#it's much harder when you have to make that decision

[dearlenore]

HIS FAVORITE DOCTOR • S.REID

SUMMARY: when Spencer realizes just how serious his diuladid addiction has become, he requests the help of his favorite doctor to get through the withdrawal process.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: angsty fluff, established relationship (not romantic yet) flirting, addiction, drug usage, withdrawal, vomit, suicidal ideation, usage of baby, angel, love and honey

a/n: medical reader is my favorite and I’m gonna be writing a lot more spencer addiction content because omg…I’m rewatching season 2-4 and I’m obsessed with this concept.

w/c: 1.6K

THE LIGHTS IN the BAU’s bullpen buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to give Spencer Reid a headache. He blinked hard and focused on the papers in front of him, but the lines blurred together. His fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, a nervous rhythm he couldn’t seem to break.

He hadn’t slept much the night before. Or the night before that. Each time his head hit the pillow, memories clawed their way to the surface — the cold rush of a needle, the dizzying relief that followed, and the shame that always lingered after. He’d fought so hard to distance himself from that part of his life, yet lately, the temptation had been gnawing at him with a sharpness he couldn’t ignore.

“Reid?”

He startled, his pen clattering against the desk. J.J. stood beside him, concern etched into her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly, forcing a tight smile.

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. “Hotch wants to see you in his office.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded. The last thing he needed was a conversation with Hotch right now, especially when his mind felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

Hotch’s office felt colder than usual, the blinds half-drawn to block out the morning sunlight. Spencer stood stiffly by the door, clutching the strap of his satchel like it was an anchor.

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice was steady but firm. “Have a seat.”

Spencer hesitated before sinking into the chair across from him. His chest felt tight, his breath too shallow. He wasn’t sure where to begin.

“You’ve been… distracted lately,” Hotch said carefully. “Your reports are late. You’ve been zoning out during briefings. Something’s going on.”

Spencer’s heart pounded. He could lie — say it was stress or exhaustion, maybe blame it on too much caffeine — but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t keep doing this.

“I need some time off,” Spencer said quietly.

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “Time off?”

“I…” Spencer faltered, his fingers curling into his palms. “I’ve been struggling.” He took a breath, pushing past the shame. “With… Dilaudid. Not — not using it,” he added quickly. “But thinking about it.” His voice cracked, and he hated how small it made him sound. “I thought I was past this. But lately, it’s been… harder.”

For a long moment, Hotch said nothing. His expression didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. He just listened.

“I haven’t relapsed,” Spencer added, his voice almost desperate now. “But I’m scared I will. I don’t want to put the team at risk.”

Hotch leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. “I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “That’s not easy.”

Spencer felt his face flush. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

“You’re saying something now,” Hotch said. “That’s what matters.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I think you’re making the right decision. If you need time, take it. Whatever it takes to get your head clear.”

Relief hit Spencer like a wave — unexpected and overwhelming. The tension in his chest loosened just enough to breathe.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re part of this team,” Hotch said firmly. “And I expect you to come back when and only when you’re ready.”

Spencer nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I will.”

He stood, clutching the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before stepping out into the hallway. The bullpen buzzed with the usual noise — agents chatting, phones ringing — but for the first time in weeks, Spencer felt like he could breathe.

He wasn’t okay yet — not even close — but for now, he’d taken the first step. And that had to count for something.

The knock on your door came late — so late you almost didn’t hear it. The sitcom buzzing from your TV masked the sound until you caught the faint tapping and glanced at the clock — 11:27 PM.

You walked to the door, clutching your phone just in case. But when you peeked through the peephole and saw Spencer’s face, you gasped.

“Spencer?”

He barely looked like himself. His hair was tangled and messy, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. His skin — normally warm and golden — looked sickly pale, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed carved into his face.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, and his weak smile faded before it fully formed.

“Oh my gosh!” You yanked the door open, grabbing his arm when he swayed on his feet. “Spence, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” he muttered dryly, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You know what I mean,” you huffed, pulling him inside. His legs nearly buckled beneath him as you guided him to the couch.

“Did you eat?” you asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you drink anything?”

He shook his head.

“Honey…”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he murmured, eyes flicking downward. His fingers trembled in his lap, curling against his thighs like he was holding something invisible.

“Talk to me,” you said softly. “What’s going on?”

“I… I asked Hotch for time off.”

Your brows shot up. “Wait, you asked for time off?”

“I needed it.” His voice was barely there. His hand dragged down his face, fingers twitching against his jaw. “I… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You knew what it was. The Dilaudid.

“Spence…” Your chest tightened.

“I was fine,” he said shakily, his voice breaking. “I was doing fine. But I can’t stop… I can’t stop wanting it.” His hand clenched against his knee, knuckles white. “I was just sitting there… staring at it. For hours. I couldn’t — I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be.”

His voice trembled. “I almost did.”

Your heart sank.

His breathing hitched, and his face twisted — like he was trying to swallow down something ugly.

“I thought about just… ending it,” he mumbled, barely audible. “If I couldn’t stop thinking about it, what was the point? What’s the point in fighting if I’m never going to win?”

“Hey,” you said firmly, reaching out and gripping his face with both hands.

His bloodshot eyes blinked up at you, wide and scared.

“You are not alone,” you promised. “I know it feels like it, but you’re not. I’m here, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His face crumpled, and you barely had time to pull him against your chest before he broke. His fingers twisted into your shirt, clutching like you were his lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, rubbing his back. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His body shook against you, his breathing ragged. You didn’t rush him — you just held him tight, whispering soft reassurances into his hair.

When his sobs finally faded into quiet sniffles, you gently pulled back. “Let me help you, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a soft smile. “But I want to.”

He nodded weakly.

“You’re sweating,” you pointed out, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “I’ll grab some towels and a change of clothes. You’re about to feel pretty gross for a while.”

He grimaced. “Great.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased, squeezing his knee. “I’ve seen way worse.”

After setting him up in the bathroom with clean towels and a shirt that was at least two sizes too big, you filled a glass of water and grabbed a bucket — just in case.

When Spencer emerged, his hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, his skin looked even paler. His hands were shaking worse now.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly, but you didn’t believe it for a second.

