you, he had come right from a mission. Dried mud clung stubbornly to the notches of his boots, the particles of which were undoubtedly spread all over the floors by now. From your close proximity, he reeked of sweat, BO, and blood-- all of which you had long grown accustomed to.

Although, you weren’t in any position to pass judgement. Perhaps more blood stained than your counterpart, you could feel the mostly dried sticky substance clinging to the front of your clothing. Splattered and messy, it stained your hands, caked under your nails, and hid in the creases of your skin. You were sure some of it still gently dotted your face as well-- all mixed with sweat and dirt.

"How'd it g-go?" He chose to ignore your insult in favor of asking the question.

"Fine," You answered bluntly, "You?"

Thinking over the previous events, it wasn’t entirely a lie. Killing the victim had been easy. A hardly athletic, 30-something year old man glued to his computer, it was easy to attack him from behind and send him helplessly to the floor with a single hit. You wouldn't admit it, but it was partially intentional that the first hit didn't even knock him out properly. Seeing him crawl away in futile desperation only spurred you to strike him a second time. Then a third. If you had to guess, he probably expired somewhere between the fourth and the sixth strike.

It was cathartic in a way, picturing the pathetic corpse before you as the remains of the masked bastard who had ordered you there in the first place. You were certainly less than gentle with the body as you went about hiding it, taking some creative liberties in the disposal method. Though, it came to bite you in the ass when you began to embark on the several mile journey back into the woods, shoulders and legs aching from the effort before you even started.

"Fine." Toby echoed, "Got what I-- shit!-- nee-needed."

"Nice." You sighed, too tired to ask anymore questions as you turned your attention to the bag of chips.

Plucking them off the shelf, you turned swiftly to the darkened living room on your left. Though it would have been easy to flick on the light switch just adjacent to the pantry, you opted to throw your body onto the awaiting sofa instead. Knowing the couch had been through far worse, you hardly perturbed by the thought of blood and dirt sticking to the already stained fabric. Toby, as expected, was just as uninterested in maintaining the couch’s cleanliness or in illuminating the room as he trailed in just behind you. Taking a seat in the relatively small gap between your body and the left arm rest, he looked down at you expectantly as you ruffled through the bag of chips.

"You g-gonna share?" Rolling your eyes at the question, you grabbed a handful before shoving the rest of the bag into the other man’s lap.

"What'd you ha-- have to do anyway?" Toby asked, the bag crinkling loudly as took some chips for himself.

"Kill and clean up." You answered.

Toby paused at that, "By yourself?"

"Blame that fucker with the mask." You didn't even need to clarify which one, both of you knowing exactly whom you were referring to.

"C-course," He scoffed, "that asshole."

"That's what I told him, said he shouldn't make his fuckin' dirty work my problem." Your teeth grit together at the memory.

"Should've told me, we could... could've switched." He replied.

"No," You responded a bit harsher than you intended, "Wouldn't fuckin change that he thinks I'm some weak little bitch who can't do anything for myself. They all think I'm some fuckin’ dumbass! And for what? Because Slender chose them first? It's bullshit! None of it makes them better..."

You let the rant spill from your lips as you felt that simmering rage from earlier finally boil over. 

Without realizing it, your hand clenched around the remaining chips in your hand, causing them to crumble into an array of pieces across your palm. Feeling the pieces poke at your skin and the dust becoming intermixed with the already sticky concoction of sweat and blood, you felt yourself become even more disgruntled. 

"Fuck!" You cursed, throwing the remains aimlessly into the dark room, "I wanna wring that fucker's neck."

Wiping your hand aggressively against your clothes, you found no reprieve from the uncomfortable sensation even as you felt the skin turning raw from the repeated movements.

"It would do the w-world a fuckin' fa... favor." Toby's voice joined in once more.

Turning your gaze in his direction, you waited silently for Toby to say more. Instead, you were only met with the sight of a triangular chip dangling over your face. A bit confused at first, you reached out hesitantly to take it. Just as fingers started to brush it, he abruptly pulled it away as though it were simply some sort of taunt. Finally realizing what he wanted, you parted your lips, waiting as Toby finally dropped the chip into your awaiting mouth.

"Thanks." You replied, already forgetting about whatever it was that had just upset you.

He grunted in acknowledgement, returning to the previous topic instead, "I wouldn't rec-recommend trying it. He'll si-sick his real bitch on you."

You couldn't help the small snort that left you. He was talking about Brian, of course. You hadn't thought the hooded man was all too bad initially. Brian was pretty nice to you, from what you remembered. Though, it did help that he very rarely spoke– unlike his counterpart. You had no clue what he saw in Tim to hang around him so frequently, but it only took a small push from Toby for you to hate Brian as well. 

"Fuckin' coward." You commented. 

Eating the rest of the chip you were handed, the two of you sat in relative silence for a moment. Turning your gaze towards Toby once more, you watched as he absentmindedly ate. With his faceguard pulled down around his neck, you had a full view of the opening in his cheek: the strands of saliva that formed across the opening, his teeth gnashing at the chip, and drool involuntarily pooling at the corner. He usually made it a habit to not eat around others, so you couldn’t help but be mesmerized every time you got a rare look at it. You didn’t even realize he noticed your staring until another chip was thrust unceremoniously over your vision. 

“Something on my face?” Toby asked.

“Nah.” You averted your gaze quickly, feeling your face heat after having been caught.

“Yeah right, creep.” He muttered, the words mostly playful.

You weren’t allowed a response as he shoved the awaiting chip into your mouth the second you opened it. Letting him take the win on this one, you fell back into the cozy moment. Despite the loud crinkling of the bag and the usual creaks and groans of the old building, you could feel that itch of tension slowly melting away as it always did when you were around Toby. You liked spending time with him for that reason.

Admittedly, you hadn’t thought he was much different from the likes of Tim or Brian at first. He talked more than the latter but was only a little less harsh than the former. But, unlike the other two, you steadily warmed up to him. You were both the new guys, relatively younger than any of the proxies or Slender’s other allies. It felt easier to express your frustrations to him, to trust the advice he gave you, and to see the underlying compliments in what was usually admonishment from anyone else. It was an easy decision once you were finally granted Slenderman’s full trust as a proxy to move into this rundown cabin you had spent many nights before. Consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t notice the way Toby was attempting to get your attention until he outright flicked the center of your face

"Ow,” You hissed, “What was that for?”

"You're far." He replied.

"I'm right next to you." You scoffed.

"You know wh-- what I f... fuckin' mean." Despite the way he matched your tone, he turned his gaze away as though he were embarrassed.

It was endearing how he got flustered whenever asking you for affection. Though, you suppose you forced him to the point of reaction just for your own interest sometimes. Shifting your body against the couch, you slid towards Toby until your head rested comfortably against his thigh.

"Happy?" You teased him.

"Little sh-shit." He hissed, though still gave you another chip as though it were some reward.

As you chewed on it in stride, Toby spoke once more, "None... none of them know what they're ta- talking about. They're all-- shit!-- stuck with their heads up... up their ass."

You huffed in amusement, though didn't find yourself too moved by the words, "And they're in charge."

"Not f-forever," Toby scoffed, "Slender will grow ti-tired of them soon. Then they-- fuck-- they'll be beg-begging us for their lives."

Now that thought was appeasing to you, "Yeah, and we'll make those assholes pay."

Toby's hand moved to your hair, ruffling it in agreement with those words, "Damn right."

Described this to my roommate as: Hurt/comfort but the reader has been trained like a dog.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm tired of my ideas always being big. It's overwhelming. I like seeing others' WIPs and ideas because they're just so simple... Like, that comic about a mermaid living in the ocean in our modern time and dealing with plastic trash. So simple and my own brain is bursting with ideas. But my own WIPs... they just start huge. I'd like something smaller... but I don't know how.