Less than an hour later, he wasn’t just shaking — he was shivering. He lay on your couch beneath three blankets, his face scrunched in discomfort.

“I…” His voice was thin, barely audible. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I’ve got you, angel.”

You knelt beside him, bucket at the ready. He barely made it upright before his body lurched. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances as he retched.

“I’m here,” you whispered between sobs and coughs. “I’m here. You’re okay.” You continued, more for yourself this time.

By the time it was over, his entire body was shaking. His face was pale, and his breaths came in shallow pants.

“Hey,” you said softly, pushing damp hair from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t.” Your hand moved to his cheek, thumb brushing against his fevered skin. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing so well, love.”

His tired eyes blinked up at you. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You laughed quietly, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “I try.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled. “You’re like… an angel.”

Your heart melted.

“I guess that makes you my favorite patient,” you teased, brushing a hand down his arm. “But you already knew that huh?”

He grinned — weak, but real — and something in your chest tightened.

“Seriously,” you murmured, “I’m really proud of you.”

“Because I didn’t die on your carpet?” he joked dryly.

You shot him a look. “Because you’re fighting, Spencer. Even when your brain’s screaming at you to give up, you’re still here. That takes strength.”

His fingers fumbled for your hand beneath the blanket. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t…” His voice faltered. “I trust you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“You’re safe with me,” you promised, tightening your hold on his hand. “And you always will be.”

He gave you a tired smile, eyes drooping. “Thank you, angel…” he mumbled as he drifted off.

Your breath caught.

“Love you, Spence,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair as he finally fell asleep.

[the-clumsywitchtarot]

What Will Your Day to Day Life Look Like with your Future Husband? Pick-a-Card Reading

Because how will you plan accordingly if you don't know?

Cards

10 of Cups

2 of Swords (Reversed)

The Hierophant

8 of Wands

The first card that popped out for this pile was the 10 of cups and I feel like that is the overarching theme for this pile. Even before you guys have a family (if you decide to have one) I feel like you guys will be in such a joyful state everyday, like when you wake up and look over you and think to yourself "I can't believe this is my life and this is my husband!" I see constant smiles and laughter. With the two of swords in reverse I feel like you two won't have many hard decisions to make at least for the first year of marriage. But even when the harder decisions come you guys will be able to sit down and discuss the pros and cons for each potential path you could take. And you will always go into things with open eyes and a full understanding of how you each feel about the decision and also how the decision could potentially effect you guys and your families. I wanted to say family but families felt right, so it could be that this person already has a child or you guy's families (like your parents, siblings, etc. and their parents, siblings, etc. will just kind of blend together and become one big family) with the Hierophant I sense some tradition here, I don't think it'll be in the sense of you will stay home while your husband works but more so in the sense you'll have family traditions you'll continue with your husband and eventually your children. And you'll enjoy learning about their traditions and they'll love learning about your traditions. At some point I could see you guys also starting hybrid traditions, like you'll take one part of his traditions and one part of one of yours and make something new. I feel like this marriage will be super easy to integrate into your everyday lives, like it'll just work, even when you fear something might become a road block in your marriage it will just kind of resolve itself. Or at least it'll feel that way but in reality you and your future husband are so good at prioritizing each other's needs and feelings that you resolve any potential conflicts before they even arise. You guys truly put each others needs above your own needs, it feels like that saying "you water me, I water you, we both grow."

Cards

3 of Wands

3 of Pentacles (Reversed)

5 of Swords

The World

I feel like you will be a couple that travels a lot for work, I also feel like you will have very different careers. I feel like your future husband could be a lawyer and you could be in a more creative field or something that is extremely different from what your future husband does. Honestly, I feel like you guys don't get to spend much time with each other. This may be something that could cause conflict in your marriage at some point. I am not seeing children, so either this pile and your future husband won't want them or you guys will wait a long time before you decide to try for them. Despite me feeling that your future husband could be a lawyer I don't think you guys will be rich but I do think you will be financially stable. So he could work for a very small firm or have an independent one, I also think he could be something like a private investigator. I will say try to spend more time with each other, whether in person or by video chat if you must. To try and avoid strife within your marriage. I don't see this being a fireworks marriage, just more so one where you're both content most of the time.

Cards

8 of Pentacles (Reversed)

8 of Cups (Reversed)

9 of Wands (Reversed)

The Moon

This pile reminds me of pure fun, like children playing on a playground! I feel like you guys will be super encouraging to each other, you guys might have both come up in abusive situations or at the very least felt very misunderstood as children. This marriage will help to heal both yours and his inner child. I can see you guys doing all of the things you wanted to do as kids but together. Speaking of kids, if you choose to have them, I can see you guys getting on their level really getting to know them and understand their unique little worlds. I feel like you could have 3 children. Your kids will probably be those kids that are listening to their friends talk about their traumatic childhood and they're just sitting there trying to find something to say to relate. But the worst thing they may be able to come up with is you guys not getting them a puppy they wanted on their birthday but you guys got it for them on Christmas a couple months later. Long story short, you guys will be the dream parents, I can see you guys being a kooky (in the very best and fun way) and eclectic. You guys are basically two people that weren't dealt the best cards but found each other and made the life that you always wanted together, you guys are each like one half of a whole. When people hear the phrase "match made in heaven" this is the couple that may come to mind for a lot of your family and friends.

I hope your reading resonated and please feel free to let me know which pile(s) you chose!

If you'd like an extended $5 reading send me the pile you chose and I will send you your reading!

- Erika, The Clumsy Witch

[bbywriter]

conscious decisions | m. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: he knows he’s nothing more than a distraction.

pairing: matthew sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: penetrative sex, unrequited feelings, rebounds, angst and smut

notes: hi guys<3 this was heavily inspired by a bts namjoon fic called fool for you by @cutechim, i loved this shit back in my bts era and if u guys are bts fans at all, go read this! school and work and everything have been so busy so it’s just another little blurb but thank you always for reading<3

word count: 700

—

Matt is not naive.

He knows this is wrong. But when you're wrapped around him—too tight and too wet and too perfect like this, he can't bring himself to care. He can't stop.

His hips snap against yours with a brutal rhythm, thrusts growing sloppier as you coax him deeper within your walls. He bites down on his own groan, trying to focus on anything other than the way you’re clawing at his back, nails dragging over his skin as your desperate moans fill the space between you.

Matt knows he should stop this. Should let you get dressed, walk out that door, and pretend like none of it ever happened. He knows it every time you show up at his place—eyes glossy as you hold back your tears.

He knows he’s nothing more than a distraction.

You’ve never said it out loud, but he doesn’t have to hear it to understand. It's in your eyes and the sadness they hold that never really fades. He should be stronger—should make you face whatever issues you're dealing with instead of letting you lose yourself in him.

But when you're like this, unravelling in the palm of his hand and whimpering his name like a prayer, he is nothing more than a man on his knees—the fool he is.

He can’t help but break a little more inside, because he knows it’s not his name you want to be saying, knows it's not his hands you want touching you like this. He knows you’re thinking of someone else, even as he’s buried inside you, giving you everything he has.

“Go ahead,” he rasps out, voice rough and strained. “Pretend I’m him. If it makes it easier.”

You stiffen, breath catching, and for a second he almost regrets saying it. But then your lips part, your gaze unfocused and hazy as you shake your head.

“I don’t—” Your voice cracks. “I don’t want him. Just—just you.”

It’s cruel. You don't know how it makes his stomach knot and his heart rip in half, because he wants to believe it’s true. Wants to think that maybe, just maybe you actually mean it—that you’re not just saying this to make yourself feel better.

His hands tremble as he cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “You always come to me,” he whispers, hating the broken edge of his own voice. “But you never stay.”

Your mouth falls open, but no words come out—just a quiet, shuddering breath as he thrusts up into you, harder this time, dragging another breathless moan from your throat.

He's so deep and he feels so good and it takes everything you have to find the words, to focus enough to respond. "You’re so much bigger than him, Matt," you gasp out. "You fill me up so much better."

You think it’s consoling, but he wants to vomit, hearing you compare him to someone else, even if he comes out on top.

“He doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

And just like that, he hates himself for how his body responds.

His cock twitches, hips jerking forward as if driven by instinct alone. His hand moves back to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he grits his teeth, trying to hold on to what little self control he has left.

He knows he shouldn’t be so rough, shouldn’t let his frustration bleed into every desperate move, but he can’t help it. The way your walls squeeze around him, so soft and so warm. It kills him, that he is not the only one who knows this—the immaculate feeling of you.

Your voice splinters into a cry. “No one—no one fucks me like you do.”

His release hits hard, spilling into you with a strangled groan as his forehead drops to your shoulder, fighting to catch his breath. He can’t stop himself from following through—his hand sliding down to rub your clit, determined to drag you over the edge with him.

He knows better. Next time, he swears to himself as he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder.

Next time he’ll find the strength to turn you away.

Next time he won’t let you tear him apart like this.

But tonight, he just pulls you closer, hoping that if he holds tight enough, maybe you’ll finally stay.

—

a/n: thank u for readinggg<3 also for my lias readers, part 2 is slowly slowly coming together! love you<3

[roseforviolet]

Three recs from me (from a depressed girlblogger):

Albums:

Extraordinary Machine-Fiona Apple (whenever I see people talk about Fiona I never hear them bring up this album and I can’t even pick a favorite Fiona album but I just think this one is so underrated and soooooo fucking good like why are we sleeping on her?)

The Death of Summer & Other Promises -Etta Marcus (this album is so fucking good and Etta Marcus is so underrated and for some reason lowkey underground?? I literally don’t even know how because her music is all so beautiful!! If u like Lana del Rey and mitski you will love this album)

Blue Banisters - Lana Del Rey (like I said with Fiona it’s always the best albums that get the least recognition like how do people even not like this album or call it boring??? It’s so deeply personal and so beautiful and to me when I can hear the emotion in someone’s voice it makes the song better and hit harder.)

Songs:

Never is a promise-Fiona apple (“you say you understand you’ll never understand” plays in my head repeatedly BC NO ONE UNDERSTANDS and if you feel like that you NEED this song on ur playlist rn)

Silver spoon-Erin LeCount (another underground artist who doesn’t deserve to be underground tho I do think she’s gonna blow up soon her voice is literally ethereal and I’m not using that word lightly , this song is her newest release and I would say it’s her best like the chorus literally makes me ascend)  

Mechanical bull - Etta Marcus (I literally love this song so fucking much it’s more upbeat then regular Etta songs but something about it makes me feel like I’m swaying in a jazz bar sippin on my drink before making a bad decision )

Movies:

Sharing The Secret TW!! (One of the only movies about this topic that I think is actually realistic and doesn’t glamorize it at all, this movie actually made my cry and I don’t normally cry at movies lol. Just the perspective from her mom to its just wow. If you really want a good cry and a movie about mental illness this is it)

Tangerine (A queer classic but fr if u haven’t seen this movie you have to. It’s all filmed on like an iPhone 6 and it’s so good and funny. It’s like a rally story rather than a movie and I love movies like that. It feels so raw and authentic and the characters are so lovable!!)

Bones and All (I just love this movie even tho it’s traumatizing… it’s definitely not for everyone and if you’re easily grossed out I would not recommend watching it, even tho the ending is…I love it I love when movies end that way ngl. I love a sad movie)

Lana unreleased:

Ghetto baby (if you like Lana more upbeat dancy type songs this one is definitely for you, she starts the song off rapping and the chorus is so catchy, definitely underrated)

Junky pride (during her may jailer era I really love this song it describes ny situation almost perfectly and it makes me cry every time I listen to it)

Poetry in motion (I feel like this song is pretty known but it’s so real and so fucking sad and if u can’t tell I love sad media, it’s just sooo goood)

[miscellaneouzz]

So about that weird funeral at the end of Invincible season 3…

I think I have 2 main issues with the whole “take his name to honor him” thing from Rudy and why it just doesn’t hit or feel like a satisfying response to Rex’s sacrifice

1) How much it was already established that Rex was very uncomfortable and off put by Rudy cloning him without his consent. Like this isn’t just a friend trying to honor another friend, this guy literally stole his dna to make a child clone of Rex bc the girl Rudy liked found him attractive. He did not want any part of the creepy implications of their relationship. Now if it’s meant to be a “tragic irony” type of end to Rex’s character by having the character with identity issues open up about how his name is all he’s ever had bc his consent/agency was stripped from him only for him to then die and have the rest of his identity “taken” at his own funeral, ok I get it Robert Kirkman loves his tragedy but then that leads me into my second issue…