Stories Always Get Too Big

Stories can get out of hand quickly when they sprout too many independent threads. There are three primary culprits that serve as sparks that create these threads:

1 - Setting 2 - Non-Protagonist Characters/Relationships 3 - Back Story

The thing to remember, though, is that no matter how interesting your setting is, no matter how compelling your other characters are, and how fascinating the back story is, those things are not your plot.

Plot is the sequence of events through which the protagonist (and potentially other main characters) attempt to resolve the story's conflict by overcoming obstacles and setbacks in pursuit of a goal.

In other words, focus on this:

the protagonist > their normal world > the event that introduces a problem they must resolve > the goal they formulate in order to resolve that problem > the events that occur as a result of their pursuit of this goal > their attempts to overcome obstacles and setbacks encountered along the way > their attempt to solve the problem once and for all > failure or success > life in a changed situation/world

Anything else doesn't need to be there unless it is critical in order for one of the above steps to make sense.

So, let's take your mermaid example... though I haven't read that comic so I'm winging it here:

the protagonist = mermaid normal world = doing mermaid stuff inciting incident = finding plastic trash in the water goal = clean up/find the culprit and teach them to do better events = cleaning up, learning about humans, tracking down culprit climax = mermaid appeals to humans to do better finale = mermaid is living in a cleaner ocean

Now, let's say your brain starts to go off on a tangent about a deep oceanic rift and an evil merman wizard who lives there... stop right there. It's a fun idea, but what does it have to do with this story? How does it relate to the trash, clean-up, finding the culprit, or appeal to humans to do better? It doesn't. Theoretically, you could make it make sense... like, maybe the merman wizard likes the trash and wants the ocean to be dirty and gross, so maybe he is opposing the mermaid's attempts to clean up and to appeal to the humans. Okay, that works, so you can keep it. But, let's say you also have this idea about these creatures that live around the hydrothermal vents, and the mermaid meets and falls in love with a scientist who's studying them. Okay, again, interesting idea, but this one is much harder to fit in with the rest of the story. Sure, you could say the scientist is studying marine pollution instead... that brings it back around to the main conflict, but still, what does this relationship add to the story? How does it help or harm the mermaid's mission? How does it help to explore the story's themes or help deliver the message? It doesn't really sound like it does, so this would be an example of a thread you can probably snip.

And the thing is, it would be okay to follow a thread like that while you're plotting or writing your first draft, just to see where it goes and see if you can make it work. Part of why we edit and revise is to snip out the threads and elements that aren't pulling their weight. But learning how to curb them as they occur to you will help save you work later on down the line. Try writing those ideas down in an ideas document, and maybe those can be worked into different stories, a sequel, or a companion story.

One final note: I am very much aware that there are some epic writers out there who let wild tangles of threads sprout as they write, and they follow them all without abandon, relevant or not. That's okay, too. These are writers for whom that works, who don't feel overwhelmed by all of those threads, who want to write something bigger and more unwieldy. Maybe in time as you get accustomed to writing smaller, tidier stories, you embrace the bigger stories your brain wants to tell. Or maybe you don't. Whatever works best for you is all that matters. :)

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Testing One, Two, Three (S.R. Smut +18)

Summary: (Spencer Reid x Fem Reader) Spencer comes home, after a long week of being away, with a bag full of (sexy) surprises.

Content Warnings: Sex toy use, praise kink, dirty talk, mutual self pleasure, coming undone, overstimulation, very light submissive (Reader) dominant (Spencer) dynamics, talk of anal sex & pegging

Word Count: 3.3K

Note: This is one that I have had saved in my drafts for a very long time! And I just had the inspiration to finish it a couple days ago.

Testing One, Two, Three

It wasn’t strange for Spencer to make trips to the grocery store, to the used bookstore, or the pharmacy before making his way back to Y/N’s storybook Tudor home after work.

This evening proved to be not unlike the others. Spencer, driving his powder blue Volvo pulls into Y/N’s driveway. She watches from the windows as he takes out his satchel, his overnight bag, and other large black shopping bags. It didn’t look like it was from the grocery store and their local bookstore didn’t give customers plastic bags. Curious, Y/N unlocks the door for Spencer, deciding to meet him at her front stoop instead of in the kitchen or the hallway like normal.

“Hey there, love,” Spencer says, the nickname brushing off his lips with ease. He looks tired and worn down. Y/N thinks that traveling through two different time zones and not getting enough sleep is a way to do that to a person, but she decides she’ll keep that to herself and just usher Spencer to bed earlier tonight.

“Oh, Spence. I really missed you,” she confesses, breathing in his familiar scent. It's a little different. He smells like cheap hotel shampoo and stale coffee, not like his usual minty and green tea body wash and expensive coffee beans. 

Spencer sighs into her neck, swaying slightly as he holds Y/N in his arms on her front stoop. His bags, even the mysterious black on, lay neglected on the ground by their feet.

“I know, Y/N. I know, sweetheart,” he reassures, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture. “I got you something. Well, really it’s for us. But for you, mostly I suppose,” 

“You’re acting clingy and squirrely,” she assesses, leaning back to look at Spencer’s unreadable face. He simply shrugs, as if to say you’ll find out when you find out. 

“I need caffeine,” Spencer remarks, as he insists on carrying all the bags into the house by himself, “And something comfy to wear. I’ve been in this shirt for the last two days. There was a break in the case 41 hours in and we couldn’t break for the hotel. It was too out of the way,” 

“Oh my poor boy,” Y/N exclaims, helping Spencer shed his cardigan and standing with him as he takes his shoes off, “What about a nice hot shower and then some leftovers. I made chickpea curry last night. We have leftover rice and garlic naan, too,” she offers. 

Spencer, offering his thanks, grabs at his tie. His shoulders tense with exhaustion and something unreadable. He’s not usually mysterious. Usually, Spencer’s nothing but an open book. 

“You alright?” Y/N asks, doling out the portion of chickpeas and rice on the delicately decorated plates she received for her 25th birthday. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, clipped and detached. 

So unlike him. 

“Hmm. Well how was work? Anything interesting happen?” Y/N asks, attempting to spark conversation with her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a solid five months; enough time for whatever it was to have run its course. If Y/N didn’t know any better than she should expect herself to be circling the drain tonight along with dishes that would certainly be neglected for a pint of Java Chip. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, nodding thanks for the plate of food. He shovels in a couple bites, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation. 

So unlike him. 

Usually, Spencer would be clamoring to talk to her. It wasn’t too long ago that they spent long nights sharing a bottle of red and talking about everything from books to movies to the meaning of life. 

“Alright, Spencer. Cut the crap. Are you breaking up with me? Because if you are–?” 

Shock washes over Spencer’s face. And he doesn’t wear it well. He does a spit take and it’s nearly as foolish as it looks like in movies. Spencer’s eyes grow about three sizes bigger. 

“What? Break up with you? God, no,” he stammers, the sentiment clear although his efforts lacked clarity. 

“Okay.” Y/N says, tossing Spencer a napkin to mop up his mess of curry and water. “Good to know. But why are you acting so….squirrely?” 

Shifting in his seat, Spencer attempts to remain calm. His eyes, a honey brown with a cool brown rim, flit to the mysterious bag he brought in from his car. It was as if she could hear the whirring of the gears clicking into place. She follows his gaze to the bag. 

“You bought something. Something that you’re either nervous about or embarrassed? So it can’t be books. And it’s not something innocuous like a throw blanket or pie dish. And judging by your breathing growing heavy, it’s something….salacious.” 