2) Rudy’s weird choices and lack of social understanding due to his experience make sense from a character perspective but the way it’s handled aka not questioned/addressed more makes it harder to get behind that scene from a writing perspective. Now I haven’t read the comics yet so idk where this storyline is gonna go but as of right now it’s a very bizarre writing choice that when he does this, everyone is so… chill with it. Bulletproof pointed out how weird the cloning thing was last season, and everyone else was like “WTF this is weird and creepy” when Rudy revealed it the first time so why is everyone so chill with him doubling down at his funeral? Amanda and Rae were literally the two who joined Rex in standing up to Cecil and starting a new team. We got to see Rex bond more with those two than we saw him bond with Rudy. So Monster Girl just immediately saying “I love you Rex” in front of his casket while Rae is alone crying in the back before we move on just felt like the most uncomfortably bizarre epilogue to a major character death.

Like I see some people not thrilled about the lack of emotion from Mark at the funeral, but ultimately him just being happy/relieved Eve is alive is a more understandable narrative decision because of what was previously established. In season 2 we learn that Rex wants Mark to be in a happy relationship, even offering to cover for him on missions so he can have a day off. Season 3 literally started with Rex trying to set Mark and Eve up together, and despite goofing around/acting snarky he says it’s because they’re both his friends and he wants them to be happy. So Marks response felt like a more appropriate bookend to their bond. But again, I’ve yet to read the comics so we’ll see where this goes…

[ariestrxsh]

the amount of hate towards the triplets i see on tiktok is insane like its literally so bad

Rant incoming!

It's so baffling to me! Like, I understand that people are upset about the tour, the lack of quality and lack of content in general, and that's completely valid, and I get that. I do agree with a lot of the constructive criticism some of the fans have offered, and I do think that with where they're at in their career, if their goal is to keep creating content and making money doing YouTube, I think they made a very dumb decision to go down to one video a week (and maybe not even one video a week if they don't like the quality).

However, I don't know what their goals are, and so I can't say what they 'should' and 'shouldn't' do in order to achieve them. I actually have a lot of empathy for them, and if that makes me a dick rider, it's fine, but they are allowed to pull back as much as they want on content. I also recognize the double bind we've put them in, where we're like "we want more content," and they give us the content, and then everyone is like "wtf this content sucks." So, why would they want to give us more content if we say it sucks?

Another thing, I know that from the outside looking in, their job looks easy, and in some ways, I'm sure it's easier than a regular job, and I'm also sure that in some ways, it's harder. The fact that they edit their own videos is crazy to me. I can only imagine the amount of time, effort, and energy that it takes from Nick especially bc that man is so underappreciated it makes me sick. Most YouTubers hire editors. Not saying they need to, but this could be why they are feeling more burnt out lately.

They also put out content three times a week for a couple of years, and that's crazy to me! Any time I put out three fics in one week, it's because I spent ALL my free time the whole week working on them, and from my perspective, that's exhausting.

I also hate the hypocrisy. If someone we all collectively love on this app or tiktok makes a post or video and is like "I'm so sorry. I need to take a break. My mental health is taking a toll," everyone would run to the comments like "Omg queen! Take all the time you need! We love you." Why do they not get that same energy? Like there are literally people on this app who make promises about fics and then don't follow through (myself included), and it's not malicious when I don't follow through! It's just because we're human and things happen sometimes that we can't foresee.

I think the triplets deserve a break. They work hard, they have to put up with a lot of weirdness and invasiveness from this fandom, and they are allowed to do literally whatever they want. It's weird to me how fans turn into haters at the drop of a hat.

If you hate them, stop watching them. But the people who spend their time hating on them and bashing on them publicly, whether the reasons are valid or not, it doesn't give off the energy they think it does.

[bluedeedeedoop]

Okay i know ive been kinda silent but like if you know me, you know im always lurking. always.

BUT ANWAYS.

Here me out:

Barrissoka but it’s Rupphire. and essentially Rupphire but it’s Barrissoka.

i had had this thought for quite a bit actually and i doubt i’m the only one who has! Honestly, Barriss as Sapphire and Ahsoka as Ruby is SO CUTE??? I mean not exactly as a role swap per-say but just I feel like in a similar aspect, the two pairs of characters compliment each other well to their fellow counterpart.

Let me explain.

Barriss Offee is originally viewed, (like Sapphire), as level-headed and a quick thinker, which we have already seen in “The Weapons Factory” when she first was shown in The Clone Wars, and also following her other appearances in the animated shows. Despite this, the Mirialan is clearly very compassionate and selfless, often putting herself in the way in order to secure the safety of others, as seen in The Clone Wars (“what happens to us doesn’t matter…” (but i am also conflicted with this because that behavior was almost coded as self destructive as well as her begging for death in the brain worms episode which could be seen as both?? anyways take that with a grain of salt i suppose)), and in the most recent Tales of the Empire, where we see her maintain a conflicted yet level-headed facade as she navigates her rapidly changing situation with patience, following that deciding her side in it all and putting herself out there to help others.

And Sapphire, (like Barriss Offee), comes off as cold and distant in many situations due to her ability to see into the future, essentially predicting the resolution to an event prior to it happening. This causes her to often struggle with expressing her emotions in the present. Like in the episode “Keystone Motel,” Ruby and Sapphire separate due to the high rise of emotions between the two of them from the fact Pearl was lying to them. Ruby is visibly upset, but Sapphire is trying to act as if it’s already happened, and that it’s something she’s already processed.

Another point being that when both Barriss and Sapphire experience intense emotions despite not always visibly expressing them, and that they tend to have a bit more of a violent side.

Essentially; both characters keep the visible facade they present as calm, until they are pushed too far and it’s already too late. (Barriss; the wrong jedi arc, seeing the violence from the war. Sapphire; when Rose Quartz lied about her identity for centuries.)

Now, I will admit I had a bit of a harder time finding similar/matching traits between both Ahsoka Tano and Ruby, but after considering both characters and the circumstances in which they were in, it’s clear that there are some characteristics between the two that could be comparable in certain lights. Honestly, I find more in common with the padawan version of Ahsoka (Clone wars Ahsoka Tano) with Ruby than her adult version (Rebels, Mandalorian, etc) , so I will most likely be talking about that when referring to Ahsoka at all.

Ahsoka Tano in “The Clone Wars” is originally depicted as snarky, stubborn, and reckless (like Ruby), as well as impulsive much like her master. Despite having these qualities, she is also brave, generous, and kind-hearted with good intentions in mind. As I already sort of mentioned, she did inherit a lot of traits from her master, like using aggression and threats in order to get what she wanted (when coming to information). Although she retained these traits from her Jedi master, she would eventually gain the confidence to make the right decisions when following her heart (despite the initial negative impact it had on her journey as a jedi). Overtime Ahsoka would learn to be more mature in her ways from the way the war had impacted her, though she would learn to strive through the good and the bad of her mission outcomes, always feeling that her true duty was to help restore peace to the Republic.

Now Ruby (like Ahsoka), experiences intense emotions throughout the show, but being able to be caring to those she considers close to her (even if a majority of the time her emotions are channeled through anger). But even during these moments of rage, she is capable of admitting when she’s wrong, which is something both these characters can do after their moments of cooling down.

I guess the point I wanted to make was in contrast to Barriss and Sapphire, Ahsoka and Ruby express their emotions more “openly” in comparison, despite both pairs definitely feeling emotions at their high. (Ruby in “hit the diamond” when she has a fit of rage from being deceived. Ahsoka in “the clone wars” when she uses threats against a prisoner to get information after losing her patience.)

Essentially; both characters exhibit impulsiveness and are feisty, but they also show passion and strength when it comes to things they care about and for what they consider is right.

In conclusion, I suppose you could just consider this an excuse to compare two amazing lesbian ships that I love, but to be honest I genuinely do consider there to be similarities between the two pairs! Also I really like to find barrissoka in everything around me so here we are. I really hope y’all enjoy this little yap thing I did since I feel like it’s kind of nice.

(I do plan on getting a drawing out of this soon!)

[tgmsunmontue]

You put a ring on a wild thing - 2/? WIP Hangster

Affectionately titled "Drunk Vegas" fic until I gave it the title above. Likely going to be around 4-5 parts (I say optimistically).

Explicit Hangster. Drinking and dubious decisions and complete disregard for actual facts.

PART ONE

PART TWO

                Jake wakes up naked, stiff and with a headache to rule all headaches.

                He groans and shifts, then there’s a responding groan and he sits up sharply, eyes wide and it makes the daggers behind them stab harder and faster and he winces, stares at his bed partner. The other man is definitely naked, sheet slipped down to cover absolutely nothing, he’s fast asleep, mouth open and pillow damp where he’s been drooling.

                First thought – nice ass.

                Second thought – what the fuck did he do?

                Fuck he’s… well. He’s not bad looking, even if Jake normally doesn’t like facial hair. The rest of him more than makes up for it and he wonders what his face looks like with some life in it, because his mind is drawing a blank. He’s handsome, and it’s nice to know that even as drunk as he must have been last night he still has decent taste. And that they clearly didn’t do too much of anything given how clean Jake feels. That is not the result of a night spent fucking. He gathers the sheet around him, wanting to cover up while he finds his clothes.

                He’s contemplating sneaking out, when his eyes fall on the other bed. It’s a complete mess, there is an empty bottle of champagne and he never drinks champagne, doesn’t like the way the bubble tickle his nose. Can barely tolerate the fizz in beer but… oh. Oh fuck. He can’t sneak out, this is his room. Clearly some fucking likely happened, and then they… had a shower together? That seems oddly domestic. He runs a hand through his hair and freezes, the band of gold making him suddenly feel queasy.

                Oh fuck… what did he get up to last night?

                He doesn’t remember but his bedmate might.

                He settles back on the bed.

                “Dude. Dude wake up…”

                The guy… and vaguely, the name Brad is ringing some bells, but he’s not completely sure and he doesn’t want to risk being wrong, so dude will have to suffice for now. Unless he can find paperwork. Oh god. There’s probably paperwork. Oh god. He shakes the guy’s shoulder, needing to get rougher and harder as he resists, grumbles and pulls the pillow over his head. Jake would be endeared if he wasn’t freaking the fuck out; he’s wearing a new gold band as well and Jake’s heart skitters around.

                “No dude, no hiding… come on…”

                The gets him a grunt and then there’s a single eye peering at him, scrunched up from beneath the pillow he’s got over his head.

                “What?” he asks, and his voice is rough and Jake can’t really tell what color his eyes are and the room isn’t bright, so he tugs at the pillow, wonders if he should offer some of his sheet up, but that would mean sharing, and Jake’s not really ready for that. He does toss the pillow towards the guy’s junk, and he gets a judging eyebrow rise for his troubles along with a little lip twist of amusement. Yeah, he probably saw everything last night. But that was last night. God. What was he thinking?

                “I think we got married last night…”

                “What?”

                “Evidence all points to the fact that we,” Jake waves a hand between them, “got hitched.”

                “Oh… oh yeah… fuck.”

                He’s finally with the program and Jake feels a little more relieved at finally not being the only one freaking out. He’s sitting up and yeah, Jake watches the flex of muscle, although he does keep the pillow across his lap and Jake’s not sure whether he’s disappointed or not.

                “My name’s Bradley.”

                “What?”

                “Well, thought you’d like to know the name of your husband…”

                “Oh… uh. Jake. My name’s Jake, Jake Seresin.”

                “Bradshaw.”

                “I thought you just said your name was Bradley. Don’t fuck with me man, I really can’t deal with it right now. I really need some coffee…”

                “Uh. Sorry. Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Oh. That’s… uh… different,” he pauses, wonders if the guy is fucking with him. “Seriously?” Jake asks, because he doesn’t want to insult the guy. His husband. Holy shit. It’s still a lot to get his head around.

                “Was meant to be Brad, then Leigh, and then Bradshaw, which I don’t think is any better, but my dad misheard my mom and well… there you have it.”

                “Okay. Well… good to know the name of my husband I guess. Fuck. You think we can get divorced? Or annulled? Uh, is that the right word?”