Spencer’s thin upper lip twitches with delight. He hums, neither confirming nor denying her claims. His eyes flicker with playfulness, a contrast to moments ago when Spencer’s eyes flooded with fear and shock.

“You’re smart.” Spencer concludes, smiling with knives. He stands to presumably grab the black bag that has caused so much intrigue. “Should have been a profiler with a mind like yours.” 

“I’ll stick to what I know.” Y/N tells him, her interest in the bag only growing 

when Spencer places it in front of her on the table. “Let me guess, we’re at the stage in our relationship where you can buy me sexy underwear without it looking like you’re sleaze,” 

Chortling, Spencer blushes profusely. His feeble attempts at hiding the bag's contents fail miserably as they only pique Y/N’s interest. His eyes are wide with wonder and anticipation in the kitchen light. 

“It’s not lingerie.” 

“Alright, well whatever it is, Spencer I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re being so jumpy, it’s making me think you’ve got some really kinky sex toy in here,” she says, reaching her hand into the bag to finally examine its contents. She’s good at reading faces. From the old man who reads French Literature on the Metro to the young barista at the local coffee shop, Y/N, like even Spencer admitted, is pretty well versed at reading people. Which is why, for a split second she reads pure terror in Spencer’s eyes. 

“Oh shit,” she says, turning the box in her hand and reading the label. “You bought me a wand?” Her voice goes up an octave as if she’s just realizing what she’s holding in her hands. 

Spencer, now thoroughly, embarrassed, covers his face with his hand. His cheeks are tinged a lovely pink and he peeks through his fingers, apparently still eager. “Will you kill me if I say that’s not the only thing in there?” 

“Spencer Reid!” she shouts, slapping his hands on the table with glee and excitement. It was the very thought of Spencer Reid in a sex shop that sent both shivers down her spine, like an electric shock and shock waves of laughter through her system. “You went into a sex shop.” 

“Yes, Y/N,” Spencer contends, his tone playful enough, “But please continue your teasing. We’ll see how cocky you’ll be when you’re on the receiving end of 5000 RPMS. And that’s the lowest setting,” 

“Is that a threat?” Y/N asks, leaning in closer to Spencer. Her cleavage is eye level to Spencer’s line of vision. His eyes dart there to the bag and back to her eyes. 

He shakes his head. “A promise. Continue,” Spencer instructs, pointing towards the bag. She listens, fishing her hand in the large bag.

“That’s a clitoral stimulator.” Spencer explains, “The website I got recommendations from says that it simulates oral sex. It has eleven settings,” he continues, watching as Y/N’s eyes grow big at the thought of the toy in her hands. 

“Hmm, eleven?” she muses, putting it down next to the menacing looking hitachi wand.

“Another one? Spencer, how much money did you spend on toys?” she says aghast as she takes out yet another item from the bag. 

“It’s a Lush vibrator.” Spencer explains, waving off Y/N’s concerns for his wallet. “It’s actually connected to my phone. That means I can control it, even when we’re apart. Which, considering how much we’re apart, just might come in handy.” 

“This must have cost a lot of money.” Y/N speculates, staring at the three presents facing her on the countertop. “You really didn’t have to. You really shouldn’t–” 

“Y/N,” Spencer says, her name sounding deadly in his breathy timber, “It’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied. And I thought it would be a little fun to bring in some…reinforcements.” 

“That’s certainly more forward thinking than my last boyfriend. He was under the assumption that toys stole his thunder. But between you and me, and like every other woman he slept with, it’s probably because he hardly ever made me finish.” 

“Really?” Spencer says, looking shocked. “And he was still insecure about bringing toys into the bedroom?” 

Laughing, Y/N tosses her head back in a chortle. There was something endearing about Spencer’s genuine shock. 

 Spencer, looking half bemused and half proud, shifts in his seat. “So are we going to test them out or what?” 

Twenty minutes later, they were both in her bed. Y/N, on her back, with her feet planted firmly on the bed, watches as Spencer studies her carefully. Sweat pools in her cleavage and she grabs the sheets, needing something to grip as yet another wave of pleasure washes over her body. He had already coaxed an orgasm out of her with the clitoral stimulator. 

Spencer, fully dressed, holds the wand against her. He has a notebook to her left with small scribbles of notes detailing how fast she’s edged with each different toy. His scribbles, messy and disorganized at best, grow increasingly illegible. Spencer’s creases his brow, a sign of his intense determination, and is fuzzy as Y/N gazes down at him. She watches his look of stoic concentration, something that she finds entirely too attractive. But considering he plans on bringing her to climax time and time again tonight, she’ll give into her flights of fancy. 

“Think you like this one.” Spencer comments. He switches the wand to his less dominant, but still skillful hand to make notes on the pad. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face, a sign that he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on. 

“It’s really good.” she says, her voice betraying her already limited resolve. Spencer’s fingers lie casually on her thighs, searing marks into her legs that vaporize her skin. When he touches her it’s like her limb liquifies and her skin melts. She wants his fingerprints to sear into her skin, finally becoming part of her. 

“Yeah,” Spencer asks, a sarcastic smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “Tell me more, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.” 

Spencer’s words are punctuated by the head of the toy rolling against her clit. He never keeps it in one place longer than a couple of seconds, either not wanting to overstimulate her too soon or to keep her on her toes longer for him. 

“It feels so…good. Better than it used to. Before I had you,” she stammers, the words clunky in her mouth as she concentrates on Spencer’s deft hand at her core and his warm lips against her neck. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Before you had me to keep you nice and full, you had to use things like this. But I’m gone too often for you. I need to know my sweet girl is taken care of. So we’re going to test all of these toys out tonight. Till you’re drippy little mess, begging for me to finally fuck you.” 

Spencer’s sloppy kisses climb the slope of Y/N’s neck. He leaves whisper-wishes into the nooks of her skin, each one filled with promises and love. It’s a stark contrast; the sweet kisses to his hand that holds the vibrator: the bane of her undoing. 

“You know Hitachi wands are excellent for clitoral stimulation. This one has only one vibration pattern, but eight different speeds. Now that sounds like a challenge. And one that I’d like to break.” 

Y/N’s brow furrows as she gazes at Spencer with a deep concentration. He breathes against her neck, a trail full of wet kisses plotting their revenge against her sensitive skin. Spencer’s fingers hold the wand deftly as he concentrates the sensation against her clit. Y/N’s feet move up the bed, dragging the crocheted blanket with them. 

“Holy shit, Spence!” Y/N curses, her breath bated as the wand’s vibrations kick up a couple of levels. 

“That’s my girl. You like the fourth setting. Remember that, baby,” Spencer says, his lips curved into a proud smile as Y/N’s hips jut upwards in tandem with the toy, “Just like that, Y/N. I can tell you’re close. Give me another. One’s not enough for my greedy girl. And who am I to deny such a pretty face and a wet pussy. It’s all mine after all.” 

She feels the wand leave her clit and venture up to her stomach. Y/N’s muscles react like falling dominos at the sensation. She tenses as the vibrations shoot up and fry her nerves. Spencer licks his lips at the sight of her arousal sticking to her bare torso. He carefully dances the wand up to her nipples, watching with glee as they pebble even further in response to the vibrations. 

“One day I’ll give you an orgasm from just playing with these nipples. I’ll lick and kiss and suck on them till you’re dripping and begging for my cock to fill you up.” 

“Jesus, Spencer.” Y/N pants, her hips buckling as her climax reached its peak. “Can I come, please? Please let me come again? I need it so fucking bad, baby.” Her tongue peaks  out from her lips, wetting the surface as Spencer peered up at her. She grabs his collar to drag him up for a kiss just as she finally teetered off the edge, yet again. 