                “What? I don’t want to get divorced!”

                “Uh… you can’t want to stay married to a stranger? Really?”

                “I mean… we obviously thought we had something?” Bradley asks, and he’s blushing and Jake can’t help but find him absolutely fucking adorable and his lip curls in amusement.

                “You blushing? You weren’t a blushing virgin on your wedding night were you?”

                “Fuck off. I was not… just…”

                “What?” Jake asks, suddenly curious, wonders if he’ll maybe remember more of last night. He did remember that Brad was a factor at play, so he’s not ruling it out.

                “We got married. Holy shit…”

                “Yeah. I said that already. We can get… unmarried?” Jake tries, because the word divorce didn’t go over so well.

                “Uh… can we… just… at least try and stay together?”

                Jake blinks, not prepared for that to be an option.

                “Uh. Why?”

                “I just… I know we don’t know each other, but my parents were like… actually I have no idea. My dad died when I was little. But my mom never remarried, saying she’d married the love of her life and I just…”

                “You a romantic?” Jake asks, and that’s all types of sweet.

                “I guess?”

                “A romantic who got married while drunk in Vegas?”

                “A cliched romantic?”

                Jake snorts at that, but the guy is watching him with a smile that’s making his insides turn molten, and okay, that may be a big reason as to why he agreed to getting married, the way he simply wants to maybe make this bed mirror the other one.

                “So, you want to give this a go before we just… discard it?” Jake asks, because he realizes he doesn’t really have an argument for not giving it a go. Not like he’s got any other prospects on the horizon.

                “I mean… it can’t hurt right? Whether we get divorced now or in a couple of months?”

                “No boyfriend or girlfriend going to hunt me down?”

                “No. Maybe a best friend that’ll want to wish you luck maybe, but… nah. Nothing to worry about.”

                “Same here. Then… shall we… kiss on it?”

                Bradley, his husband, flushes all over his chest when he’s embarrassed, cheeks going ruddy but it doesn’t stop him from standing and approaching Jake and huh, the ass is still very nice, but he’s holding the pillow protectively in front like Jake’ll faint or something if he sees his dick. Also he hadn’t projected the length into height, the guy is a little taller than him, well-muscled and fit. Yeah, Jake can definitely understand why he picked him up. The marriage part not so much, but everything else is… good. More than good.

                He steps closer, licks his lips in anticipation, doesn’t miss the way Bradley’s eyes track the movement. Then his free hand is resting on Jake’s hip, fingers curling into the fabric of the sheet and tugging him a little closer and he gets a flash of memory, dancing. Loud music. Then Bradley kisses him and heat curls in his stomach, his lips feels sensitive and he realizes they probably kissed plenty last night, lips likely a little raw and swollen already. Bradley’s tongue runs along the seam of his lips and he opens them a little, lets their tongues slide against each other for the briefest of moments before Bradley pulls back, places soft butterfly kisses around the corner of Jake’s mouth and his knees feel weak but he locks them in place. He’s trained to withstand multiple Gs, he can withstand getting a kiss from… From his new husband.

                “Fucking hell…” Jake breathes.

                “Yeah. We’re good at that part at least,” Bradley says, looking pleased and a little smug and Jake decides he likes it.

                “Good a place to start as any…”

                His phone alarm blares loudly and he jumps, looks toward it, because he set that as a checkout warning. Fuck. That means it’s half-past nine. He managed to sleep in, meet his husband and now…

                “Fuck. I’ve got to check out and then get to the airport… I’ve got a flight home to Texas in like two hours. Fuck.”

                “Okay. So no first date over breakfast huh?”

                “Shit. No. Sorry…”

                “It’s fine. Texas huh? Should’ve guessed with the accent.”

                Jake grins at that, because he’s definitely a proud Texan, but he’s a little distracted by the fact his belongings are strewn around the room and he looks around a little frantically.

                “We showered last night, so… start packing I guess? I’ll help. Uh… could I borrow a pair of underwear though? Maybe a t-shirt?”

                Jake nods, because that feels weirdly and alarmingly domestic and couple like and it feels all backwards but as he pulls out two pairs of underwear he throws the clean pair to Bradley. He’ll have a washing machine at his disposal soon enough. He then tosses him a plain white t-shirt and now he’s dressed in Jake’s underwear and t-shirt and nothing else; striding around the room on unfairly long legs, gorgeous legs, picking things up and putting them on the bed beside Jake’s weekend bag, a bright blue thing he’d borrowed from one of his sisters.

                Bradley is efficient and methodical, working the side of the room opposite from Jake, sweeping around and he’s a little surprised at how well they’re working together, the whole divide and conquer thing. Bradley finds their paperwork, tucks it into the side pocket with a small smile in Jake’s direction. It makes him feel a little hopeful that maybe… maybe this thing between them might work out. Then Bradley is picking up a pair of jeans and tugging them on, pulling a phone out of a pocket and frowning.

                “Shit. My phone is dead. Give me your phone…”

                He watches as Bradley enters in his number, then he’s clearly sending himself a message and Jake thinks that’s smart. He keeps shoving things into his bag, raises an eyebrow when Bradley tucks in his pair of dirty underwear and a Hawaiian shirt Jake would never be seen dead in. He doesn’t have any memory of Bradley wearing it either, but then again he’s not trusting his memory of last night. However, he suspects that Bradley likely wears Hawaiian shirts and somehow makes them look… stylish. Or something.

                “You got everything?”

                “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

                “Call me? When you get home? We should… talk.”

                “Of course. I’ll give you some time to charge your phone though,” Jake says with a smirk and Bradley shakes his head. “You have any regrets?”

                “Nope. Well… maybe that I didn’t get to date you and get to know you and treat you right before we got married…”

                “Nothing stopping you doing all that now. Keep the romance alive.”

                Bradley laughs at that, looks like he wants to maybe kiss him again but doesn’t. Instead he helps carry Jake’s bag down to the concierge and waits with him until the airport shuttle service arrives. Then he does kiss, a soft chaste press and Jake kisses back.

                “Damn I wish I wasn’t going…” Jake says under his breath, knows Bradley caught what he said by the smile he’s wearing. He seems like a pretty easy to read guy.

                “Well, my flight is tomorrow at six in the morning, so… we wouldn’t have that much longer anyway.”

                “Yeah. Okay. I’ll call you later.”

                “I look forward to it.”

                Then Jake’s being driven to the airport and he finally has a chance to look at his phone, scrolls down through the Bs and keeps going when he doesn’t find either a Bradley or a Bradshaw. But then it’s there, tucked away under H, a new contact photo showing Bradley grinning at the camera, one eyebrow raised, looking happy and carefree.

                HuBBy

                Jake grins down at his phone. Yeah. It’s a weird way to find himself married, but he has a good feeling about this.

[nevieatiny]

Chasing Shadows in Water

Part 6

Ex!Mingi x Reader/ Reader x San

Summary: You had the hottest boyfriend in campus, handsome, captain of the swimming team, tall, but when he takes you for granted you decide to take a break from relationships, winter break helps to recover and focus on yourself again, but what happens when a new student shows up as a christmas miracle, you swore not to get distracted by a boy gain, but maybe life is giving you a second chance and things do happen for a reason.

Word count: 1.6 k

Genre: Angst / fluff

Masterlist

After that little incident in the practice room with Yunho, the whole team could feel the tension between you two. Even though you played it off like it was nothing, it was still so obvious. Maybe that’s why you ended up becoming friends in the first place—when you didn’t like someone, you didn’t need to say a word. Your face said everything.

But at the end of the day, the team came first. Yeah, your personalities clashed sometimes because you both liked being in charge, but honestly? You were way too tired to argue all the time. So if letting him take the lead during practice meant a little more peace of mind for you, then fine. It was a sacrifice you could live with.

Ever since club activities started, seeing San had gotten harder and harder. But no matter how busy he was, he always made sure to text you back as soon as he had a free second. And you knew that because you were very familiar with the swimming team’s practice schedule. A few months ago, right after dance practice, you used to head straight to the indoor pool so you and Mingi could walk home together like always.

But now? Instead of rushing to pack up your stuff and get out of there, you’d just sit in front of the mirrors, cooling down with your phone in hand, texting San back. Lately, he’d been keeping you updated on how things were going with the team, sending little messages whenever he could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let you know he was still there, even if you didn’t get to see him as often.

San: Everyone's been really welcoming so far.

San: Since there are a lot of new people trying out for the team, the coach said trials are going to take longer. He wants to see how we all do before making any final decisions.

San: The guys invited me out for a few drinks tonight. Be careful on your way home, okay? And I promise I won’t get too drunk. 😏

You stared at your phone for a moment, rereading his last message before locking the screen with a quiet sigh. Ever since club activities had started, you’d been avoiding the indoor pool as much as possible.

But whether it was at the pool or somewhere else, you knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face him again. Sooner or later, you wouldn’t be able to keep avoiding it.

════════════════════════════════════

That same Friday night, while you were standing in the kitchen, debating whether to wash the dishes right away or just leave them for tomorrow, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at the screen, expecting a random update or a message from one of your friends.

Out of everyone who could have possibly texted you, it was San. You hadn’t really expected to hear from him, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Right away, though, you could tell he was definitely drunk.

San: heyyyyyy you got homee safetly????!!!!?

It was honestly kind of endearing.

You: hey, I did. But you, on the other hand… I’m not really sure you’re gonna make it home safely. Do you want me to call you a cab?

San: ohm fineee, loook

A second later, another message popped up—a photo of him, clearly wasted.

You: HAHAHAHA, god, you’re soooo drunk. That’s going to be your contact picture from now on.

San: why??? bc i look handsomeee

You had a feeling he was going to be really embarrassed about this tomorrow. But at the same time, you were a little concerned—he didn’t sound like he was in any state to get home by himself.

You: yeah, bc you look handsome. Are you on your way home?

You saw the little typing bubble appear, but after a few minutes, your phone started ringing. His name lit up on the screen.

After two rings, you picked up.

"San? Are you okay?"

The next thing you heard was a very loud San, half-yelling, half-talking on the other end of the line.

"Y/NNNNNN, I'M FINEEEEEE!" he declared in a sing-song tone, dragging out your name dramatically.

You pulled the phone slightly away from your ear, wincing at the sheer volume. Yep, definitely drunk.

"Okay, okay, I believe you," you said, biting back a laugh. "Are you on your way home already?" The background noise was loud— voices, the sound of traffic—so you hoped he’d say yes.

"Mhm, yes ma'am! One of the guyssss called me a cabbb. I’ll beee at my apartment in like... fiiive minutesss. Or threee"

"Oh, okay. Did you have fun with everyone?" You figured you’d keep him talking while he got home. Only because you were concerned, of course. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

"Yeahhh, everyone’s soooo nice," he said, dragging out his words lazily. "There was this guy whooomm I didn’t really likeee, though. He just thinks he's better than everyone elseee. But he's kinda funny. Really noisyyy."

Your fingers froze around your phone.

You already knew who he was talking about. You knew before he even finished his sentence.

You swallowed

"Oh?" You tried to sound casual, but your fingers tightened around your phone. "Why didn’t you like him?"

"I dunnoooo, he just acts all cool and mysterious but then turns into the loudest person in the roommmm. Like, pick a struggle mannn."

A dry chuckle left your lips before you could stop it. Yeah, that sounds like him

"Y/N?" San called again, his voice suddenly softer. He was probably starting to doze off.

"I'm still here, sorry," you reassured him. "But what about everyone else?" You needed to steer the conversation away fast.

"Mmm yeah, everyone’s nice..." He trailed off for a second, and just when you thought he was about to fall asleep, he suddenly continued, "You know, I wasss thinking 'bout you."

And Your heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, really?" You raised an eyebrow, deciding to play along. "You missed me?"

You knew he was flirting. And you also knew that by tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t even remember a single word of this conversation. They didn’t usually get this drunk—Mingi had stumbled into your apartment plenty of times after a night out, and even then, he could still form a few coherent sentences before passing out like a baby on your bed (or the couch, since your last few attempts at dragging him to bed had ended terribly). So that meant San must have really low alcohol tolerance.

"Yeah, I did," San admitted, his words slurring slightly. "And thennn you texted meee, so maybe it was destiny, right?"

You couldn’t help but smile.