Spencer separates from the kiss, his lips puffy and red from Y/N’s frantic mouth. He smiles, gently caressing her head in a gesture that was entirely too sweet for their current situation. She feels Spencer’s erection in his pants; it had to be almost painful by now. 

“What was that two or three?” Y/N asks, a self-satisfied smirk plaguing her face. “I think we might set a record or something.” 

“That was two.” Spencer corrects. He takes more notes in his little notebook. “Of at least four or five. Depending on how much you beg later.” He slips off the bed and fishes through the bag. “Now, I think I have an idea for which I’d like to try next.” 

A bright pink silicone dildo with a flared based, freshly washed, lays in between them on the bed. Y/N raises her eyes in surprise. 

“Most men wouldn’t be too thrilled to have something other than their penis fuck their girlfriends, you know.” 

Spencer shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s a lot that we can do with it.” He claims, “Like double penetration or even, uh,” He blushes and stumbles over his next comment, “And pegging.” 

Y/N grins as an overwhelming sense of arousal washed over her. “Oh,” she says, skimming her fingers around Spencer’s neck. His skin is ridiculously soft, “we are so tabling that one for later. I would love to see you a mess for me instead.” 

Spencer grins. “Fuck, that’s good, Y/N. So good.” He kissed her forehead. “I wanna watch you ride it. Like you would my cock.” 

Y/N nods, as Spencer shifts on the bed, allowing for her to assume a crouched position. She looks at Spencer, his eyes laden with lust and love. He sits, legs spread in an attempt to accommodate his hardened erection in the old arm chair. He looks too good to be true, his cheeks are tinged with a blush, the dances that line between innocence and corruption. His notebook is forgotten, as he needs the entirety of his attention focused on the sight before him. 

“Good girl.” Spencer mutters, his hands resting on his thighs, but they twitch restlessly. It was as if he needs to physically hold himself back from ravishing Y/N at the sight of her crouched on her bed ready to fuck herself with a dildo her purchased for her. “Lower yourself on the toy. Give yourself an inch into your sweet little cunt.” 

His voice is deep, yet soft as he guided her pleasure expertly. She groans as the toy breaches her cunt, the full sensation is welcomed after the last hour of the wand and clit stimulator. 

“Don’t you wish it was your cock fucking my cunt, Spencer?” Y/N asks, her right hand wrapped around the flared base of the toy and the other holding herself up. Her abdominal muscles stunned with strain as her body remained in a crouched position, but the promise of release goaded her on. “You’re so hard, baby. I can see it from here. Don’t you want to touch yourself?” 

Spencer bites his lip. He nods as his hands undo his belt and his hips lift up enough so he can shimmy his pants and underwear to his knees. He wraps a hand around his cock, hard and glistening with arousal, and rubs upward with a tight fist. Spencer’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he continues to watch Y/N lower herself onto the toy. 

“Give yourself another inch, sweetheart.” Spencer instructs as he fucked his fist. He swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Fuck I wish it was your mouth or your pussy on my dick.” 

“God, you have the prettiest cock.” Y/N pants, the toy filling her up more and more as she sinks lower onto the base. “But now that we have this toy, maybe you can fuck my ass? I know you’d like that, baby.” 

“Dirty girl,” Spencer praises, a smile covering his face as Y/N’s thighs quiver, “Tell me does that toy fill you up nicely? I had to pick out the best one for my girl.” 

“Yes, yes,” Y/N answers, her voice rough and raw, “So good….I feel so full.” The pink dildo filled her cunt. 

“Good. Good.” Spencer says, his hand moving up and down his cock at a hastened pace. “Show me how you’ll ride it when I’m not here to fuck you, baby. Show me how you’ll fuck that tight cunt.” 

Spencer’s words provide the encouragement for Y/N to hoist herself up and down on the dildo. She would've laid flat on her back, a position that would have been easier on her thighs and core, but the angle she’s  able to reach makes the suffering all worth it. 

“Fuck…so good, Spencer. But I don’t think I can come from just this…it’s not…it’s not enough for me.” Y/N explains. Spencer knows that. He understands the science behind the female orgasm enough to know that many women are unable to reach climax from vaginal penetration only.

“I know, sweet girl. Don’t you worry.” He promises. “Bring your fingers to your clit

and give yourself some nice tight circles.” 

She listens. Her fingers draw tight circles around her clit. Y/N bites her lip as she feels her pleasure build and build. “So good. So good.” 

“I know, I know. Grind against the heel of your hand. You go wild when I do that, love. Like a little fucking minx. You can’t get enough.” 

The tension builds in her stomach as she grinds against the heel of her hand. Cursing, Spencer watches with lust-laden eyes as Y/N writhes on the bed. Sweat forms against her brow as her feet dig into the mattress and her thighs burn in exhaustion. Until she finally feels that familiar burst of pleasure release. 

“Fuck, fuck,” She curses, so caught up in her own pleasure the room seemed to spin around her. “I–I…Spencer, I’m coming.” 

Her release washes over her as she slumps down into the bed, finally spent with all her energy expended. She can barely hear Spencer shuffle over, nearly tripping over his feet since his pants remained gathered around his ankles. 

“Holy shit.” Spencer curses. “That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.” He looks at her with half awe and half love. He pulls his underwear back up and kicks his pants off as he sits on the bed. “Are you alright, babe?”

Y/N groans, her cunt is raw with overstimulation and it is like every single nerve in her body is lit on fire in the best way possible. She offers Spencer a weak thumbs up that morphed into an equally weak fist bump. He obliged and gave Y/N a sweet forehead kiss in return. 

“So toys are a plus for us,” Spencer muses. He adjusts the pillows on the bed and helps Y/N sit up in a more comfortable position. “Thank you for this. I really enjoyed it. And I’m, you know, glad you’ll be occupied when I’m gone.” 

Y/N’s face flushes as a warmth resembling love covers her entire being. “I should be the one thanking you,” she counters, “Wait…I didn’t get you off.” She says, sitting up and then failing as her tired body gave out. 

“That’s a problem you already took care of,” Spencer protests, gesturing to his stained underwear. “I had already come untouched by the time you told me to touch myself. You put on quite the show, sweetheart.” 

She raises her eyes in disbelief as Spencer chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you found that equally pleasurable. I don't think I’ve ever come as hard as I just did. And I doubt it’ll ever happen again.” She rises from the bed, with the help of Spencer. He grabs her waist as they make their way into her bathroom.

“Is that a challenge?” Spencer says, with a cocky smirk

“Fuck yeah it is,” Y/N said, “but I think I need like three weeks to recover.” 

Thank you for reading! Please remember, I appreciate you reading, reflagging, and commenting on all of my fics. I love your feedback and appreciate your support & community more than you'll ever know.

Tag List (I don't want to bother anyone, so just tagging people I mainly interact with)

@reidsbookclub @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @boldlyvoid

[not-iceking]

just remember to give it back, it'll miss me!

simon was sure he should feel something. thirteen years ago, he had told betty to leave the crown. he had been okay then. a year ago, he had held the crown and threw it into nothingness. he had been terrified. simon felt he should be worried or afraid or upset at himself because betty didnt save you for this. but instead of fear or disappointment, with his hands holding the crown so gently without the pressure of someone else watching, he felt... relieved. he felt overwhelming relief.

the cool golden metal felt comforting in his grasp, and he welcomed the familiar chill that washed down his spine as the metal leeched out all of the warmth from within him. and for the first time in years simon felt like he wasnt melting. just holding the crown made the ache of his old bones dull into a quiet hum. he remembered back then, in front of golbetty, how he had hesitated. but- had he? the lesson she was trying to teach him. was it not what she had taken? his autonomy? he wouldnt hesitate this time. he hooked his fingers under the rim of the crown, cradling the cursed object as if it were as valuable as it was old. then he lifted it up and-

there was no sudden change. no flash of white light. no ice king. just, simon. thoughts smoothed over with a fresh blanket of static, simon closed his eyes and.. relaxed. a deep cold slowly crawling into his bones. when he opened them again, he looked tired. but a new spark had lit up behind his pale eyes. "i had almost gotten my crown back, but.. someone i cared about had convinced me i was only hurting myself if i put it back on." he flexed his fingers, eyeing them curiously, before clenching his fists. glittering sparks of ice magic crackled around his knuckles and disappeared over his palms. "i believed her, in a way. i thought everyone would like me better as simon."

"...but if i want to be iceking again, if i want magic again. than damnit!- they dont get to tell me i dont get that choice!"

@farmingtime

_____

OOC// holy shit this took three tries to post because the image was too big and tumblr didnt save it as a draft<//3

THIS BLOG IS BASICALLY MY OWN FIX-IT FIC FOR FIONNA AND CAKE, AND THIS POST IS USHERING IN SEASON 2 BABEYYY!! EVERYONE SAY HELLO TO: ASK SIMON SEASON 2, THE SNOWMAN. with the start of this next 'season' i will now be marking things as "#🧊 ~ season 2" to help differentiate when certain posts take place! certain interactions will also be marked with a special hashtag (for example, this interaction is "#☃️ icefinn int☃️") i will also be marking any asks from here on out either as season 1 or season 2 !!

everyone say thank you to @arocoomer for giving me the inspiration and motivation to finally continue this blogs main story!!

[terresdebrume]

Work is kinda hectic rn, my knees are NOT liking how much traveling between floors I have to do, and I am missing sleep like crazy so my WIPs are staying largely untouched but I HAD to push out this concept for a maybe-someday fic in the I'm down on my knees universe

Written for the free square day of @painlandweek . Have some hurt/comfort ft Charles and how he feels about his mum. Also belatedly tagging @ghostinthelibrarywrites bc I think you'll enjoy it and I accidentally posted a thing that was meant to stay a draft again xD

Charles is sitting on the doorstep. It's almost eight PM on a weeknight, Edwin is just back from a fun-study session—which is really just Maren's way of saying she wants beer with her textbooks—tired, brain swimming with texts of law, and more than a little tipsy... And Charles Rowland is sitting on his doorstep. His building's doorstep. The difference is irrelevant.

Caught off guard, Edwin blinks, and stares at Charles.

He is curled up on the ground, spine back in that parenthesis shape it had back in school. His elbows are on his knees, hands buried into the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes closed. Edwin takes in the tension in Charles' shoulders, the way the fading sunlight catches the green vines tattooed on his left forearm, the slow, deliberate depth of movement around his ribcage, and decides against calling out to him. Instead, Edwin walks up to him until Charles can no longer ignore the footsteps, and waits for him to speak.

"Hi," Charles says, muffled, from between his elbows.

"Hi," Edwin replies, chest twisting when the last hope he had that Charles was just a bit tired evaporates like rhum from a flambé.

He steps forward again, then ignores the fresh layer of summer dust on the steps and sits down next to Charles, deliberately picking a position that makes their hips and shoulders touch. Charles leans into it immediately, turning a light contact into solid pressure, and Edwin sighs. Things could be worse.

"I did not expect you tonight," Edwin prompts, trying to make himself as gentle as he can.

Tuesday nights are when Charles and Niko's dance classes take place. Edwin has never known either of them to miss one, so Charles' presence here is one more sign that whatever is going on is not to be taken lightly. As if to confirm Edwin's suspicions, Charles sighs, and mumbles:

"I ran into my mum."

Edwin freezes. For some reason, in the few months since he and Charles reunited, it never quite clicked for him that Charles' parents, for all that Charles hasn't had any contact with them for nearly eight years now, exist in the same world they do. London is such a large, dense city, it is easy to make your life in a corner of it and never step outside its boundaries. Edwin's parents certainly treat Kensington like an insular country only worth leaving for the richer shores of Mayfair, when they deign to visit the capital at all. Just like Edwin and Charles existed less than ten minutes away from each other for months without having a clue, the possibility of him running into Mr. or Mrs. Rowland by accident did not even cross Edwin's mind. Nor Charles', from the look of things.

"That must have been a shock," Edwin says.

He does not know enough to infuse more feelings into his response. Charles, for all that he shares his smiles, his affections and the chief of his worldly possessions freely, has remained incredibly tight lipped about his past. The summary of what Edwin knows of Charles' youth is quite easy to make.

Fact the first: at the age of sixteen, not one term into his stay at St. Hilarion's School for Boys, Charles Rowland jumped into a pool full of a deadly allergy trigger to save Edwin's life.

Fact the second: for the remainder of that school year, Charles endeavoured to make Edwin's life as painless as possible. His presence remains, by far, the brightest highlight of Edwin's adolescence.

Fact the third: at the age of seventeen, or near enough, Charles ran away from what he described as a bad home situation exactly once and proceeded never to mention again. It is Edwin's understanding that Charles may have escaped with nothing but the clothes on his back that day.

Two of those facts, Edwin knows because he was a direct witness to them, and the third was only shared with him because he accidentally made it an implicit condition to renewing his acquaintance with Charles.

Charles Rowland is not an emotional sharer, and Edwin is sort of at a loss.

"Yeah," Charles mumbles after a beat. "It was a bloody shock alright."

Edwin bites on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to push his fists together.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asks, hoping his voice conveys the appropriate mixture of care and caution.

Charles shrugs, sniffing and rubbing his face against one of his forearms. Edwin bites his lip a little harder, and cautiously raises his right hand to place it on Charles' back. He feels and sees the muscles tense, Charles arching his back like an angry cat for the half second it takes Edwin to take his hand back.

"I apologize," he says, hand hovering uselessly above Charles' shoulder blades, "I wanted—"

"Neck's fine," Charles mumbles, low enough that Edwin almost misses it.

He swallows thickly, pausing when the upstairs neighbors walk by with puzzled faces. Edwin doesn't quite glare at them but it's a near thing, and he turns back to Charles the second they're out of view.

"Alright," he says. "Neck, then."

He only touches two fingers to the nape of Charles' neck at first, trying to keep it light, but that makes Charles tense again so he changes to a more present grip, palm flat and only just brushing with the edge of Charles' hair. Charles doesn't move into it this time, but he doesn't flinch away either. Edwin feels Charles take a deep, soundless breath, like a swimmer before a dive, and braces.

"I. She asked how I was," he exhales at last, and the wind rushes out of Edwin's lungs with a punched out sound. "I haven't seen her in over seven years and she—"

Charles takes a shuddering breath, sharp and painful sounding, and his voice sounds utterly broken when he says:

"He used to beat me up, you know."

Edwin, who hadn't known but kept the possibility in his mind like a bad thorn, bites down on a sympathetic hiss and leans a little harder against Charles instead, stretching so he can lean his forehead against the back of Charles' skull.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, free hand grasping around until it can find the jut of Charles' left knee, and wrap his fingers around it, squeezing with as much reassurance as he can muster.

He wishes, abruptly, that he'd thought to take Charles inside before he started this talk. They both deserve better than the front step of Edwin's building, where another pair of neighbors gawks at them as they walk past. Yet, now that they're here, Edwin wouldn't cut Charles off for all the gold in the world. He fears with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of, that interrupting Charles now would send him back into his usual reserve, and Edwin knows with absolute certainty that he will go to great lengths to prevent that from happening.

"She never—every time he did it," Charles says, almost choking on the words, "she'd just stand—she didn't do anything! And now—now she—"

A long fit of coughing cuts Charles off, wracking his body and shaking Edwin's head even as he tightens his hold on Charles, as if he could make up for his childhood with how much he loves him.

"I'm so sorry," he tells Charles. "You deserved so much better."

Charles' cough subsides, melting into shuddering, soundless sobs that Edwin wants to take into his ribs and hide from the rest of the world. He straightens up and, as gently as he can, guides Charles to lean against him harder until his frame his half cradled in Edwin's arms.

"It's not bloody fair," Charles manages between sobs, gulping air like he's drowning, shaking against Edwin.

Edwin breathes in, tears crowding at the corner of his eyes, and holds Charles closer. He wishes, so desperately, that he could love him enough to erase the past and make all the pain go away.

"I love you," he says instead, recklessly, pressing a kiss into the side of Charles' hair. "I know it doesn't make anything better, but I love you."

They sit like this for a long time, Charles crying and Edwin rocking him lightly like a child, until things finally calm down enough that Charles is ready to go upstairs for tea. They drink it out of the blue mugs Monty bought when he and Edwin moved in, quietly sitting on the couch in one of those strange bubbles of relieved fragility that comes after a crisis. For a long while, they sit in silence on Edwin's couch.

Then Charles sighs, long and tired, and leans sideways until he can rest his head on Edwin's shoulder, one arm looping around his waist.

"I love you too, mate," he sighs, making Edwin freeze. "And it does make things better that you love me."

Edwin, his heart singing from Charles' declaration and bleeding from the way he meant it, nods, and drinks his tea.

[stereax]

hi hello hey !!!

Are you already tired of Four Nations Faceoff? Don't want to watch Auston Matthews wail on the Finnish lack of d-corps tonight? Don't have a way to watch it?

Or: Do YOU want some relatively low-stakes hockey that's highly French, starting at 7 PM Eastern time?

After the success of Wednesday Night in the Dub, the QMJHL took a look at the WHL and said "we're gonna do the same thing, but in Quebecois" and enter: Duel du jeudi soir!

This week's matchup is the Gatineau Olympiques vs the Rimouski Océanic. Rimouski is the second-best team in the Q, with a .730 points percentage, and have already clinched the playoffs. Gatineau is... the second-worst team in the Q, with a .347 points percentage. And last week on DDJS they got shitcanned 9-4. So it's likely enough they get shitcanned again this week. But it'll be fun! And in French!

Also, if you're a Pens fan, you probably know the Océanic as Sidney Crosby's junior team. Did you know the Olympiques are Claude Giroux's junior team? Now you do!

Here's some players I'm keeping my eye on:

Rimouski

Mathieu Cataford (#77): MATCAT! MATCAT!!! Beloved VGK prospect, part of the Jack Eichel trade actually! Doing sicko stuff in the Q. Had a torrid start to the season (36 pts in 20 games) but has slowed down considerably since then, partially because he was part of Team Canada at the WJC! "Our beautiful energy guy from the Q", as van @puckpocketed calls him <3. One of only two Q players to be at the WJC actually, the other being Ethan Gauthier, beloved Volt (hangs up Chekhov's Gun on my wall). Third on the team in points. Played for the Halifax Mooseheads for his first years in the Q, including dragging them through what I understand is a Season From Hell in 23-24, but got shipped up to Rimouski when the Mooseheads decided they needed to rebuild.

Lou Levesque (#67): Boybestfriends with MatCat! Honestly don't know much else about him except that the Océanic got him in part because MatCat wanted his friend from Halifax. Doesn't look like they're linemates right now, though.

Keep an eye out for Alexandre Blais (#22), the leader of the team in points, and Jacob Mathieu (#81), team leader in goals. Also Jonathan Fauchon (#16) who casually leads the entire Q in points but isn't the team leader because he was traded to Rimouski midseason. Blais-Fauchon-Mathieu seems to be their top line, with MatCat as 2C.

Gatineau

Jérémie Minville (#27): Carrying this god damn team on his back, so help him God. Had a shooting percentage of 4.9% with Rouyn-Noranda, including his second year with a shooting percentage of 1.9%. He is a winger. Got traded to Gatineau and remembered he was elite apparently and cranked out a 38G season. He has 29 on the year already this season, too. Also he's from Drummondville (polishes Chekhov's Gun).

Jan Golicic (#21): Only Guy Drafted on the Olympiques. Tampa Bay draft pick. Slovenian! Import drafted to the Q and chose to play with this team instead of trying his luck in the USHL-NCAA pipeline. God bless him, truly.

Lukas Landry (#17): VOLT! Former Drummondville Voltigeur (shoots Chekhov's Gun repeatedly can you tell I have a favorite team in the Q CAN YOU TELL YET). Also he's 5'8". I know nothing else about him :3

Gatineau is what I like to call a "goalie explosion chamber"; they brag about their top goalie having a .878 save percentage and five wins, and they have had one shutout all year. They play at the Centre Slush Puppie and have an open casting call for people who want to play music before their games on the Budweiser Stage. I don't know if they're real?

Lyam Jacques

Lyam Jacques (#22, Gatineau): VOLT! VOLT! VOLT! FORMER VOLTIGEUR! And from Drummondville too!

That's not the important thing about him, though. The Volts acquired him this year and let him play a few games for the home team before trading him off to Gatineau. Where did the Volts get him from, you may ask?

Rimouski. Who cut the veteran forward after 2.5 seasons. And traded him to the Volts for a 2025 7th-round pick. (Which, by major junior standards, is basically future considerations.) And then the Volts played him a few games and shipped him off to Gatineau for a 2027 5th.

Is Lyam Jacques good? Not really; he accrues far more penalty minutes than points. Is he playing? Nope, he's been a consistent healthy scratch for Gatineau since he got there. (EliteProspects is lying to you!) Which is saying something, given that Gatineau is such a bottom feeder @neonfretra is naming it after a Cuda player.

But in MY head this is the Lyam Jacques bowl <3 Two teams fighting over a mid-at-best fourth liner, like God intended <3 Loser has to keep him, no take backsies <3

Are you in? Great! You can watch DDJS FREE on YouTube here! (They archive past DDJSes too!) The game tonight starts at 7 PM Eastern :D

And if that doesn't convince you... well...

Hope to see you in the #ddjs lb tag tonight!!

[ririleil]

teaching you // r. suna

synopsis: you found yourself reluctantly practicing volleyball for the upcoming sports week that you never willingly signed up for. your classmates and friends had entered your name without you knowing just to fill up the roster. frustrated and unable to back out, you decided to grit your teeth and bear with it until the end. the only problem you have though? you have no idea how to play volleyball and no idea how to practice. after countless failed practice attempts, you're on the verge of giving up. until the boy who always seems to get under your skin decided to show up and tease you that very night.

tags: pre-timeskip, enemies to lovers sort of dynamic, unestablished relationship (just classmates) , physical touch, suna is a tease and a menace, y/n is tired with his bs. banter ensues.

wc: 2.3k 

author's notes: this was a chapter of an enemies to lovers fic that i actually wrote for suna that i completely discontinued because i had no idea how to continue the plot. so i decided to make this into a oneshot. this was marinating in my drafts for so long i need to let it out. hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist

this wasn't what you planned to do. 

you were supposed to be staying at the sidelines. 

the only thing you decided to do (at least what you wanted to do) during sports week was to join the working committee. maybe handling the logistics, the game schedules, or handing refreshments and towels to the players or maybe even sneaking off to buy taiyaki or milk tea and just watching the students participate and sweat it out on the court.

but fate– no actually and more accurately, your classmates— had other plans. 

“y/n, come on! we need one more!” they cried.

“you're tall enough to play, it's fine!” they insisted.

“pleaasseee! it'll be fun! we promise!” they promised. 

you were two seconds away from combusting when you found out what happened. your classmates, friends, and peers even had the audacity to look at you with those pleading, puppy-dog eyes. you wanted to crash out and argue with them (rightfully so) when you found out they had signed your name without your consent, telling them that it's not fair for only one party to decide who plays or not and leaving the other one to face the burden who never even wanted to play to begin with. 

instead, you sighed, thinking that this was not worth starting a fight over. you only muttered something bitter under your breath, and agreed.

“for the class,” you told yourself. “for the camaraderie. for the plus points for participation. or whatever.”

still, you had a shred of pride left to salvage and that is why you had decided to practice a week or 2 before the class team practices together, just to save embarrassment that you actually SUCKED at volleyball. you only had minimal experience— just that one volleyball lesson you had during PE class and that was just about it. 

if you were going to humiliate yourself, you decided that you would at least do it with minimal disgrace. 

and now here you were, standing at the baseline of the open gym's volleyball court and staring down at the ball right in front of you with heavy beads of sweat running down your face. you checked the open gym's wall clock. it's 6:17 in the evening already and you have been practicing for almost an hour (and for three nights in total with so little improvement) and it's all been an honest disaster. 

no matter how you tried to serve or how many times you spiked the ball onto the wall for you to receive the ball back, the ball's trajectory would always go off in the way you never wanted it to be. 

you were on the verge of giving up. 

you sighed in exhaustion, wiping the sweat off your forehead. the gym was eerily quiet except for the sounds of your breaths and the echo of your failed attempts. 

but as determined as you are, you refused to back down. 

so you took a deep breath, tossed the ball up into the air, and swung your arm forward.

“i was wondering where you disappeared off to lately but i actually didn't expect this at all.”

you froze, fumbling your serve as you heard the voice laced with amusement that you're oh so familiar with. the owner of the voice watched you throw another failed serve, the ball flying weakly and landing just close to the net but not over it. 

you looked back to see suna rintarou in his practice gear and a white gym bag over his shoulder, donning the volleyball team's red varsity jacket. he leaned on the wall with his hands in his pockets and an infuriatingly smug expression etched on his face. 

“you were actually practicing volleyball?” suna scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as if holding back his laughter. his eyes barely concealed the amusement from watching you fumble, looking at you like it was the most entertaining thing he had seen all week— something that even topped the miya twins fighting shenanigans.

the two of you had never really gotten along. somewhere between his snide comment during a group discussion and that one thing he had something to say about your handwriting—

to that time you accidentally spilled your chocolate drink on his uniform (he swore it was on purpose, you swore it wasn’t) and that one time you laughed at him when he tripped during the morning assembly—

something like a quiet rivalry had taken root. 

you didn’t hate him per se, but if sarcasm and sass were a sport, you and suna would be on toe to toe fighting for first place. every conversation was laced with witty jabs, eye-rolls, and that unspoken need to get the last word in just to try and one-up the other.

“you– h-how long have you been watching me?” you furrowed your brows, frustration starting to boil and embarrassment rising up to your cheeks. nevermind how creepy it was thinking how long he might have been standing there, silently observing you. 

you were infuriated. 

absolutely, totally, blisteringly infuriated.

and the worst part?

that smug bastard was enjoying it.

it was bad enough that you couldn’t get the ball to go anywhere but out of bounds. it was also bad enough that every time you tried to receive it after hitting the ball off the wall, it kept on flying off as it made contact with your arms.

not to mention the ball slammed you in the face just moments ago because you hit it too hard out of frustration. 

but seeing that stupid, wretched, arrogant smirk of suna right in front of you just made your mood even worse. it was the cherry on top of all the things that had already irritated you. 

“ever since the ball smacked you in the face.”

wow okay, prick, you thought to yourself. just when you thought the night couldn’t get any better. 

“you do know that's not how you're supposed to serve right?” his lazy, teasing tone made it very clear as if it wasn't obvious from the start.

“and what, you just stood there and didn’t think to offer help or something?”

“help?” he raised an eyebrow and then he pointed to himself, feigning confusion. 

“you mean me—a volleyball player—giving you—someone who clearly needs it—a few tips? didn't think you were one to ask for help, l/n.”

well… he's not exactly off the mark with that claim.

and that's what makes it even more annoying. 

“do you like tormenting people as a hobby, suna?” you frowned. 

“dunno but it was worth seeing your reaction, honestly” 

you sighed, too exhausted to banter at night. 

“look, if you have nothing else better to do, suna, you should just go back to your dorm and leave me alone.” frustrated, you looked away and placed your hands on your hips, hoping that he would just get off your back, walk away, and leave you alone. 

but he didn't. suna only hummed, his smirk fading away and now donning his usual deadpan expression.

you looked back at him to check his face. and somehow, that unreadable look he had right now irritated you more than his smug grin he always donned on whenever he had a chance to get under your skin.

“i figured you’d want to do it on your own,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “but it seems now you sound like you're practically asking me—”

you scoffed, cutting him off. “asking you? are you delusional? in your dreams, suna. you should really go to bed now.”

he chuckled. the aloof boy right in front of you seemed to enjoy whatever it is you two had going on. 

“sure, sure. but.”

he pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the ball that was sent close to the net. you had completely forgotten about it thanks to the-whatever-it-is that was brewing between you two. he picked the ball up from the ground then started walking over to your direction.

“it's fine to admit you need a little help sometimes, you know? or else, you'd look completely hopeless out there."

hopeless? 

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words suddenly died as he stood directly in front of you. his tall frame making yours feel smaller than usual. he handed the ball to you and you reluctantly accepted.  

“what's with the sudden interest though? volleyball doesn't seem like your thing and you don’t seem like the type to pick up a ball for fun.”

you huffed, gripping the ball tightly. for a moment, you hesitated, unsure whether to tell him the story of your current misfortune. part of you wanted to keep it to yourself, but another part wanted someone to hear you out— to ease the frustrations that have been swaying inside you, even just a little bit.

you decided to share bits of your current problem. 

“obviously. i’m not. i got roped into playing for the class on sports week that i can't get out of. it’s a long story, but basically, i have no idea what i’m doing, i have no idea how to play, and i’m just trying to figure it out before i embarrass myself out there.”

“ah.” 

silence filled the air, until suna raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained as the brevity of the situation finally sinked in for him. 

“so that’s why you’re here... failing in secret.” he smirked.

you shot him a glare. “hey, i’m trying, okay?”

“you look like you’re about to give yourself a concussion with how you’re going.” he retorted, clearly unbothered by that sharp look on your face. 

you groaned and rolled your eyes. “like i said, if you’re just here to make fun of me, you can leave. i'm not in the mood to be a victim of your teasing sessions for tonight, suna.”

but suna didn’t leave. instead, he casually took the ball from your hands and gave it a spin on the tip of his pointing finger. 

“i’m not here to make fun of you. well, maybe a little–”

“wow, that's totally comforting coming from you.” you retorted.

“but you do know i’m on the volleyball team, right? i can show you how not to look like an idiot out here and teach you how to actually serve.”

you blinked.

this is new. suna's actually willing to teach you how to serve? 

you narrowed your eyes, hesitation filling to the brim. 

“...and why would you want to help me?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

upon hearing that, suna stopped spinning the ball with his finger and held it between his two hands. he went quiet, his stoic face expressing thoughtfulness for a moment before smirking again. 

“maybe i just feel like it. or maybe i don’t want to see you get wrecked in front of the whole school, especially since you'd be representing the class. that would be embarrassing, i'd feel bad for you.” he claimed nonchalantly then proceeded to toss the ball lightly in his hands.

you bit your lip, thinking it over. you didn't want to admit it, but you were kind of desperate. you really don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of everyone on sports week, and as much as you disliked the idea of relying on someone, especially on someone like him, you don't exactly have a lot of options.

“alright,” you finally said after a moment of thought. “but if you’re just going to mess with me, i’m done.”

suna grinned, clearly satisfied with your answer.

“deal. alright, let’s start with your form." he passed the ball back to you without warning and you caught it with fast reflexes— but not without earning an ‘oomph’ out of you. the playfulness of his tone was still there, but something shifted in his expression. his usual lazy demeanor seemed more focused now, and for the first time, it's as if you saw a different side of suna. 

one that's awfully… captivating. 

you observed the dark haired boy place his bag on top of the bleachers before coming up to you. 

“try serving again,” he said, stepping behind you, his tone more instructive this time. “i’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

you hesitated once again but you turned your back to him, squaring your shoulders and attempting to do another serve. you tossed the ball up to the air, hit it, and it flew but it barely made it over the net. you cringed internally at your failed attempt, bracing for another snarky comment from your brunet companion.

instead, you only felt suna's hands lightly adjusting your arms to show you the proper form and positioning on how to serve the ball. 

“you’re not swinging hard enough, it should be like this,” he murmured lowly against your ear. “and your stance is too stiff… try to relax for a bit.”

you froze at the sudden proximity and his unexpected touch. his voice soothingly low and calm it annoyed you. you didn’t expect him to get this close, and now all you could think about was how steady and firm his hands were on your arms. 

and warm.

his hands were big and warm. 

and it felt nice. 

“try again,” he said softly, interrupting your headspace. he stepped back a little and handed you the ball he picked up a few moments ago.

and this time, you focused. you shrugged off all those weird thoughts you had just earlier and did exactly as he instructed.

you served again, but with his advice in mind this time. 

and the ball sailed much more cleanly across the net. 

it wasn’t perfect but atleast, it was better.

“oh wow.”

“see?” suna chirped, walking back around to face you. “not bad. maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, thanks to you, i guess.”

suna’s smirk widened. “looks like you’ll owe me big time for this.”

“owe you? but it's just one serve.”

“hey, it's the thought that counts. i'm putting in effort to teach you.”

“but the effort you gave is just the bare minimum…” you mumbled quickly under your breath.

“what was that?” 

“nothing.”

extra stuff: 

later that night, you found suna's account in your message requests

you checked it to see that suna had sent you a video of you getting your face planted by the ball

“almost forgot to send you this” he texted

you immediately blocked him after that

he approached you the next morning and convinced you to unblock him

temp. m.list

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

© ririleil 2025 | do not copy, repost, modify, or translate without my permission

[m1d-45]

I just used all my saved primogems on wanderer's banner and he still didnt come home 😭

Can I request a small sagau fic about him for comfort

rest

word count: ~1k

-> warnings: dialogue heavy reader, no spoilers though

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

your door was creaky. another thing to fix.

“why are you awake?”

but at least your wanderer was back.

you sit up from where you’re laying on the couch, taking a breath to clear your expression before turning to watch him come in. he shuts the door quietly despite the permanently sour look on his face, taking off his hat.

“welcome back. how was school?”

he made a face and you laughed, waving him over to join you. though he did walk closer, he merely crossed his arms and stood at the end of the couch. still, his voice wasn’t nearly as harsh as it could have been, “why do you insist on saying it like that?”

“the akademiya is a school, right?”

he stares, and you smile. it’s clear he doesn’t have an argument.

“i’m a professor.”

“you’re still going to school.”

“why are you upset?”

your smile slips. were you that transparent? “nothing for you to worry about. uh, you said you would be collecting draft essays today, right? how’d that go?”

his face shifts, softening just slightly around the edges. his hands fall, one propping on his side instead. “don’t change the subject.”

you could make a joke, but you’re too tired to try. the brief banter had given you some energy, but now…

you sigh, looking down to the discarded papers on the coffee table. letters, mostly, but a few diagrams you were supposed to look over. plans for a festival, a new shrine (how many did teyvat need?), the nth invitation to a lunch or event or whatever was going on that hour. you were honestly getting a headache before he showed up, and that wasn’t even addressing the other issues not on paper. “even gods can’t escape paperwork.”

he pulls all the papers—there’s a few not even taken from their envelopes yet, how did that happen—into a pile near the edge of the table, then sits beside you. he picks up a paper and skims it, then puts it to the side. “why are you handling this? shouldn’t someone else?”

you lean on his shoulder, watching as he begins to sort all the papers into two piles. you can’t pick out whatever pattern he’s using: some he lingers on for a few seconds, some he tosses in an instant. “they were addressed to me.”

“so? you don’t have to personally respond to every piece of fanmail.” he tosses one envelope into the second, larger pile with more force than the others. “it’s ridiculous. you should know better than to try and do all of this yourself.”

he’s probably right. as prickly as he can be, nine out of ten he at least had a good idea on how to approach an issue. he’d even clocked that you were stressed despite the fact that there was no was he could have seen your expression from the door.. though that may have something to do with your inability to hide your exhaustion when you turned.

“there.” he sets a final paper in the first, much smaller pile, then taps it into a neater stack. “this are the things that actually require your attention. don’t waste your time with things that don’t matter.”

“what about the other pile?”

“they don’t matter.”

“that’s rude.”

“it’s true. i can tell you’re tired already-“ damn, you didn’t want to worry him “-and i can guarantee most problems people have faced you with are better handled by others.”

“dear…”

“i’m serious.” he picks up the larger second pile, arranging them into a neater stack. “what do you have to do? name them.”

“theres a merchant in liyue-“

“that can be handled by the ministry of civil affairs.” he sets the pile down, leaning back. “what else?”

“an outbreak in mondstat-“

“knights of favonius’ problem.”

“a few rogues in sumeru have been defacing my statues.”

he paused, and you adjusted your position, leaning your back against him instead. he lifted his arm and put it across your chest, and when he spoke it was much softer. “still better handled by the mahamatra. if you aren’t directly involved, there’s no need to worry about them.”

“but they’re asking for help…”

“they’re asking the wrong person. trust me, you’re above them and their petty squabbles. in fact.. you should take a nap.”

“what?”

he moved toward the end of the couch, laying your head in his lap. “take a nap. or just lie down, i don’t care. relax for a bit. these people have given you too much stress already, it’s better if you didn’t waste any more energy on them.”

he was looking away, still obviously trying to keep up the image of indifference, but you could still spot the cracks. his hand still stayed on your shoulder, tracing random shapes across your shirt, and he didn’t say anything snarky when you put your own hand over his.

he cared for you, just as you cared for him. he cared enough that he’d remind you not to worry about unnecessary things, that he’d physically put himself between you and whatever problem the world demanded you face, even though on the surface it wouldn’t seem like he viewed you with anything less than distaste.

well, to others it was a conundrum. to you it was pretty clear, as who else would he sit with like this? he regularly ranted on about those who attended his lectures, still dismissed the words of mahamatra, still ignored most other authorities save for possibly nahida. but for you, he’d sort through your paperwork and have you sleep where he could ensure you did… he was sweet like that.

you smiled. “you’re adorable.”

“i am not.”