"Oh, it surely was," you teased, though you both knew he was the one who texted you first. But you let him have his moment. "And what were you thinking about? You said you were thinking about me."

For the first time, you heard him giggle.

You had heard San laugh before—he had one of those bright, contagious laughs that could light up a whole room—but this was different. This was soft, boyish, almost shy. And for some reason, it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.

"Ohhh, don't make me tell youuu," he laughed, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.

Before you could say anything else, you heard voices in the background again. Someone was talking to him.

"Looks like I’m homeee," San mumbled. "See you in class tomorrow!" He sounded rushed, most likely digging through his pockets for his keys.

"But San…" you started, a confused look crossing your face.

"We don’t have class tomorrow..."

════════════════════════════════════

San woke up to the worst headache of his life.

It felt like someone had taken a hammer to his skull, then decided to host a drum solo inside his brain. His mouth was dry, his limbs felt like lead, and worst of all—he had absolutely no memory of how he got home.

With a groan, he peeled one eye open, only to immediately regret it when the sunlight nearly blinded him.

"Oh my god."

He turned his head, finding himself sprawled across his bed, still in last night’s clothes. His jacket was half hanging off his body and one shoe was missing

After a few more painful seconds of existential suffering, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and squinted at the screen.

18% battery. 4 missed 2 texts

Most likely from his teammates to check if he got home And…

His stomach dropped.

A full conversation with you.

Slowly—painstakingly—he clicked on your chat, already bracing himself for whatever absolute nonsense he had said.

And oh, oh, did he say nonsense.

The first thing he saw was a picture. A picture of him.

His drunk, stupid face staring back at him, messy hair, dazed expression, lips pursed like he was attempting a smolder but failed miserably.

Below it, your text read:

HAHAHAHA, god you’re soooo drunk. That’s going to be your contact picture from now on.

"NO IT ISN’T," he said out loud, as if that would somehow change reality.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that after this text… there was no more chat. Just—

A phone call.

A 13-minute phone call.

San stared at the screen, his stomach twisting into knots.

"Oh no."

What the hell did he say to you for thirteen whole minutes?!

And the fact that you hadn’t texted him since? That either meant (A) it wasn’t that bad, or (B) it was so bad that you didn’t even know how to respond.

San covered his face with his hands.

He was never going to live this down.

[pardonmydelays]

taylor swift lyrics that keep u up at night?

*takes a deep breath*

remember looking at this room, we loved it cause of the light now i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time.

(oversharing in the tags)

[oddly-casual]

I think Mutant Mayhem is the first tmnt propriety to make Leo my favorite turtle right off the bat.

Not that I don’t like Leo anywhere else, but usually it takes me like a second rewatch or something to really pick apart Leo’s character in full to appreciate him- and even then he’s usually not my favorite.

But MM Leo is my favorite for reasons I cannot identify.

Maybe it’s the way he walks, his cringe fail personality, I don’t know but I care about this loser so much.

Idk he cares so much abt his siblings despite the fact that they can be so mean to him sometimes. He is also the one who continually pushes to do the right thing when theres nothing (or even sometimes worst things) to gain from it.

Even his attempts at being cool come off as dorkish but it’s charming in a way only little kids can be. In a ‘you’re doing your best sweetie’. Leo is a single mother of three while also being a teenage boy, that takes work.

He’s such a silent but calculating character, ironically when he doesn’t try so hard and does what he feels is right he gets the best results (ie his leader speech, the plan to be accepted, gaining the acceptance of other mutants) for all his fumbling and try hard attitude he has such natural potential it’s insane.

[philtatosbuck]

not to descendants post but it's crazy to me people are still looking at the core four like "you should have saved and liberated the entire isle within a month of being in auradon" girl what. how much power do people realistically think they had over auradon for them to do this without being evil about it (which y'all also hate)

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

On the subject of gotham county line and batman noel and so on and so forth it’s pretty frustrating (from a watsonian pov) that anytime Bruce hallucinates Jason being loving/ caring/helpful/compassionate towards him it’s always as robin and never as his current self

[vogelmeister]

(when i say general i mean standard 2 and 2 unit is advanced)

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[monstersholygrail]

In a Free Use City, there are two ways you can get promoted. You can put in the hard work by taking on extra responsibilities, going longer hours, and putting in the initiative. Or… you can sleep your way to the top. In a Free Use City, sleeping your way to the top isn’t frowned upon but instead highly encouraged. Especially by your bosses.

While everyone tries to sleep their way to the top, you’d be surprised to know that most people get promoted through hard work. Because… In a Free Use City, sleeping your way to the top is actually harder to achieve than putting in the work of the job.

When you decide to sleep your way to the top, you are heavily surveyed and judged based on your ability and skill of fucking and pleasing your bosses. The committee that makes the decision all must be pleased with your individual performances.

Even lost in the throes of pleasure, they remain focused on how well your pretty lips looked wrapped around their thick cocks, how deep you can take them down your throat, how much you can hallow your cheeks and swirl your tongue around their lengths. They count how long they can deep throat you and the amount of time it takes before your tears are dripping down to their heavy balls. Some count more tears as a positive while others consider it a negative.

The next part of the evaluation has them slowly moving down to your holes. They evaluate how turned on you got just from sucking them off. Similarly, some wanna see you leaking buckets while others wanna prep you themselves. They dip their fingers inside of you, teasing you just right. Analyzing how tight you are and how tight you can clench around them.

But they don’t take the time to stretch you. No, that would be cheating on the evaluation form. They need to know how well you can naturally take their fat cocks down your tight core. Some of them give you more points the more you arch and writhe as your body accommodates their girth while others remove points for not just taking it like a good whore.

As they finally properly fuck you, their analytical gaze never wavers. Evaluating your stamina and how quick you bring them to the brink of an orgasm. They have you ride them so they can see your entire body as you bounce on their cocks. So that they can see how deep they’re taking you, their cocks creating a nice pretty bulge in your belly with each brutal thrust. Even the way you cum around their cocks is evaluated and processed in the promotion consideration.

Very few workers meet all the requirements and surpass the points needed to fuck their way to the top. But you don’t care about the odds, you don’t even care all that much about the promotion. You just really wanna fuck all your bosses.

And you end up being the highest scored employee in the history of their company… Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted.