#please keep it civil under this post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1920sladydectective · 5 months ago

Text

Serve or Perish Trying - A Noxian Message

Ambessa Medarda and a lowly servant of a visiting dignitary have some fun....

Kinda oblivious reader gets a lesson in serving lol. This is not proofread, nor will it ever be. Tenses and stuff keep changing but whatever. Thank my wife for this gang.

D/S dynamics, degradation, reader is new to this. Mostly non descript female reader.

Love you, be kind I am rusty! Minors DNI I stg. Cross Posting to AO3

Crimson suited her. It flowed like a damning waterfall from hardened, certain shoulders.

There was doubt in her gaze, not of herself - never that - but of your usefulness to her. Whatever she wished for, her face told you she had found it.

She had found you, nestled in a corner of her opulent ballroom awaiting instructions from your Mistress; a Duchess from a neighbouring Kingdom who had been invited to Lady Ambessa Medarda’s birthday ball on account of her fine trading connections. Not that you’d know her speciality in fabrics, considering the filth she kept her servants in. Presentable but ugly and misshapen, meant as a reminder of your station.

You had been drifting into a daydream, the beauty of Noxian balls harsher and more pressing than other lands. It wrapped you up, threatened to choke you with its splendour. Everything here was a message - everything would surrender to the red and gold might of Noxus one day.

Horrified, both for your job and then more pressingly your life, you were dragged from ponderings by a firm, calloused hand cupping your chin. Lady Medarda was holding you like trussed up livestock. The red fabric seemed silkier up close, gentle etchings swirled in it, fine gold thread adding a shimmer to her movements.

Should you speak? Bow? Had you offended her?

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Steel cut through your panic, grey eyes bemused.

“I-I’m terribly sorry Lady Medarda,” You blurted, cheeks aflame, “Please accept my-”

“Enough of that,” She snorted, “Tell me your name child,”

It fell from your lips, mouth staying agape.

Her thumb traced along your lip, “I was unaware I’d been given another present, the gifts are over there dear,”

A nervous laugh tittered out under her grip, her eyes darkening into charcoal pools. No wonder she was a renowned warlord, even light flirtation was a battlefield with her. Her hand slipped from your face, resting on your hip instead.

“Who should I give my thanks to for such a delightful offering?”

A pause, your dry mouth swallowed in search of moisture, “Duchess Montgermaine is my Mistress my Lady, I am to serve her wine,”

A sharp eyebrow raised, “Are my servers not enough?”

“Of course not, my Lady,” You attempted a demure smile, “She just-”

“Is a drunkard,” Lady Medarda snapped bluntly, relishing in the surprised giggle you let out, “Is she not?”

“Well, I couldn’t say,” You bit your lip, the inferno from her gaze fueling you, a hazy spell embracing you under her touch.

“A secret between friends then, Precious,”

Her advances were interrupted by the Duchess herself and you feared she may lose her head for it. Medarda turned, face frustrated, as Montgermain began to ramble about their happy trading union.

“She is yours, I am told,” You are gestured to lazily, bangles jangling, as her words are choked back into her overindulgent throat.

You had never seen someone interrupt your Mistress, let alone belittle her so. It made your body throb. This seemed to summon the warlord's eyes as if she could sense it on you.

“Unfortunately yes,” She babbles, glare fixated on you, “Dull girl, you know how hard finding help is Ambessa,”

“I suppose you won’t mind my taking her then,” She sneers with fake civility, “I am sure I can find a way to use her,”

Use you. It echoed, red and gold smothering you as you had feared. You were as good as hers now, your naivety at the seriousness of her advances crystal clear. It seemed an extravagant way to gain staff.

“I’d be happy to oblige you,” the Duchess slurred, “No skin off my nose,”

The interaction ended there for Lady Medarda, it seemed, as she turned and pushed you against one of her guards. They ushered you away down a corridor, her wolf-like grin lingering in your eye as she looked away.

Heavy doors swung open to reveal a large, smooth bedchamber. It screamed of her, each corner loomed as she did. Flurs covered the bed and an enticing fire showered the room in an orange hue. You were not unaware of your chances here, should you fail to impress her it was highly likely Lady Medarda would simply kill you. She had killed many more for far less. That felt less like a death sentence and more like a challenge, an otherworldly desire to please overwhelmed you.You would spar if necessary or clean or scribe or bathe her. Whatever it took, you resolved The guards left quickly, leaving you alone.

Unsure of how long she would be or if she would join you tonight at all, you curled at the foot of the fire. Sitting on a chair felt too presumptive, the bed entirely off limits as hers.

Time slipped by like sand through a sieve, your eyelids grow heavy as you stayed perched.

“Undress me,” You were unsure when she appeared and how you’d missed it, a stormy smile yanking you forward.

Twitching, unsteady hands stroked against her dress, you undid it and pulled it off, careful not to linger too long on any part of her body.

Fuck. There was no underwear to even attempt to remove.

“Anything else, My lady?” You muttered, eyes down. Thick hands slammed you down, your knees crashing into harsh marble. The pain had tears forming, eyes darting up in shock.

Lady Medarda slapped your face lightly, as if disciplining a dog, “Eat,” she commanded, pushing your jaw forward.

Oh.

Soft, dewy folds rested just above your mouth, your task for her Ladyship suddenly obvious. Your small tongue dashed out, unsure as it lapped against her. A triumphant sigh rattled from her chest, grip encouraging your ministrations. The inferno was back, eating you whole, turning you to dancing embers. Warmth leaked from her onto your lips, wiping your mind into a blissfully clean slate. Each pulse of her core had you licking harder, deeper, fuelled by her certain guidance and your primal bliss.

You were inexperienced and sloppy, but Ambessa hardly minded. Your emptying eyes and desperate gasps against her cunt were more than enough to close that gap, her head lulling back in pleasure. Her pillowy thighs robbed you of the small gaps of air her clit had allowed, pressure weak but noticeable. Another Noxian message - serve or perish trying.

This was far from a death sentence, it was salvation. Like a mutt you rutted mindlessly at her feet, your own leaky ache coating your thighs.

“Dirty girl,” Ambessa cooed, riding your face more harshly, a smirk on her lips, “Unable to stop yourself,”

You whined, nose pushing against her clit as you nodded, spluttering in oxygen noisily. She would be your undoing, towering and crushing your sense of self, moulding it for herself.

Fingers tugged against your locks as Ambessa roughly used your face to find her completion, grunts and bewitching moans sending her higher and further until she crashed against your bruised mouth, her juices flooded onto your surprised face as you lapped and sucked.

“Strip,” She panted, glittered gaze dominating you as she held out a hand to receive your clothes.

You did without question, lumpy fabric landed in her grip as you tried to offer yourself as openly as possible. Embarrassment crept through the heady fog. You were slight, not by choice but malnutrition and years of overworking yourself. Ambessa crushed that doubt, throwing your clothes in your flames as she stalked around you. You were perfect, she decided, oh how she loved to break things.

“No need for those, they hide you away,” She purred, toying with your upper thighs, hovering just below where you begged for her, “Have you ever been touched here little one?”

“No, My Lady,” You moaned out, “I-Uh just you,”

She let out a laugh, making butterflies dance in your chest, “I haven’t even done it myself yet, Dear,”

“Please?” You find yourself whimpering, “I’ll do whatever you like,”

“Oh will you now,” Her tone mocked you, sympathetic pout on her mouth as she gripped your hips and you flung across the air into her bed. The furs soothed your sore legs, her scent permeated them. Your knees fell open, pleading for her to use your molten core.

Use she did, regardless of your comforts and desires. Two fingers pushed into you, you stuttered and slurred as your body adjusted. Ambessa was not patient, overactive from too many idiots at once and your artful, whorish tongue, she ploughed into you against your pained whines. Soon pain gave way to a sticky, addictive ecstasy. She saw the change, empty eyes suddenly clouding over, loud keening moans ripping from our throat.

“My, very loud without a cunt against your mouth, Pet,” Ambessa’s hypnotic snarl had you nodding nonsensically, chasing a high you didn’t understand. Just as you thought you would tumble helplessly off a cliff it all stopped. The engine died. Her fingers stilled.

“Why did you stop?” You croak, outraged, grabbing at her wrist.

Ambessa growled, fear spiking your heart as harshly as pleasure had. A free hand leisurely planted a slap against your burning cheek, lips falling open in shock. Not at the violence, but the joy it flared in you. The same hand slapped your suddenly empty hole, narrowed eyes following the trail of drool leaking from your useless mouth.

“You don’t do anything without my permission, Foolish girl,” Ambessa flipped you as easily as a book page, rubbing against your ass absentmindedly, “Do you think ten will suffice?”

“What?” Your lips could barely move.

Her eyes rolled, “Fifteen then, do be sure to count them,”

Her hand came swiftly slamming down.

One

“Aloud,” Her teeth bit your ear.

Fuck

It was almost as if you had never been taught numbers, each one fighting its way out as your ass joined the list of things sore and overused on your body. Ambessa seemed detached, calm as though she was merely discussing the weather. At fifteen your face was crushed against her thighs, taking in her skin and huffing in the sex stained air as much as you could.

From this new position those blissful, brutal fingers thrust back in at an inhumane rhythm, your battered mind finally following the flow of commands. If you wished for more, you begged and even then if she did not wish it, it would not be so. You were dangling over that cliff again, love drunk on Ambessa as her siren song sang you over the edge. It felt like ascension, your soul left your body, your scream desperate. Gushing liquid and tinges of red mingled on her powerful fingers. Noxian in your own way then, you giggled to yourself, head rolling against her legs. Lady Medarda revelled in it, her fingers licked clean by her own indulgent tongue.

You seemed to float there for a while, murderous sweet nothings indecipherably fell from your Lady’s lips as she cleaned you.

“A fabulous start,” She grinned, caressing your cheek, “I think you’re ready now,”

Rolling you onto her furs, she stood and opened a small wooden cupboard to the right of her bed. What she removed you could barely process, a long dark rod attached to leather straps that fit snugly on her hips. She had never seemed stronger, force and control things she owned and tamed rather than possessed as your legs were spread. Now lying on your back, tickled by the bedding, you could fully appreciate her breasts. Weighty and glistening, they called to you like a swinging pocket watch, enticing you with every movement. This distraction allowed Ambessa to toy with your stretched hole, her strap-on lightly stimulating your twitching folds. Leaning down, her own hand met your sorely neglected breast as she squeezed the supple flesh. Pinching a nipple between her nails, she twisted till you’d soaked your thighs, coating the strap-on as she wished.

“Good girl,” She tugged you down, strap moving in an inch or two.

A wanton mewl slipped from your lips, grinding against it for more friction. She only punished you slightly, sharp nails scratching at your clit. The warlord attempted to be patient, coaxing the length in as kindly as possible. Your rolling eyes and sharp inhales were making it troublesome, her restraint slipping as she thrust into you fully. You squealed, glassy eyes wide as she bottomed out, pussy gushing slightly. Her fingers had prepared you for any major stretching, so the pain was fainter than you’d anticipated. Once Ambessa realised this her restraint slipped entirely, merciless hips destroying you as she stared into your very soul.

“I thought you’d squirm less, Pet,” Venom dripped into your ear, your body twitching and rutting to meet her pace, “I do hope it's not too much,”

“More,” You grunted, desperate, “Use me like a whore,” You had no idea where that came from, but it felt right somehow, your thoughts dripping in the lustful debauchery she had introduced.

“Don’t worry, your Mistress knows just how to treat you,” She said firmly, pace speeding up as a dark chuckle left her lips, this was a pleasant exercise, her muscles flexing as her strap soiled your sloppy cunt.

“Mistress,” You slurred back happily, the word soothing you. You were getting close again, blood thrumming in your ears, black spots dancing across your vacant eyes, shameless begging filling the room.

It was music to Ambessa’s ears, wet slaps of skin against skin as you whimpered and shrieked for her, your body moulded to serve. You had come so far from the little Wallflower she had teased hours ago, and you would stay like this, a sex-crazed slut worshipping at her feet. Feeling her own climax edging closer, she slurred filth into your malleable mind, both of you breathless and dripping with slick. She stole your orgasm from you as she conquered everything else, with ruthlessness and obsession. You were babbling, preening as you leaked over the furs, relishing in her juices dripping down onto you.

In a fluid motion she pulled out and sank down, lapping up your mess as you giggled helplessly. Her tongue was far superior to your own, coaxing another sticky flood as your mind snapped like a weak twig. No thoughts, no noise, no understanding. Only pleasure. Always pleasure.

Ambessa surveyed your blissed out, nonresponsive form as she cleaned herself and the strap-on off, placing it back in its box. A warm hand towel was fetched, as she stroked up and down your shining skin, slowly grounding you with sweet nothings and alluring kisses. You couldn’t quite understand her, but love and safety blossomed in your chest. Lady Medarda had chosen you and you had pleased her. Succumbing was good. Was right.

“Thank you,” Your weak voice said, kissing against her palm.

“You’re welcome, my darling,” A kiss to your forehead, “Rest now, sink into me,”

You were pulled onto her chest, pillowy breasts and warm covers plunging you into a dreamless, glorious sleep.

You loved Noxus.

#ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #ambessa smut #ambessa medarda smut

317 notes · View notes

bananasplit133 · 1 month ago

Note

Yoo, just like everyone else, I have been STARVED for conquest fics, saw yours and cried of joy! I loved it so much!

I couldn't figure out if you do requests or not but if you do could I pretty please ask for one where mark somehow convinces conquest about the helping humanity and blah blah blah, cut to where conquest and mark are in the gda doing tests and something where the reader works as a hero analyst for Cecil or something and meets conquest during one of the strength tests and is struck by love at sight?

Sorry for my shitty explanations and stuff, it's a rough idea I've had for a long time and wouldn't mind any tweaks you make to it, no pressure of course! And keep up the good work!

Hi, anon! I loved this idea, thank you for requesting it. :D (I hope you'll enjoy this story just as much as the previous one!!! Sorry if i didnt write some things correctly, i might've misunderstood a few things)

Not Yet

Conquest x Reader

(Scene opens in the GDA testing facility, where Conquest and Mark are undergoing strength tests. The reader, a hero analyst working for Cecil, is observing.)

-----

The first time you saw him, you thought you were going to die.

Not because he attacked you—no, Conquest barely acknowledged your existence at first—but because the sheer weight of his presence alone was suffocating.

The GDA facility walls trembled with every impact of his blows against Invincible, the reinforced testing chambers barely containing the raw destruction. Conquest fought without hesitation, unrelenting, unstoppable. A force of nature disguised as an old man. He moved like war itself, every motion efficient, brutal, and unmerciful.

Yet you weren’t afraid. Not in the way you should have been.

Instead, you were… captivated.

It was absurd. You knew it was absurd. This was a being who had razed civilizations, whose hands were stained with so much blood that history itself bent beneath his conquests. He had no kindness, no remorse. Only purpose.

And yet, as he stood there, his breathing even, his single eye sweeping the facility with cold calculation, something within you stirred.

Perhaps it was the way he held himself—proud, ancient, and unyielding. Or maybe it was the way he regarded the world, as if everything in it was either an obstacle to be crushed or something too insignificant to bother with. But for the first time in your career, you found yourself unable to simply analyze the scene before you. You felt something dangerous—curiosity.

Your pen hovered over your clipboard, and before you even realized it, your voice cut through the post-battle silence.

“You’re holding back.”

Conquest’s head snapped toward you, his eye locking onto yours with the force of a hammer blow. The other agents stiffened, stepping back instinctively, but you held your ground, pulse thrumming against your throat.

“What did you say?” His voice was low, rough, like distant thunder.

“You’re holding back,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I’ve analyzed hundreds of fights, studied every high-tier threat that’s walked through these doors. That wasn’t you at full strength.”

A slow, amused huff left him. “Clever little thing, aren’t you?”

Your grip on the clipboard tightened. “It’s my job.”

“And yet you stand before me, speaking as if you are not prey addressing a predator.” He took a step forward, the air itself seeming to bow under his presence. “Tell me, what makes you so bold?”

You could feel every gaze in the room on you. Mark looked vaguely concerned, Cecil watched with veiled intrigue, and the guards gripped their weapons like they were ready to drag your corpse away at any second.

But you refused to waver.

“Because I know monsters,” you said plainly. “And you… You’re something worse.”

Something flickered in his eye. Interest. Just for a second.

Then, he chuckled. It was a deep, unsettling sound, like bones grinding together. “Perhaps you are not as insignificant as I thought.”

-----

Days passed. Then weeks.

You kept observing. Kept talking to him. At first, it was just another part of your job—gathering data, deciphering his behavior, understanding how a mind like his worked. But somewhere along the way, it became more.

Conquest did not entertain fools. He did not waste words on the weak. And yet, he answered your questions. Not all of them, not directly, but enough that it became clear: he found you amusing.

You learned the way his eye would narrow when you pressed too far, how his mouth would twitch when your words held a particular bite. You learned his philosophy, his unwavering belief in strength above all else. And he… learned you.

“You ask too many questions,” he mused one day, arms crossed as he loomed over you.

“You give too few answers.”

“I do not waste words on those who do not deserve them.”

“Then why answer me?”

Silence. Then, a smirk. “Because you are bold. I wonder how long it will take for that boldness to be crushed.”

“You seem very invested in watching me break.”

His eye gleamed, something dark curling at the edges of his smirk. “I enjoy watching things fall apart.”

You should have been terrified.

Instead, you felt your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

---

It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t even admiration. It was fascination—the slow, creeping kind that burrowed into your bones and refused to leave.

Conquest did not change for you. He did not soften, did not falter in his beliefs. He remained a war-hardened conqueror, a destroyer of civilizations, a being who existed solely for battle.

But you had earned something rare.

His respect.

And maybe, just maybe, something deeper.

One day, as you walked through the observation deck, reviewing data, you felt him before you saw him. That impossible, looming presence, crackling with restrained power. You turned, and there he was—closer than usual, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“You linger in my thoughts more than you should,” he murmured, voice like distant thunder.

You swallowed. “Is that… a bad thing?”

He tilted his head, as if considering. Then, slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rumbled:

“You are far too sweet for this world… I should rip your heart out and devour it before it ruins you.”

Your breath hitched. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to run, to do something—but you didn’t. You stood your ground, staring up at him, heart hammering against your ribs.

A smirk curled at the edges of his lips. He straightened, eye gleaming with something wicked.

“Not yet,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Not yet.”

And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, pulse wild, stomach twisting in ways you refused to acknowledge.

Because you knew.

This was far from over.

---------

(GSGHSNH4FSNNHUHWHAIIUJSHKCDKJC!!!!!!!!!!!!)

#invincible x reader #conquest #invincible conquest #invincible conquest x reader #invincible #GDA #GDA reader #conquest fanfic #invincible fanfic #he was just lonely....#did i cook #bananasplit133 #ao3 #conquest appreciation-post #conquest fic #conquest/reader #BYEBYEEE

272 notes · View notes

two-white-butterflies · 10 months ago

Text

★ — it was all yellow | carlos sainz

Description: After finding Carlos in bed with an internet starlet, you decided to break up with him. 5 years later, you meet him again.

Pairing: actress/singer!reader/carlos sainz

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: I got so many requests for this typa trope and I only got the idea now. Super sorry for the 6 month delay WAHHAHA.

yn.ln: the vibe that we bring to the function. btw 💚 HOTDS2 is out!

liked by danielricciardo and 71,923 others

>comments

danielricciardo: Helaena Targaryen >>> - edited: Helaena Targaryen <<<

echibano82: MAN!! 😭

ynforever: the rise and fall of a midwest princess is my fav album of urs

formula.unoworld: sainz fumbled a baddie

because.official: Carlos and Pinon 😘❤️ #MyHeart

liked by carlossainz55 and 6,293 others

>comments

foreveryoung78: Wake up Carlos the fatherhood allegations are strong today

solonglondon: U ever heard of a boy named Pablo Sainz? 😳

bestfriendsfw: miss Because...go and tell ur mans - landofanbase: HER NAME ALWAYS TAKES ME OUT 😭 WHY IS HER STAGE NAME "BECAUSE"

WHO IS CARLOS SAINZ'S NEW GIRLFRIEND? BECAUSE...

Brezziana Aziza, whose stage name is Because has gained fame because of her relationship with Formula One Driver Carlos Sainz Jr. Previously known on social media as an influencer who vlogs about her daily life, netizens began to call her "Because" well because of her excessive use of that word.

Although she has stopped using that word since, the name has stuck. She is currently under fire for visiting a Shein Factory in China. For more details please click this link: Shein sent American influencers to China.

>comments

becauseunitedfanbase: she's so funny n quirky i get it why carlos loves her

breatheinlouder: if pablo does belong to sainz, brezziana broke a family up - corduroy8chan: the family broke because sainz allowed it to be broken, she's homewrecker because...? - becauseunitedfanbase: more like home renovator

Just an Inchident (Charles L., Max V., Lando N., Carlos S.)

Carlos Sainz holy shit guys did you see twitter

Charles Leclerc Yeah man Is it real?

Lando Norris i did some research and this kid's 6-4 yrs old there's a chance mates

Carlos Sainz how am i even supposed to ask her? it was so awkward when it ended i totally regret doing that to her but im so happy with because now

Charles Leclerc There's a fat chance that the kid is yours man

Lando Norris ask her like a civilized man dude i saw a reel where someone asked her if pablos yours

Max Verstappen Who uses reels mate? 🤣 2 reacted 🤣

Lando Norris well she avoided the question silence means yes if you aren't the father she'd answer it

Carlos Sainz maybe she wants to torture me

Charles Leclerc She's a good person man I don't think that she'll do that Plus she's above using her son for leverage

Carlos Sainz and how do you know that Charles? we haven't spoken to her in years

Max Verstappen She grabs coffee with Victoria on Tuesdays I've actually known about Pablo for a while now

Carlos Sainz 👍🏻 2 reacted 🤣

Max Verstappen 👍🏻 .

yn.ln: i want a velaryon burial #HOTDS2

liked by 93,192 others

>comments

danielricciardo: the camera quality sucks just letting you know - yn.ln: thanks! i have eyes btw

comments have been restricted.

yn.ln: A lot of you wanted to comment and ask questions about my son, and I never really posted about him because I'm not like those parents who use their kids on social media for likes and clout.

Five years ago, I gave birth to my first baby, Pablo L/N (09/12/18) and every day has been filled with laughter and warmth 🦋 he was not a secret, but I tried to keep his life private. Now, a lot of people feel like they have the right to know everything about him. What he looks like. Who his father is. I'm telling you that it doesn't matter.

You don't have the right to his face. You don't have the right to know about his family life because it doesn't concern you and it never will.

Thank you so much to my friends!! @danielricciardo @rileykeough #DakotaJohnson and #ChrisMartin

liked by 1,239,901 others

>comments

danielricciardo: ❤️

rileykeough: 🥺 i love you and p

victoriaverstappen: We love you! - yn.ln: thank you vic, playdate with luka and lio soon? - victoriaverstappen: Absolutely!

comments have been restricted.

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected]

Good morning Dessie.

This is Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist, Daniel Kirkman, in light of the rumors between my client and Miss Y/N L/N we humbly request the truth about Pablo L/N's paternity in order to legally and publicly clear things up. Speaking as your old friend, these past few months have been stressful both physically and mentally. Even if there's a sliver of hope that the kid is Carlos' please update me.

Warm regards, Daniel Kirkman.

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected] (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

Good afternoon Mr. Kirkman.

I can see that the years have hardly changed you, you still have horrible email etiquette. Because we are old friends, I spoke to Y/N. Truth is, the things that I'm going to share today will ruin your client's reputation if our emails are ever leaked. Remember the fallout of 2018? We both celebrated New Years in Y/N's Santa Monica House.

Actually, New Years was the day we found out that she was pregnant. Not a doubt in our hearts that the baby was Carlos'. We were about to tell him but the moment we landed in Ibiza, she saw Carlos in bed with Brezziana. (I refuse to call her Because!! BECAUSE it is confusing and preposterous.)

I think that hiding Pablo from his father wasn't right, but I don't blame her for doing it. As for the paternity test, Y/N agreed but the team will come back to you with the legalities and such. As a 'friend' I want to tell you that the best Carlos is ever going to have is him paying child support and seeing the child once or twice a month.

Y/N has a lot of lawyers, more than we do friends. And judging by Carlos' personality, I don't think that he'll fight for his son.

Warm Regards, Destiny Bumgarner

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected]

Good evening Destiny! What makes you think that Y/N's going to win the legalities? + I never expected you to reveal all of this via chat. You sure that I won't betray you?

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected] (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

I got dealt with the winning hand now Dan.

I know you're smart enough not to doubt me. :)

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected]

All is fair in connections and clientele?

email to [email protected] (Y/N L/N publicist) from [email protected] (Carlos Sainz Jr's publicist)

All is fair in life, Dan.

oliviacooke: sorry for drinking your juice hun. 📸 pablo l/n

liked by 283,192 others

>comments

yn.ln: haha thanks for carrying his bags liv

comments have been restricted.

There are only two things. Truth and lies.

Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself; anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.

The past that you've tried to bury has slowly began to reveal itself. Maybe it was your fault, you aren't sure...

Carlos Sainz was a horrible man. He cheated on you. He didn't apologize. He admitted that another woman made him happier. Was there something special about her? A simple internet starlet with no proper claim to fame made him feel more alive.

"You've got to face him anyways." Dakota placed a glass of wine on the coffee table. "Pablo isn't his. He doesn't even look like him." you shook your head, unable to accept the inevitable truth.

"I've read all the posts on Twitter, they don't think that I have the right to push my son away from his father. Carlos is immature, I don't think that he's even capable of being a father." you scoff, taking a sip.

Haven't you given your son everything that he needed? An iPad, a big house, private education, and vacations in all the nice places.

"Two wrongs don't make a right." Destiny breathed.

"- from what Kirkman says, Carlos has changed. I don't encourage you to be romantic partners or even best friends, but please be civil for Pablo. Please let him have a civil relationship with his father." she added. "I hate it when you're right." you looked away.

You've seen his posts. You've seen his interviews.

There wasn't a bone in his body that screamed mischievousness anymore. He looked tame. Happier.

He achieved all of that without you, and maybe you could be that too.

You can be everything without him too.

"So you'll talk to him?" Dakota asked.

"I'll give it a try." I relented.

Look at the stars.

Look how they shine for you.

The music played in the background as you sashayed your way into the VIP section of your friend's restaurant. Destiny was an angel enough to close shop and ensure that your privacy was protected especially in these vulnerable moments.

A sigh escapes your mouth, hearing that song in the background. As much as you adored Chris Martin, this song was getting in your feels.

You take a sharp turn, halting once you see his figure.

The very same man that shattered your world in Ibiza. The very same man that looked you in the eyes while he admitted that someone else made him much much happier than you, his fiancee.

And it was called Yellow.

"Thank you so much for being here, Y/N." your name sounded soft on his lips. Behind his brown eyes, there was sorrow - not to be confused with regret because he looked better than he ever was. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" you chuckled.

While nothing about you has changed.

Carlos has changed drastically.

"Destiny told me about the emails. Your team wanted a paternity test, right? You don't need it, Pablo is yours." you decided to be straightforward, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth.

You could feel that bitterness on your throat, like tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes, like you just swallowed a pill and forgot to drank water afterwards.

"Uhh - I found out on New Years day, and I wanted to tell you in Ibiza." you didn't bother to continue the story. He knows what you mean.

For you I'd bleed myself dry.

"I'm sorry, really sorry for not being a man. I know that we were about to get married, and I got scared. I was 24 years old, everyone was telling me that I had another life ahead of me. I was young. I wanted to ruin my life. I-I shouldn't have brought you with me." he apologized, trying to find the words that could articulate his feelings.

This was all that you needed from him.

An apology.

"When Destiny found out, she grabbed me by the ear. Told me that I could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve you. I believe her, and I want to do everything to make it up to you and Pablo." he promised, but there were still words unsaid - the turn of his brows telling you that he wasn't willing to return back to normal.

That he still loves Because more than he's ever loved you.

"Do you love her?" you smiled bitterly. Your smile.

Look how they shine for you.

"I betrayed both of you that night. She didn't know that we were dating. She didn't know who I was. I apologized to her and she forgave me, but I realized a few years after that I should've apologized to you too." he admitted. "- I love her, really."

You knew that he wasn't lying.

destinybumgarner: this is the PINK PONY CLUB

liked by 712 others

>comments

yn.ln: WAHAHAH IM JUST HAVING FUN

danielkirkman: crowns c / o pablo the prince

part two

A/N What driver or actor should we pair reader with? 😭 comment to get tagged

942 notes · View notes

binnybinnychickendinny · 3 months ago

Text

psa for all of hockeyblr: please please PLEASE try to keep your lb posts out of other teams’ lb tags!!!! i think i speak for everyone when i say that it is really annoying to go into my own team’s lb tag and see hate posts from fans of whoever we’re playing against! you can still make hate posts; idc about that and i’m certainly not innocent of it myself, but there are ways to keep it from going into other teams’ tags.

to be clear, this is absolutely the fault of tumblr’s wacky tagging system, but that’s probably not going to be fixed any time soon. so for the sake of civility let’s all try to find a work-around instead of being rude, right?

with the way the tagging system is currently set up, if you make a post that has a) your lb tag and b) a tag that mentions the name of the team you’re playing against, it WILL end up in the opposition’s lb tag. so just as an example, let’s say you put “leafs lb” and “i hate the oilers” as two separate tags. that will make the post show up under “oilers lb”. it’s silly, but that’s how it works.

HOWEVER. i think a pretty easy work-around for this (if you feel that you absolutely must express your distaste for a team in the tags) is to not use the same reference to the team that their lb tag uses. so like, if you say “i hate edmonton” instead of “i hate the oilers”, then it shouldn’t show up under “oilers lb” anymore. again, i know it’s silly, but it could solve a lot of strife within this community.

i think a lot of people on here genuinely don’t understand that that’s how the tagging system sorts things, so hopefully this post helps a bit. i always try to be conscious of this when posting about other teams, but even i probably slip up sometimes. i just think that being aware of the issue is still helpful!

and again, this is NOT meant to say that you can’t post about teams you dislike. it’s a sports fandom. most if not all people are going to have teams they aren’t fond of, and that’s perfectly okay. one of the most popular posts in the fandom right now is about being shocked by who other people are fans of, lmao. this is just suggesting that it would be a good idea to try to keep such posts out of the space of your hated team’s fans. bc otherwise you might just make people angry. yk?

anyway. that’s it! thanks for reading all of this if you did :)

151 notes · View notes

unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240 · 1 year ago

Text

I'm gonna be honest here: one of the more exhausting parts of the online discourse is how much of a tightrope I am always on, that those of us who care about human rights for all human beings are always on, because any statement made in favor of the "other" side is ripe for tokenism.

I, as a Jew, care about the safety and human rights of Palestinians and Arab Israelis. You will never convince me that there is an ethical way to kill civilians, especially children. You will never convince me that police brutality against citizens marching for their civil rights is necessary. You just can't. And yet I have to be so careful when/where I say that and how I say that, because too often this simple acknowledgement that all people are created in the image of Hashem and should be treated accordingly is ripped out of context and placed between a deluge of other posts denying my people that very same acknowledgement. The number of times I have said these things, only to go into the reblogs and see my words surrounded on all sides with violent antisemitism? I've lost count.

And guess what? It's made me less effective as an advocate, it has actively silenced me from speaking up sometimes, because I refuse to be your "good Jew," your token, somebody whose words can be misconstrued to kasher your vile hatred of my people. And to be very clear: Jewish Israelis are my people just as much as fellow diaspora yidden are, and they deserve better from both goyim and diaspora Jews alike.

And I've seen this go the other way, too: I've seen Palestinian activists and journalists who are trying very hard to balance the values of respecting other people (including Israelis and/or Jews writ large) as fellow human beings with the pain that their people are currently suffering. And I've seen their words ripped out of context and used to excuse more violence against them and their people.

And then there are lots of other people - genuinely well-intentioned people who are trying to learn from me - who keep treating me like I'm some paragon of nuance. I'm trying, truly, but I'm Just Some Guy. You know what I do? It's extremely simple and I promise you can do it too, any of you, if you slow down long enough to think before putting anything out there: "Would I say this about my brother? My mom? My daughter? My people? Would I be happy if the person I loved most on this earth was living under these circumstances and being talked about in whatever way I'm about to speak? Would it feel victim-blaming? Would it feel disrespectful of their struggle or dishonest? Does it ignore their history or trauma? Is it actually helping?" These are the types of questions I try very hard to ask myself every time I post about the conflict, about both sides. I try to talk about this as if the people on both sides were my family. Because truthfully? They are. Am Yisrael is a family, before anything else. Palestinians are our closest cousins. This war is a bloodbath and a tragedy, and everyone is suffering. For those of us who are not living there, please remember this and have some respect.

#המצב #i/p #t-minus 60 minutes before someone l i t e r a l l y does the exact thing I'm on about here

882 notes · View notes

canthelpit0 · 1 year ago

Text

Enemies (with benefits)

Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader

Word count : 1,489

Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly

Warnings: smut, p0rn with plot, a LOT of plot, angst, name calling (bitch, slut, etc.), p in v, rough x, mentions of safe word (not used), rude/cold!Chris, degration, friend with benefits, awkward, (implied) RichKid!reader, no love (😔), unprotected, creampie, no after care, no use of y/n, no oc

(A/N: this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve posted on tumblr. So ya, I’m shitting bricks. Please give me feat back on my writing, and what I can improve. Also English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it!! :D)

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL

Ever since I can remember, I’ve known the triplets. The sturniolo’s and my family were always really close. And ever since I can remember, I’ve hated Chris.

Now, enemies was a harsh word. A bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like we were at war for opposing countries. We were more like rivals. In every aspect.

Sometimes it felt like the only reason Chris studied for school, was to beat my grade. He wasn’t really stupid, but he was definitely not book smart.

The problem wasn’t that. We’ve always lived normally, simply hating and avoiding each other. After all he was my longtime nemesis.

Until that one fateful night where we’d been at my house. My parents have a big business so they’d frequently be on business trips. And it just so happened that that night my younger siblings were not home, both of them being at their separate sleepovers with friends.

We’d been paired for some project. And naive me thought, that it’d be fine. We could be civil for a few hours. But I thought wrong. The hatred was too strong and the tension was too thick in the air.

Seemingly everything I did made him agitated. And vise versa.

Until he finally snapped and we got into a full fledged argument, wich turned into a yelling match. However it all went quiet when he crashed his lips onto mine.

Breathing heavily I had kissed back, hard. It was easier to battle about with a kiss, rather than screaming. And like hell was I gonna be dominated by Christopher fucking sturniolo.

So the night progressed. He had me, my face buried in the sheets babbling out nonsense and screaming his name. But not in anger like I usually would.

It had been months since that happened, and it still haunted me. The idea that it even happened. That his lips had been on mine, his dick literally inside of me, that I was literally under him, disgusts me to my core. But it didn’t matter. It was one of many times.

Sometimes it was a quickie, sometimes an all nighter. Sometimes Chris was dominant other times he was not. Sometimes it was at my place other times at his.

And it wasn’t like those cliché stories of friends with benefits where one fell in love. This felt more like an urge. Like neither of us wanted to actually hook up but we were irking to. This was better than having a yelling match. And on the rare occasions I was dominant it felt great making him shut up and take it. It felt equivalent to winning an argument. The whole point was to teach a lesson, and express annoyance and anger without directly doing that.

“Chris-“ I let out a sharp cry, even the pillow that my face was buried in didn’t really make the scream sound quieter.

His hips keep drilling into my core hitting all the right spots to make me weak in the knees.

Sex with him, objectively, felt good. In the moment. He knew how to please a woman. But he also knew that he was pushing it right now.

“Don’t fucking tell me to slow down.” He snaps his tone, and words as harsh as his breathing. “You have a safe word. Use it if you need to. And other wise, shut, the fuck, up.”

I only let out a sharp whine when he seems to pick up pace even more. He’s made a mess of me. We’ve been at this for hours. Literally.

I’ve come more times than I can count and Chris wasn’t showing any sign of stoping anytime soon.

My back arches perfectly, but I’ve been in this position for too long for it to be comfortable. Him leaning over my back occasionally leaving harsh slaps on my ass while his other hand stayed firmly im my hair.

His hand being tangled in my hair as he was both pulling it, but also pressing me down into the pillow under me.

I feel the ache in my cunt subside again, as a knot starts to form. I’m close, again, and I don’t know if I can keep going after.

“Chris” I scream his name loudly panting and moaning. “I’m- close” I can barely form a sentence. His thrust are hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs every time.

“Oh ya?” He harshly slaps my ass causing me to moan loudly. “How much more you think this pussy can take?” He huffs his tone ever so cocky.

He always did this. He liked being dominant and absolutely wrecking me as much as he can. And he knows I’m close to breaking, and that’s what makes it worse. I just know he gets a wired satisfaction out of exerting me.. using me, like this.

His hand stays firmly in my hair tugging harder. His other hand trailing from my ass to my clit as he starts to rub on it harshly.

I clench instinctively, my whining and moaning getting even louder. “I’m gonna-“ a harsh slap on my clit catches me off guard.

Chris keeps going. “Fucking slut. You like getting destroyed like this?” he mocks, his tone condescending as his pace doesn’t let up.

“Go on bitch, cum on my cock. Come again.” He urges. And the rubbing of his fingers on my clit and the relentless torture to my cunt is threatening to push me over the edge.

“Can I come in that pussy again?” He asks his voice coming out strained and harsh from the pleasure.

“Yes-“ I’m cut off, again. As i am physically not able to speak with the pace he’s going at.

And the combined pressure of everything pushes me over the edge. Suddenly the knot in my stomach snaps and my body goes limp after loud moans. He goes for a few more thrusts before I feel the familiar hot liquid fill my cunt.

After a minute where we catch our breaths he slowly starts to massage my scalp knowing he’s been pulling on it for at least half an hour straight.

He pulls out not really gently, but not harshly either.

Hook ups with Chris always felt like one night stands, when they were really regular.

I let my body fall limp fully laying on my stomach as I sigh, content in my position, not attempting to move.

I can practically feel Chris watching me.

Normally I wouldn’t be this much of a mess. But than again normally we didn’t go for hours. Normally Chris used a condom. But today was not one of those days.

Sometimes chris had enough common sense to at least pretend to care.

But right now he was just staring.

“You okay?” He asks his tone gentler and more quiet than usual. He knew he was pushing it, but did he really care tho?

I shiver as I feel his hand start to rub over my back. Ever so gently pinching the skin to ease some tension.

“Ya”

My breath is short as I’m still calming down not doing or saying anything else.

After a while I turn around slightly, wincing as I lay on my back. My back hurt from the previous uncomfortable position I was in.

I opened my tired eyes, looking up at him, my eyes meeting his. I knew I probably looked like a wreck right now. My hair a mess because of all the moving and position changes as well as his pulling. My face having dried mascara and tear stains on it from when I’d been crying.

I was too tired to even hide my body. I just turned around not bothering to hide my chest as I did, I was too fucked out to care.

His lips pursed, looking over my face. But he wasn’t concerned. But rather disgusted at the sight. He was glad he made me look like shit, but I could see in his eyes that he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

After sex was the worst for us.

The arguments leading up to it were normal. The sex itself was great. But afterwards…

Usually he’d leave. But today he had gone far. He’s done worse before. But every time he did he felt like he should give me proper after care. But I can see the annoyance radiating off of him, and I just know he does not want to be here.

And as harsh as it sounds, he couldn’t really care less what state he left me in. He’s told me multiple times.

“You can leave.” I mumble sighing. My throat felt horse from all the screaming, crying and moaning, that I’d been doing. I’ll need to get a water soon.

He gives me a simple nod, quickly changing, then going to my bathroom to fix his appearance.

And than he leaves.

The room is quiet. Nothing to be heard, nothing to be said.

Masterlist

A/N: hope you liked it, this was literally my first time writing smut🫣 also I don’t have a taglist yet, so i just added my moots. Tell me if u wanna be added, or removed :D

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist : @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns

#sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x y/n #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo smut #Spotify #smut

683 notes · View notes

bestanimal · 8 months ago

Text

~ Round 3 is currently underway, with Carnivora in the lead!

See poll schedule here ~

On a quest to find Tumblr’s favorite animal!

(Pictured is my personal favorite animal: the bearded vulture! Photo was taken by me… if you want to see more I post my photography on my instagram: SaritaWolf ;P)

Ever wondered how your favorite animal stacks up against other people’s favorites? Well you’ve come to the right place!

Here’s how this will work…

Polls will be ranked like so:

My fav is in this group!/This is one of my favorite animals!

I love these/this animal(s)

I like these/this animal(s)

I am neutral about these/this animal(s)

I dislike these/this animal(s)

I hate these/this animal(s)

If an animal is your favorite, it receives 5 points

If you love an animal, it receives 3 points

If you like an animal, it receives 1 point

If you are neutral about an animal, no points are added or subtracted to its ranking

If you dislike an animal, 1 point will be taken away

If you hate an animal, 3 points will be taken away

Note: As of Round 3, the hate option has been removed.

At the end of a polling period, that animal’s points will be its rank.

The top 20 or 50 or 100 or whatever (number to be decided on at a later date) will move on to the next round!

Polls will be open for 7 days

Since it’s not very feasible for me to make 1.5 million polls for every known species of animal, the first round of polls will be by Phylum, the next round will be by Class, then Order, then Family, then Genus, and then Species.

If you want your favs to make it to the top, make sure you know what group they’re in! This can be found via a quick Wikipedia search and a look-see right here (using the bearded vulture as an example):

The Bearded Vulture is in the Phylum Chordata, the Class Aves/Reptilia, the Order Accipitriformes, and the Genus Gypaetus, so now I know to vote for that group as my favorite when it comes up!

The top ranked Phyla will move on to the next round, where they will then be split into Classes, and Round 2 will begin.

Round 3 will take the winning classes and split them by Order, then follow the same pattern.

Round 4 will take the winning orders and split them by Family, then follow the same pattern.

Round 5 will take the winning families and split them by Genus, then follow the same pattern.

Round 6 will take the winning genera and split them by Species, then follow the same pattern.

The Ultimate Round will pit the top 20/50/100 (number also to be decided at a later date) species against each other.

If no clear photos exist of a species, preferably in situ, it will not be included in the polls. (So, if you’re a scientist who just discovered a new moth and it’s your favorite animal you better get those photos on iNaturalist quick)

You can have multiple favorites, I am not keeping track of that, but I do ask that you answer honestly!

I will add a bit of propaganda under a cut on each poll, but please feel free to reblog polls and add your own! If you want your fav(s) to win, these polls need to be seen by lots of people!

I do encourage people to not vote blindly. Look at the photos, read the propaganda, maybe even do your own research before you decide how you feel about an animal!

And lastly, please keep things civil! We all have different tastes and someone hating your fav is not a personal affront against you!

That being said, we do not “Kill it with fire” here. It’s ok to not like an animal, but we do not tolerate people calling for violence against a species or wishing a whole species extinct.

Important Tags:

#Animal Polls: All main polls

#Poll Results: Completed polls will be reblogged along with their calculated ranking

#Special Poll: Any extra polls

#Extra Propaganda: Any reblogged propaganda added by voters, or reblogs featuring the animals in the poll of the day

#Statistics: A stats post will be posted after each round

#Asks: For any responses to asks (my askbox is open!)

#FAQ: For questions that may come up often

#Extras: For any announcement posts, reblogs, etc

If you are enjoying the tournament and would like to leave a tip, it would be much appreciated!

#Tumblr polls #tumblr tournament #while I would love to use cladistics the linnean way does make it a little easier to organize

356 notes · View notes

gullemec · 2 months ago

Text

Growth and Decay

Bitten - Part V

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: For the first time since your attack, you and Joel venture into civilization. But instead of salvation, you find your nightmares reflected back on you.

Warnings: canon-typical violence (but it gets pretty graphic/descriptive in this chapter), gun use, angst as always!, reader is experiencing some pretty significant PTSD, description of injuries and treating injuries

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.4k

A/N: I am sooo very sorry about the delay in getting this out. School has been bonkers for me and then I decided to start playing RDR2 and you can imagine how that's going. On the upside—I already have some Arthur fic ideas percolating. Stay tuned!

Laurel, Montana is a ghost town gripped in the verdant fist of nature.

Once a bustling stretch of streets and businesses now sits empty and seemingly untouched by the claws of winter that found you up in the mountains. You think this must be a testament to the fragility of human creation, the determination of Earth reclaiming what was always hers.

You and Joel move cautiously through the outskirts, weaving between thickets of tall grass that stretch past your knees and weeds that break through the cracked remains of sidewalks. Past the crumbling brick facades that once held stores, their faded signs obscured beneath layers of debris and dirt. Convenience, one reads, the word barely visible through the ivy crawling up its face.

Your eyes sweep across the barren street, muscles taut, senses straining for anything amiss. Movement, sound, the telltale signs of recent activity, human or otherwise. But there’s nothing, only silence and decay, that familiar yet eerie absence of life. Your fingers tighten around your pistol, the familiar weight grounding you. It’s not your weapon of choice, you're much handier with a blade, but Joel insisted.

The world feels paused here, frozen in the moment it all ended, save for the steady advance of green swallowing grey.

Grass and wildflowers spill from wide cracks in the pavement, the shoots vibrant and defiant against the grey of the asphalt. Lush vines twist their way up the fractured brickwork, some reaching all the way to the roofs of buildings that sag under the weight of years gone by. Thick carpets of moss coat piles of rubble, softening thor jagged edges.

Just ahead, an overturned car sits on what used to be the main road. The windows are rimmed with shards of broken glass, yawning open to the sky. The tires hang in tattered strips of rubber, the steel belts exposed and rusted. A bird’s nest, now long abandoned, is tucked inside a wheel well. Your lip curls at the small reminder that even destruction can become a home for something.

The sound of your boots crunching against gravel and weeds feels too loud, intrusive against the quiet. Joel moves a few steps ahead, his head moving side to side and he does a visual sweep, his rifle held low but ready. He pauses at the intersection of two streets, glancing back at you.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says firmly.

You nod, stepping closer, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end despite the stillness around you. There’s a strange feeling to this place, like walking through a graveyard where the world has mourned and moved on, leaving a veil of green to cover the scars.

The remnants of the town tell a story, just like the house did, pieced together in fragments. A little red bicycle, resting against a lamp post, its training wheels still clinging on. A storefront window shattered, the jagged shards framing a display of dusty mannequins dressed in tattered clothes. A faded Help Wanted sign still clings to the wall behind them.

And yet, it isn’t just the destruction that strikes you.

It’s the life threading its way through decay. It’s the way the trees grow through where buildings once stood, their roots breaking through foundations and upending what little remains of the structures. It’s the shadows of the birds as they flit between empty shells of buildings, their singsong too bright and cheery.

Joel rounds on the overturned car, crouching low and tucking himself behind it. His movements are practiced and purposeful, every inch the survivor you’ve come to know over the past year. He doesn’t spare you a glance, just nods toward the car, a silent command for you to follow. You obey, your body moving instinctively even as your mind churns with a thousand thoughts.

The tension between you feels suffocating, thicker than the silence that settled over you both in those early days after the bite. Back then, the weight of what had happened hung heavy in the air, too vast and terrible to put into words. Now, it feels like something else entirely, a chasm carved between you, widened by every unanswered question, every conversation Joel refuses to have. It’s almost worse than the silence of those days because now you know what’s been lost.

This morning had been no different. You ate in silence, sharing a can of beans you’d found tucked in the very back of a cupboard in that old house. Joel had barely looked at you as he ate, his focus fixed on somewhere far away before you’d even left, his words clipped and brief. He’s always been like that, focused on the task ahead, too practical for sentimentality, but it wasn’t always this cold. There used to be warmth in the silences, a kind of understanding. Now there’s only a void, and it’s swallowing you whole.

As you crouch behind the car, you let your fingers drift over the cool metal, its surface rough and mottled with rust. It’s a strange thing to fixate on, but you can’t help it. The car, like the town, like you, is a proof of what time and destruction can do.

What was once something whole, something purposeful, now just a shell, picked to pieces by the world, its life spark long gone.

Maybe the bite hadn’t killed you, but it changed you in ways you still don’t fully understand. Joel can say he doesn’t see it, but you feel it in your bones, in your blood. Some part of you died that day, and what’s left is something you don’t recognize.

Joel shifts forward, peering out from behind the car, his eyes scanning the street for movement. His face is a mask of focus, but you can see the strain in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He’s always on edge now, always waiting for the next threat. You wonder if it’s because of you. If he’s waiting for the day you prove him right, prove that you’re not the same, that you’re something else entirely.

The thought eats at you, gnawing at the edges of your already rapidly dissolving calm.

In those quiet moments before sleep takes you, you try to tell yourself that you’re still you, try to convince your brain that what happened doesn't define you now. But it’s hard to believe it when Joel, the man who’s saved you more times than you can count, who’s seen more devastation than you could ever try to understand, won’t meet your eyes. It’s hard not to feel like a burden, like a mistake he doesn’t have the strength to correct.

You toss a glance around you, at the town that looks like it’s being swallowed by nature. It should be beautiful, this reclamation of life, but all you see is decay. All you see is what’s been lost. The town, for all its creeping green and vibrant wildflowers, is still dead at its core. It’s a lie nature tells, dressing up ruins in the trappings of new life.

You think it disturbs you because it’s what you see in your reflection.

A lie.

Something that looks human on the outside but isn’t, not really. You’re not sure what you are anymore. Not alive, not dead. Just… something in between.

Something that doesn’t belong.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “C’mon,” he says, low and gruff. “Clear ahead.”

You nod, even though your body feels heavy, like it might refuse to move. You push yourself to your feet and follow him, keeping your distance, letting him take the lead. He doesn’t look back, and you don’t expect him to.

You glance down at your hands, at the fingers that feel colder than they used to, as though the blood running through them isn’t yours anymore. You wonder if this is what it feels like to decay from the inside out. To look alive but feel like something rotting beneath the surface.

Joel stops suddenly, turning back to you with that permanent furrow in his brow. “You good?”

It’s the first time he’s asked you that all day, and the sound of it landslike a blow. You want to tell him the truth, to spill everything that’s been building inside you. But the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the fear that he’ll shut you out again. That he’ll look at you the way he did when he first saw the bite, that mixture of fear and regret that you can’t bear to see again.

“Yeah,” you say, and even you can tell your words fall flat. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t press you. He just nods and keeps moving, his boots crunching against the broken pavement. You follow, your eyes on the ground, your thoughts heavier than ever.

Twenty feet ahead, Joel spots an old supermarket, its awnings drooping in jagged tatters that flutter in the breeze. The building looks like it’s been frozen mid-collapse, its cinder block walls cracked but still standing. Vines climb the walls, their green fingers threading through the broken mortar and curling around the faded, flaking letters of the store’s name. The small parking lot out front is a graveyard of rusted shopping carts, their frames twisted and mangled, pushed into a haphazard pile near the entrance, like they were once used as a barricade.

Yet compared to the surrounding ruins, skeletons of buildings swallowed by nature and time, the supermarket looks remarkably intact. Its boarded windows and sagging door give the illusion of quiet sanctuary, but you’ve been out here long enough to know better.

Joel pauses at the edge of the lot, his sharp gaze sweeping over the building and the rusted debris around it. He tightens his grip on his rifle, his expression hardening into that look he gets when he’s bracing for trouble.

“Over there,” he says, his tone low, all authority. That voice, the one that warms against argument, pulls you into focus, instinct taking over. “We’ll clear it and take whatever we can find. I’ll lead. You watch our six. You got it?”

You nod without hesitation, the weight of your pistol heavy in your hand as you fall in step behind him. This is something you know how to do, a ritual you’ve repeated so many times it can only come naturally. A chance to prove to Joel you’re still useful, still his teammate.

The air inside is thick, suffocating, heavy with the smell of damp rot and decay. Broken glass crunches under your boots as you follow Joel inside, the sound uncomfortably loud in the damning quiet. Dust hangs in the air like a cloud, swirling dreamily in the dim light filtering through the boarded windows.

The shelves, once overstuffed with a bounty of foods you haven’t tasted in years, now stand empty, their dusty metal frames bent and bare. Here and there, a forgotten can or crushed box clings stubbornly to the past, but even these remnants are battered, their labels faded or peeling away.

Oh, the things you’d do to have a bowl of Lucky Charms again.

Joel moves ahead of you, his footsteps measured and deliberate, his rifle sweeping the aisles like a predator sniffing for prey. His broad shoulders are tense, his movements precise, as if each step could be his last. You’ve seen him like this before, his body language screaming that something is off even if he hasn’t said it aloud yet.

“It’s too quiet,” you mutter under your breath, almost to yourself, but Joel catches it. He doesn’t reply, just gives the smallest tilt of his head, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows.

The silence here feels wrong in here, unnatural, like something is holding its breath. Every sound you make, every crunch of glass or shuffle of debris, feels like a shout into the void. Your pulse jumps, and you force yourself to stay focused, to match Joel’s movements.

“You see anything?” you whisper, keeping your voice low.

“No. That’s what’s botherin’ me.” His eyes dart toward the far end of the store, where the light fades into deeper darkness.

You both continue down the aisles, your hand darting out occasionally to grab whatever looks salvageable. A dented can of beans, a half-empty bag of rice, a plastic water bottle caked in grime. You tuck it all away in your pack. But your unease grows with each step. The place feels too untouched, too convenient. Like bait left out in the open.

Then you see it.

Near the far end of the store, where the light fades into deeper shadows, a cluster of empty cans sits in an otherwise barren aisle. The sight stops you cold. Unlike the thick layer of dust that coats everything else in this place, the cans are clean, gleaming unnaturally in the dim light. Too clean.

“Joel,” you whisper sharply, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

But before you can say more, you hear it.

A sound. Whisper quiet at first, just the barest scrape of movement, but unmistakable. Footsteps.

Then voices.

Low, murmured words drift through the aisles, growing closer. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Joel freezes, his posture shifting immediately, instinctively, into one of readiness. His rifle comes up, his head tilting to his good side to locate the sound.

“Get down,” he murmurs, and you know by the tone of his voice to listen.

You duck behind a nearby shelf, the metal frame cold and sharp against your back. Your heart pounds in your ears as the voices draw nearer. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but your instincts tell you it’s nothing good.

Your fingers tighten around your pistol, your breath shallow as you glance at Joel. His jaw is set, his eyes sharp and calculating as he motions for you to stay put. And then the voices stop.

The silence that follows is louder than any gunshot, pressing in on you from all sides.

And you realize that they know you’re here.

The first gunshot shatters the silence.

It’s loud, too loud, and it jolts through you like a live wire. Before you can even register what’s happening, Joel is already moving, the crack of his rifle filling the air as he ducks behind an overturned shelf and fires.

The raiders pour out of the shadows like wolves circling their prey. There aren’t many—four, maybe five—but desperation radiates off of them in waves. Their clothes hang loose from thin frames, their skin sallow and smudged with dirt. You make eye contact with one, his eyes burning with a frenzied, unhinged light.

These aren’t trained killers. They’re wild animals backed into a corner. You’re not sure which is worse.

Joel takes two down in seconds, all ruthless precision.

He yells something. Your name, maybe? An order? But the words are lost in the roar of gunfire and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

You try to move. You want to move. But your legs feel rooted to the floor, the soles of your boots glued to the linoleum.

The world narrows to a pinprick, every sound muffled by a deafening roar of white noise. Your breathing is shallow, frantic, but it doesn’t feel like you’re getting any air. Your hands shake uncontrollably, your fingers clumsy as they fumble for the pistol in your grip.

Why can’t you move?

You’ve done this before. So many times. Joel always said you had a knack for it, that you were quick, reliable, a hell of a shot when it counted. So why now, in this moment, do you feel like you’re crumbling from the inside out?

A shout cuts through the haze. Joel’s voice.

“Move! Goddamn it, move!”

You force your head to turn, your eyes locking onto him for half a second. He’s crouched behind a shelf, his rifle raised, taking aim at a man trying to flank him. His face is a mask of controlled fury, but even from here, you can see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes when he looks at you.

Joel’s never seen you freeze before. Not like this.

“Do something!” he yells, strained with the effort of splitting his focus between you and the attackers.

But you can’t. Your legs refuse to listen, your arms too weak to lift the pistol with any sense of control. Your vision tunnels as you stare at the scene unfolding in front of you, the raiders scrambling for cover, Joel firing round after round, the way the bullet casings ricochet through the smoke-filled air.

Your breath catches as a third man crumples to the ground, taken out by Joel’s unrelenting fire. But then Joel disappears from view, ducking behind another aisle to reload, out of your sight.

And that’s when it happens.

Strong arms wrap around you from behind, locking you in place, your arms pinned to your sides like a vise. Your breath catches in your throat, your body stiffening as your mind scrambles to react. Your hand tightens instinctively around your pistol, but it’s useless, frozen in your trembling grip.

For a second, it feels like time slows. The heat of the man’s breath on your neck is overwhelming, rancid, the sound of his low grunt echoing in your ears as he adjusts his grip to pull you tighter. Your vision blurs, and the supermarket—the shelves, the dust, the smoky light filtering through broken windows—all of it begins to dissolve.

And then you’re not in the supermarket at all anymore.

You’re at the river.

The roar of the swollen water drowns out everything else, pounding in your ears like a war drum. Your back hits the cold, slick ground with a heavy thud, knocking the air from your lungs. And it’s there, on top of you.

That thing. That fucking thing.

Its mottled, decaying face hanging inches from yours, teeth gnashing as it screeches, a sound that cuts straight through you like a blade. Its hands claw at you, filthy nails raking against your skin as it pins you down. Its weight is crushing, its stench unbearable, overwhelming rot and blood and evil.

You’re screaming. You’re begging. You’re thrashing against it, every ounce of your strength pouring into this desperate, animalistic fight for your life.

Your arms slip free from its grip, adrenaline burning through your veins like fire. You twist, throwing your weight into the motion, and suddenly you’re on top of it, straddling its chest. The slick, wet ground beneath you fades into nothingness. There’s only this thing and your need to destroy it.

Your pistol is gone, vanished into the ether, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the overwhelming urge to end it.

You pull your arm back, your fist trembling with fury and desperation, and then you bring it down with all your strength.

The impact sends a shockwave up your arm. You feel a wet crack beneath your knuckles, the way its face collapses under the force of the blow. Blood spatters across your hand, warm and slick, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You pull your arm back again and slam your fist down, harder this time. Another crunch, another sickening wet sound. Its head jerks to the side, but you grab a fistful of its shirt to keep it in place, your breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

Again.

The edges of your vision blur and darken, narrowing until there’s nothing but the thing beneath you and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Again.

Your knuckles split, skin tearing against bone and cartilage, but the pain doesn’t register. All you feel is rage, fear, and the desperate, consuming need to destroy.

Again.

The thing’s face is unrecognizable now, a mess of blood and shattered bone, but it doesn’t matter. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, a voice whispers that it’s already dead, that you’ve already won, but you can’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

Again.

A voice cuts through the fog, deep and desperate.

“Stop!”

You don’t stop. You can’t.

“Goddamn it, stop!”

A pair of hands grab your shoulders, jerking you backward. The sudden force pulls you out of your frenzy, the world around you snapping back into focus like a rubber band.

You blink, gasping for air as the sound of the river fades, replaced by the quiet of the supermarket, the ringing in your ears. The thing that was beneath you is no longer the creature that attacked you. It’s the raider, his face a bloody, mangled mess, his body limp and motionless.

Joel is crouched beside you, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly, his eyes wide and brimming with shock and concern.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, smooth, like a balm. “You’re all right. It’s over. Look at me—it’s over.”

But it’s not over. Not for you. The river, the creature, the blood, it all lingers in the back of your mind, travelling through your bloodstream, settling in your bones. Your chest heaves, and your hands are trembling, still curled into fists stained with blood that isn’t yours.

Joel’s voice anchors you, pulling you back piece by piece.

“Breathe,” he commands, his tone softening just enough to cut through the haze. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

You try to obey. You really do. But the air feels thin, your lungs refusing to expand. You blink at him, trying to focus on the lines of his face, the familiar weight of his presence, anything to steady yourself. But it’s like the world around you has lost its clarity, dissolving into a smear of color and sound that won’t settle.

And then there’s the blood.

It’s everywhere. Thick, congealing streaks of crimson cling to your hands, your sleeves, the cracked linoleum beneath you. Your knuckles are raw, split wide open, the skin peeling back to expose pale flashes of bone.

You should be in agony, but there’s nothing. Just a buzzing numbness that makes everything feel unreal.

Your breath hitches as your stomach churns, bile rising to the back of your throat. Joel’s voice fades to background noise, his steady presence eclipsed by the smell, the coppery tang of fresh blood mingled with the sharp, sour stench of fear and sweat.

Your eyes dart frantically, searching for something to hold on to. That’s when you see it.

An overturned sunglass display lies a few feet away, one of its mirrored panels catching a slant of dim light. The reflection is murky at first, fractured by scratches and smudges. But you can make out your form, crouched on the ground, shaking, your arms slick with gore.

You crawl toward it, drawn by some morbid compulsion, even as every cell in your body screams for you to look away.

And then you see your face.

Only, it isn’t your face.

The features are wrong, distorted. The hollow eyes that stare back at you gleam with a feral light. The streaks of blood across your cheeks look like war paint, and your mouth is twisted into something unrecognizable, a grotesque snarl frozen in time.

The creature staring back at you is the one from your nightmares. The one that wore your face.

You scramble back, nearly slipping on the blood pooling beneath you. Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts now, and your head aches with the effort of trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“No,” you rasp, a tremor in the silence. “No, no, no.”

You claw at your own face, desperate to wipe away the blood, to erase the reflection burned into your vision. But when you look back at the mirror, it’s still there. The monster, the thing, staring back at you with the same horrified recognition.

Joel watches you, the way your breathing has turned erratic, your hands trembling even more violently than before.

“Hey.” He says, moving closer, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, trying to anchor you again. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”

But you can’t.

Because how do you explain it to him? How do you tell Joel that the thing you saw wasn’t just in your head? That you’ve become something else, something wrong?

“I’m…” You falter, voice barely more than a croak. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence.

Joel kneels in front of you now, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression hard to read, somewhere between frustration and worry. “You’re what?” he presses.

Your fingers clench into fists, nails digging into the raw flesh of your palms, but you don’t feel that either.

“I’m not—” The words catch in your throat, a strangled sob threatening to break free. “I’m not me anymore.”

Joel’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say, trying to piece together the puzzle of your unraveling.

But you don’t need his reassurance. You don’t deserve it.

The image from the mirror is seared into your brain, a truth too visceral to push away.

You’re not human anymore. Whatever you were before the bite, before the changes, before all this…

She’s gone.

What’s left is decay wrapped in skin, rot hiding behind bloodshot eyes.

And maybe Joel knows it, too. Maybe that’s why he looks at you the way he does. Not with hatred, not with anger, but with that guarded distance that tells you he doesn’t quite know what to make of you anymore.

You’re not a person anymore. Not really.

You’re just another broken thing he’s lugging along, too stubborn to leave behind.

…

“Alright, how’s that feel?”

Joel’s voice is clipped, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. He pulls the gauze taut around your hand, gently tugging the ends into a knot. His hands are steady, sure, but yours are trembling.

The pain has set in now that the adrenaline’s burned away, sharp and relentless, digging into the broken skin of your knuckles and radiating up your arm. You barely register it. Pain feels distant, muted, like it belongs to someone else.

You hadn’t made a sound while he cleaned the wounds. Hadn’t winced, hadn’t cried out. Not even when the antiseptic burned like fire. All you’d done was sit there, staring at the wall, silent tears streaking your face as he worked.

Joel had noticed, of course. You’re certain he had. But he hadn’t said anything about it. Maybe it was mercy. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was something else entirely, that you didn’t want to name because it would be too painful.

You pull your hand back when he finishes, flexing your fingers experimentally. Blood is already seeping through the gauze, fresh spots of red blooming against the stark white. The movement sends a bolt of pain shooting up your arm, but you don’t flinch.

You’re perched on the edge of the bathtub in the dilapidated house you found last night. The room reeks of mildew and old rot, the tiles cracked and stained. Joel’s First Aid kit lies open on the floor beside him, its contents scattered. You glance at it and take stock.

The antiseptic bottle is nearly empty. The gauze roll is down to its last few feet. The last pack of sterile wipes lies crumpled near the sink. Joel leans over, grabbing the bottle of antibiotics, the pills rattling as he shoves it into your hands.

“Take a couple now and—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “No, that’s fine.” You hold the bottle out to him, refusing to meet his eyes.

“The hell do you mean?” His brow furrows.

“I-I’ve used up enough of this already.” You gesture vaguely to the dwindling supplies. “I’ll be fine.”

Joel huffs out a short, disbelieving laugh, leaning back on his heels as he stares at you. The weight of his gaze feels unbearable, like it’s peeling back every layer of you, exposing every raw nerve.

“You tryin’ to get an infection?”

“I’ll just… wash them in the river,” you whisper, shaking your head. “It’ll be fine.”

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his frustration palpable. If this were any other day, you might have smiled, might have teased him for how easily you could get under his skin. His sighs, his grumbles, his sharp comments, they’d become so familiar, almost comforting in their constancy.

But this isn’t any other day, and you aren’t that person anymore.

Joel doesn’t take the bottle back. He stays crouched there in front of you, his broad shoulders tense, his jaw working as he stares at you with those dark, unreadable eyes. You can feel his frustration radiating off him like heat, but there’s something else beneath it, heavy and quiet and damning.

"Take the damn pills," he says, and his tone leaves no room for arguments.

You shake your head, your hand curling painfully into the edge of the bathtub as if you need the anchor. "You’ve already wasted too much on me. I’ll be fine."

“Fine?” He’s exasperated now, exhaling harshly through his nose. “You call this fine?” He gestures at your bloodied hands, the bruises blooming across your skin, the half-empty first-aid kit scattered around you both.

You turn your head, eyes still refusing to meet his. Your eyes fall on the blood streaked floor, your own blood mixing with the dried, years-old stains of the previous occupants.

“You wanna talk about what happened back there?” He asks.

That gets your attention. Your head snaps up, quick as a slap, eyes searching his face.

“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” you say, mimicking his words to you last night. “Isn’t that right, Joel?”

Joel’s jaw clenches at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He leans back, his hands braced on his knees, as if trying to steady himself. His eyes flick over your face, searching, but for what, you don’t know.

"You think you’re funny?" he mutters, his tone edged with frustration. "You think throwin’ my words back at me means somethin’?"

You shrug, forcing yourself to look at him now, though your chest feels tight and pinched. "It means you don’t get to ask questions you don’t want answered."

Joel’s brow furrows, his eyes narrowing. “This ain’t about me, kid. You froze back there. You could’ve gotten yourself killed—could’ve gotten me killed. You don’t wanna talk about that? Fine. But don’t sit here actin’ like you’re fine, ’cause we both know that’s a goddamn lie.”

The air between you feels suffocating, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. You don’t have the words to explain what happened back in the supermarket, the way your mind had turned against you, dragging you back to that moment by the river. The way the raider’s hands on you had felt like the infected all over again, the cold terror flooding your veins until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

“I froze,” you admit, the words brittle and sharp, like broken glass. “I know that. I know I could’ve gotten us both killed. You don’t have to remind me.”

Joel’s expression softens, but only a bit. He sits back on his heels, his posture shifting as if he’s trying to rein himself in. "I’m not remindin’ you to make you feel bad. I’m remindin’ you ’cause we can’t afford for it to happen again. You hear me?"

You nod mutely, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you’ll regret. The truth is, you don’t trust yourself anymore. You’ve been through countless fights before, stared down dangers that should’ve broken you, and yet this — this had stopped you cold.

Joel watches you for a long moment, his gaze heavy. Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Look,” he says, quieter now, “I don’t know what’s goin’ on in your head. But whatever it is, you don’t gotta carry it alone. You don’t gotta sit there and pretend like you’re some lost cause, either. You ain’t.”

The words hit you square in the chest, lungs constricting painfully. You don’t deserve them, not after what you’ve cost him, not after the way you froze.

“I don’t get why you’re doing this,” you say softly. “Why you’re wasting all this on me.”

Joel frowns, leaning forward. “Wastin’ it? What makes you think this is a waste?”

You don’t respond, can’t respond, because what is there to say? Of course it’s a waste. After what just happened, after the mess you’ve made of everything, what else could it be, if not a waste?

“Why do you even care, Joel?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Joel’s jaw tightens, and he shifts his weight, sitting back on his heels as he stares at you.

“Why do I care?” he repeats. “You think I patch people up for fun? Think I’d travel with someone across the goddamn country ‘cause I don’t care?”

You flinch at the edge in his tone, guilt twisting in your gut. “You shouldn’t have to,” you murmur. “Not for me.”

Joel freezes, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you lower your gaze to your lap, where your bandaged hands rest, trembling.

“Look at me,” he commands.

You don’t move.

“Look at me,” he repeats, and this time, there’s something dark in his tone that makes you lift your head despite yourself.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you think he might see right through you, see the plan already forming in your mind, the way you’ve been counting down the hours until dawn.

“You’re not doin’ this,” he says firmly. “You’re not givin’ up, not on my watch.”

“I’m not giving up,” you lie, forcing a weak smile. “I just… I’m not worth all this, Joel. The supplies, the effort—you could’ve used them on yourself. You should’ve.”

His expression darkens, his jaw clenching hard enough that you can see the muscle twitch in his cheek. “You don’t get to decide that,” he says roughly. “If I don’t get to make decisions for you, then you sure as hell don’t get to make ‘em for me. You think I’d be doin’ all this if I didn’t think you were worth it?”

You blink, startled by the intensity in his voice.

“You deserve better,” you whisper, barely audible.

Joel’s expression shifts, his frustration giving way to something softer, like hurt. “Better than what? Someone who’s still here, still fightin’, even after everything?”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill over. “You don’t understand—”

“You’re right,” he cuts you off, his tone sharper now. “I don’t. I don’t understand why you’re sittin’ here actin’ like you don’t matter, like you’re some kinda burden. You think that’s your call to make? It’s not. Not to me.”

The conviction in his voice sends a crack through the wall you’ve been building around yourself. You open your mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. Instead, you just sit there, staring at him, the weight of his care pressing down on you in a way that feels unbearable.

“Get some rest,” Joel says finally, standing and gathering the scattered supplies. His voice is quieter now,softer. “I don’t know when we’ll have a place like this to rest our heads again.”

You nod silently, but your decision is already made.

As he leaves the room, you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of the bathtub. There’s an ache in your gut, a strangled cry desperate to break free. But you push it down, deep into that darkness inside of you that swallows things whole.

…

You and Joel settle into your sleeping bags in the master bedroom, the rain beginning as a soft pattering against the cracked window pane.

The light drizzle quickens into a steady downpour, and somewhere above, water begins to drip through a crack in the ceiling, the rhythm regular and almost hypnotic. Joel is already asleep, his breathing deep and even, broken only by soft, rumbling snores.

You shift up, glancing at him. Snoring was a sound you hardly ever heard from Joel. He wasn’t one to sleep deeply, wasn’t one to sleep much at all. In all the time you’d been traveling together, Joel had always taken the lion’s share of the watch, insisting on staying awake while you slept.

No matter how many times you argued about it, told him he needed to rest, Joel would just shrug it off like it was nothing. Like he could keep pushing himself forever. You’d wake to sunlight creeping through the heavy tree cover, rested and groggy, only to find him perched under the same tree he was sitting under when you fell asleep, shotgun resting in his lap like a newborn, his dark eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk.

“Don’t know how you expect me to pull my weight if you don’t let me take a shift,” you’d grumble at him, stretching out stiff muscles.

He’d just grunt in response, the corners of his mouth tugging downward, as if the very idea of letting someone else carry part of the burden was offensive. But that was Joel. Ever the protector, ever the watchdog.

Ever the giver.

It wasn’t that you took advantage of him. God, no. Joel wasn’t a man you could manipulate, not even if you tried. He wasn’t stupid. He had this uncanny ability to sniff out selfishness in people, to see through whatever mask someone wore. You pulled your weight. You scavenged, fought, and bled for the both of you, and Joel knew that. He trusted you to do your part.

But Joel… he just couldn’t help himself. He gave, over and over, like it was written into the fabric of who he was. Like he didn’t know how to be any other way. He had to protect, had to provide. It was as much a part of him as the scars on his hands or the weight in his eyes.

When you met him, he’d been gruff, reluctant to involve you on smuggling runs, keeping you at arm’s length like you still carried some unspoken threat. But somewhere along the way, his walls cracked. You didn’t know when it had happened exactly, but you could see it in the small things. The extra food he’d quietly save for you, the way he’d give you his coat on cold nights even when he was freezing himself, the way his shoulders would relax a little when he caught you smiling.

Once Joel decided you were worth saving, it was over. He was in it for the long haul, no matter how much it cost him.

And for a while, you had been the luckiest person in what was left of the world to be on the receiving end of that.

You lie there, listening to the rain hammering against the roof, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Joel’s face, even in sleep, carries the weight of the world, the lines carved deep into his brow and around his mouth. You wonder how many years he’s shaved off his life just by taking so much of the load onto himself. You wonder how much more he’ll let himself give before he has nothing left.

And then there’s you.

Was it any wonder you fell for the man? How could you not? Joel Miller could be infuriating, stubborn, and guarded to the point of madness, but beneath all of that was something so rare, so utterly good, that it made you feel things you didn’t think you had the capacity for anymore.

He’d never see himself that way, of course. Joel didn’t do anything for thanks or recognition. He didn’t even seem to realize how much of himself he gave away to the people he let in.

And that’s what made it harder, what made it unbearable to stay.

Because while Joel gave and gave, you took. Not intentionally, not maliciously, but you’d taken all the same. And in the quiet moments like this, lying awake while he slept for once, you can’t shake the feeling that one day, he’ll realize you weren’t worth what he’d given.

That’s why you have to leave. Before he wakes, before you can see the hurt in his eyes. Because if Joel knew what you were planning, he’d never let you go. And you’re not sure you’d have the strength to leave if he asked you to stay.

The first peals of thunder rumble low in the distance, rolling closer, shaking the house’s already unstable foundation. The storm has settled in for the night now, and the rain pounds against the windows, dripping steadily through the crack in the ceiling. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room in bursts of pale light.

Your eyes flick to Joel, stretched out on his sleeping bag, his head tilted a little to the side. He stirs as the thunder rolls again, a quiet grumble slipping from his lips before he settles back into a deep sleep.

For a moment, you falter. Your resolve weakens under the weight of it all. How many times has he protected you? Stood between you and danger, taken hits meant for you? How many times has he let you into the parts of himself he keeps hidden from the world? And now you’re about to repay all of that by leaving him in the middle of the night, slipping away like a thief.

You force the thoughts away, swallowing the lump in your throat. You have to do this.

Moving as quietly as you can, you rise from your sleeping bag, the damp chill of the house settling into your bones. You wince as your knees crack, freezing in place as Joel shifts again. His breathing evens out a second later, and you exhale shakily.

You gently place the flannel he gave you that day at the river by his feet, carefully folded. A gesture of goodwill, a thanks for all the help he gave you in your time together. A compensation for all that you took.

The mattress against the door is your next hurdle. Joel had shoved it there earlier, pressing it tight against the warped wood to keep the two of you safe. Now, as you grip the edge and begin to slide it away, you realize just how heavy it is. You move it inch by inch, pausing every few seconds to glance back at Joel, your heart pounding every time the mattress lets out a low scrape against the floor.

Finally, you’ve cleared enough space to open the door. You reach for the knob, turning it carefully, slowly, until it gives. The hinges groan as the door swings open just enough for you to slip through.

Before you leave, you glance back one last time. Joel is still asleep, his face lit briefly by another flash of lightning. He looks peaceful now. It’s a rare sight, one you’ve only seen a handful of times, and you try to commit it to memory. This has to be enough, you tell yourself. It has to be enough to know that he’ll be okay without you. Better off, really.

You pull the door closed behind you, muffling the sound as best you can. Deliberately, you step over the creaky floorboards in the hall, each step measured and cautious. The house feels colder now, emptier somehow. The storm outside is deafening in comparison to the muted quiet inside.

When you reach the front door, the chill of the night air seeps through the cracks. You pause for a moment, your hand on the handle, as the rain lashes against the windows. You hesitate, something pulling at you, urging you to turn back.

But you don’t. Or can’t, or won’t, you don’t quite know.

You step out into the rain-soaked, unforgiving world, letting the door close softly behind you. The cold rain hits you instantly, soaking through your clothes, clinging to your skin. You pull your jacket tighter around you and press forward into the darkness.

Every step feels heavier than the last, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Because if you do, you’ll lose what little strength you have left.

Behind you, the house grows smaller and smaller, until it disappears completely into the shadows of the storm. And with it, you leave behind the only safety you’ve known in a long, long time.

Taglist:

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou joel #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou #the last of us #fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

thedevilsoftruth · 1 month ago

Text

Megalomaniac ( concept )

Civil War B. Barnes x reader ( gender is not explicitly stated )

Megalomaniac - A person who is obsessed with their own power.

Steve Rogers originally sent you to James as a therapist and a way to help him regain his memories. Little does he know that his good friend is using you as a way to keep himself calm and withdraw from his violent, obsessive thoughts.

Warngings/tags: smut/suggestive content. Dark content, dead dove, knifes mentioned, dubious concent, little drabble I wrote because I got sad again and was listening to too much Tool. Just a concept of a much bigger fic i had planned out. Not beta read. Do not come here for a happy read.

Mdni! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet.

[ My marvel request box is open. Please see my pinned post for my request rules. ]

James Barnes would do anything for a singular once of control. A sense that he's not just a robot being manipulated. A sense of confidence. A sense of self worth. A sense that he's not weak.

But he knows he's not weak. He's far from weak. He's powerful. He's strong. He's worthy. If he wanted to, he could take down an entire army with his bare fucking hands. If he wanted to, he could set fire to the entire world.

Because James Barnes had control. He had power. And that was something he had confirmed whenever he had you. Weak. Pathetic. Helpless. Like a caged animal right under his palm. His metal, brutal palm. His metal, violent arm that he killed people with.

Why in the wide world would Steve Rogers send you to him was a mystery. But you and James an spoken, and you spoke the words clearly and honestly together, that you would never tell a single soul what went on inside that beat down apartment he lived in.

Nothing but the information you were able to get from him, the information the avengers needed. That was excluding the information you were hiding.

And when you had studied him, you would remember cases you had studied in college when you were working on your doctorate for Psychology. Cases of children in bad households. Cases of people who were kidnapped and tortured for months or even years.

James Barnes suffered not only from a major Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Clinical Depression, but he also had been struggling with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. These would cause him to go through many different mental phases when you were with him. Phases that would span from spontaneous bursts of energy, to continuous sobbing, to anger that would cause him to get violent.

" It was usually just with his words. Never with his actions. "

And now you realized why James had shoved that lie down your throat the first time he had an outburst. Because he could get violent, and he was scared of getting violent--mortified, even. But that night, James was not the man he had been working hard to be.

His way of stress relief and the way he tried to keep himself tame? Having sex with you.

Of course, he never wanted to hurt you. You were a friend of Steve Rogers. And Steve Rogers was his friend. He wasn't going to hurt you. He didn't have the courage to.

But he had the courage to strip you of your confidence. Of your clothes until you were bare and embarrassed. Of your skin until you were completely unraveled in his arms.

Because he had the power to do so. Because James Barnes had control.

" You shouldn't have come here. "

It was already raining outside. It was too cold, and inside the building it was even colder. But maybe for a second when he was above you, things felt warm. Just at the wrong time.

" I know. "

You were shaking, nervous and even fearful under his touch. Under his knife. Under the disgusting feeling of him filling you. It was so disgusting, so utterly gut wrenching, but it felt sinfully good. It felt like home.

The words he spoke to you was full of venom and spite, but it made you feel warm and welcomed. The slaps, the manhandling and the constant degrading words were full of hatred and self-loathing, but did not make you want him any less. Even with the sadistic ways in which he tried to fulfill his need for dominance.

The blindfold around your face reminded you that he could do anything to you and you would never suspect it. The little cuts on your thighs proved that he had done the unexpected to you. All because he was finally gaining control of something, and James Barnes would do anything for a singular ounce of control.

#marvel #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut

87 notes · View notes

lemotmo · 1 month ago

Note

😂😂😂

Q. You all keep screaming Buddie Canon. You're even running to the 911 socials and screaming it. Do you actually not know what canon means? You all do understand that the only Buck relationship that currently exists within the ACTUAL canon text of the show is BuckTommy? Canon means actually confirmed on screen. Not in fandom. Not online. Actually acknowledged as fact within the text. Just thought you might find this helpful.

A. I'm very aware of what canon means, thank you very much. I'm also very aware of what context, subtext, and story building is as well, all things you seem to be completely unaware of. So just for the record it is NOT canon that Tommy had a troubled home life. It is NOT canon that he's autistic. It is NOT canon that he was a victim of bullying his whole life. It is NOT canon that he treated Chim and Hen like shit because he was afraid to let everyone else know how sensitive and caring he really is. It is NOT canon that both Chim and Hen forgave him for the way he treated them and consider him a good friend now. It IS canon that he tried to out Buck to Eddie and has now tried to out Eddie to Buck. It IS canon that he sees Eddie as his competition as far as being with Buck is concerned. It IS canon that he was only willing to try again with Buck because Eddie is now 800 miles away. It IS canon that he's condescending. It IS canon that everything about Buck, other than his physical appearance, seems to irritate him. It IS canon that Buck now knows he was never in love with him, not even close. It is also NOW canon that he's pathetic and in fact willing to be someone's second choice so long as their first choice isn't actually physically nearby. This was fun, anon.

Thank you Nonny.

As for Ali's answer?

OOOPS! 🤭🤭🤭

Puh-lease! Most of us have been in the trenches for 7 seasons now. We know exactly what the word CANON means. You know what else we know? We know that CANON isn't always the most important thing of all. We have succesfully been shipping a fanon ship fraught with romantic subtext for years now, throughout all of their failed CANON relationships, such as BT. And look where we are now...

Our patience has finally paid off. Both of them are single and there are obvious CANON signs that one of them is starting to realise the truth about their relationship.

I cannot wait for the next episode! Bring it on!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #nonnies galore #T mention #anti Tommy fandom #anti Tommies #buddie #good times!

77 notes · View notes

ogdit · 6 months ago

Text

This Post is by someone that wants to remain anonymous, they DM'd me this and asked me to post

The callout campaign against Kagebros has gone WAY too far. The lengths these people have gone to violate someone’s boundaries and privacy in order to “warn” people is incredibly excessive and is dealing horrible damage to their mental health and wellbeing. It needs to fucking stop.

The situation has spiraled completely out of control, spurred on by people who would rather side with a proud AI artist than have a civilized, adult discussion about tracing. Said AI artist has a history of attempting to ruin Kagebros’ credibility, spreading disinformation and rumors about them and their nonprofit charity zines, now going as far as to allegedly incite people to nonconsensually take photos of them at their booth at TFcon Baltimore, and block-evading their socials in order to find more posts to pick apart.

As they have stated already, Kagebros never had ANY intention to scam people, which understandably doesn’t change how those affected may feel. That being said, they could have very easily traced over things without altering them in any way at all, like many others within the convention vending sphere have blatantly done without a callout from these same people who care so much about “calling out tracing”. There tends to be a gray area in the realm of tracing techniques within the art industry (especially professionally), and there is plenty of merit for their actions to be criticized. As they’ve stated, they were under the impression that Official artwork/figures were okay to trace over and alter, which they now know to avoid doing so in the future. Even if the details and credibility of the piece can be scrutinized, they still made a conscious effort to alter the pieces in question to be more original.

Although said effort may not be enough for most, they now KNOW that. End of story. They can't immediately change the pieces they had available for sale, and they should be showing change through their future pieces and actions, which is something that’s up for judgment by anyone. And yet the people starting this have needlessly dragged it on, inciting others to keep spreading the accusations to further audiences, leading to more harassment.

Seafoamsol had admittedly unblocked Kagebros and “offered” to have a talk with them about the situation, but their own intentions are extremely questionable, as a conversation should have been the first priority, rather than a callout post. They assumed Kagebros’ intentions without giving them a single chance to address it themselves before the callout, and are now going forward with the narrative of them being a scammer.

Again, if they truly were concerned, they could have unblocked them and had a conversation before the callout was made, instead of assuming their intentions were to deceive people.

The situation is very nuanced, meaning there's a lot of points to be acknowledged on both sides in order to come to a conclusion, which could have happened peacefully if adults just had a civil discussion with each other. There is a justifiable talk to be had here, and reasonable changes to be made, but this can’t be accomplished productively if people continue to jump to conclusions and assume intentions. This has done nothing–and WILL do nothing–but hurt people, if this behavior doesn’t stop. mistakes will be made, lessons will be learned. Please look at this situation in its entirety before coming to your own conclusions based on assumptions made by people with evidently questionable motives and a history of causing problems for others and driving them out of the community.

Thank you for reading.

#tfcon #tfcon baltimore #tfcon usa #kagebros

122 notes · View notes

venturesofficialgf · 5 months ago

Text

Accidental stimulation. Reader and Venture come into close contact, which leaves Venture aroused.

reader is female but ill use more gender-neutral pronouns for them, I'm not an amazing or consistent writer so if you have any critiques, please feel free to comment just keep it nice and civil!

Summary: Venture and you had been training in the practice wing, models of different enemy's and teammates running around robotically as venture teaches you the ropes

a/N I've always thought of what type of weapon id have if i was an overwatch character and i think I'd have a 2 toned GIANT syringe who shoots medicine and poison. so, like ink if a divider inside the tube and these giant syringe with a trigger and lever it sounds like moira in a way but now that i think about it...i might have to think harder on my overwatch weapon

although this isn't my first time writing this is definitely my first time posting so go easy on me! its about 2900 words

enjoy!

TW; Smut! MDNI, PiV, Hair pulling, calling venture a doggy! more dom afab reader! Venture has a cock! porn with plot

You had just finished off the first round of level 3 against a robot junker queen, her body movement was really jerky and uncalculated as her torso hit the ground almost evaporating as Venture gives you a huge smile, their voice enthusiastically echoing through the vast room.

"Way to go Mi amore!"

They gave you a high five as you give off a sheepish smile, your weapon leaning against your hip as you catch your breath.

"I still don't know what you're calling me!" you call back, venture gives a light chuckle, brushing you off with a small shove.

With a gun ho attitude Venture patted your shoulder as you composed yourself, readying your weapon once again before nodding at venture.

You asked Venture to startup and they enthusiastically obliged, words of encouragment leaving their lips.

"You got this Y/N!"

Venture wistled as they activated the countdown, hand on their excavator, for safety precautions as theyd tell you.

The Ai voice sounds as it counts down, Sloan leaning against their excavator, all smiles as they adoringly watch you.

"2....1.. ready for battle" A giant Muaraga comes around the corner, guns ablaze. Bullets flying towards you as you hide behind a wall, worry and unsureness lacing your face.

you looked at Venture for a brief second as they just nod encouragingly to you, their thumbs held up with a smile.

You give a small huff, your abilities unsuited for such a unit, guns blazing before clicking indicating the robot needs to reload, so you take your chance, lunging off the wall and shooting at the huge bot, its damage indicator glowing as it grunts and gives a low line with Maugas voice.

once it finally reloads its guns you realized how fucked you were. "shit-" His guns go ablaze again, round after round as you run getting grazed by his bullets. red blood seeping down your exposed thigh as a string of curse words left you mouth.

Venture quickly grabs their excavator as you frantically look for a way out, their mind gears turning as they burrow under the ground, a huge boom resounding through the practice range as they power jump up and swiftly makes quick work of the fake Mauga, a lopsided grin adorning their features as you hunch over, breathing hard.

their about to scoop you up before the ground they emerged from starts cracking, a worried expression adorning your features as you look down, loud bumps being heard from under the two of you before the ground takes you both whole. A commically loud scream leaves both your mouths as Sloan try's to grab you, shielding your fall, a loud "mmph! fu-ck!" being heard as they hit the pavement with you landing hard on them.

You quickly sat up, worried words spilling from your mouth as they sit up with an heavy groan. you check Ventures head while looking for yours and venture's weapon before realizing its not with you.

you try to move off of Venture, the small space you seem to have found yourselves in make it awkward to really move as you give light apologies.

after a minute you give up trying to stand as Venture sheepishly smiles at you, their lap your new seat until further notice.

"can you contact someone mi amor?"

"i can try"

You begin to turn your watch on, a small projector screen emanating as you try to get a bar.

smut:

Ventures tried looking around the long tunnel like hole you two found yourselves in, the odd burrow had caved in, Sloan internally groaning at the fact as you shifted in their lap, Your free hand gripping their shoulders as you sat up, your body trying to mold itself around Ventures lap. You huffed in annoyance, a cute pout on your face which caught Ventures eye.

Sloans mind was reeling at the circumstance, their mind trying not to focus on the tiny space and you in their lap while you huffed profanities about the predicament, one of which Sloan couldn't help but rub their neck nervously about.

while you kept raising your arm trying to catch a signal Sloan couldn't help the passing thought about how big they were compared to you. I mean sure venture knew they were pretty tall, taller than average, and they also knew they were more on the bulky and fleshy side but seeing how short and just all round smaller than the hero was had their mind fuzzy....

You fiddled with your radar, trying to get contact by moving your arms as far up as you could, signal bars barely flickering as you leaned so far towards venture, albeit ignorantly, promptly causing your chest to be shoved right into your teammates face.

oh boy-

Your face scrunched up in exasperation as you then dropped your arms back down in defeat, sitting fully back down on ventures lap with a loud sigh

Venture couldn't help the deep blush creeping up their tanned complexion, between the tight space and you on their lap they let out a Shakey breath as they tried to fix their eyes and turn their mind on literally anything else in the *literal* hole they dug themself.

Venture then realized you've been talking, their mind so focused on trying to keep calm, as you rambled about something they barely picked up on.

"can't believe this- Venture?" You tilted your head at your partner as their quietness had caught your attention.

"Are you sure you're okay? you might've bumped your head on the fall" Your worried face was what poured gas on the fire, their body suddenly erupted in heat as a nervous chuckle escaped them. "pff me? I'm fine really!"

their flushed face was what worried you as you placed your palm over their forehead, gently feeling if they had a fever from the fall

With you leaned in your other hand shifted on ventures lap, the softness of your hand pushing oh so nicely a little too close to ventures "little friend" had them paling, they really didn't want to ruin this with a stupid hard on.

"you dont have a fever but just to be sure theres nothing wrong right?"

"Nothi-ngs wrong! I'm great! better than ever really! ha-ha what could possibly be wrong? i mean aside from the obvious hole and us stuck and-" Venture started rambling on, shooting nonsense out of their mouth as you gave a giggle, your laugh reassuring ventures feelings for you as they tried to calm down.

after a bit You moved again, your hips alternating the pressure putting it on your other leg as you leaned up a bit more, venture making a choked noise as you fully sat, a strange feeling under you making you slightly uncomfy.

ventures knees were up against the other "wall" of the hole while their back was against the other one, their hands on the ground as to keep themself somewhat upright as you continued to adjust yourself on their lap, your knees close to their hands momentarily bumping ventures fingers before you spoke again, slightly confused and a bit frustrated.

"can you move your belt? I'm sitting on something a bit odd" you give a sheepish smile as you motion to what you sat on, causing Ventures face to falter and look at you with pure horror.

Your face contorts to pure confusion, unsure of what to make of ventures reaction. Why were they just staring at you? like that none the less?

then came Ventures apology? a slew of "Sorrys!" and "please just ignore it!" flung out of their mouth as realization dawned on you.

Venture was aroused.

You couldn't help the blush that seemed to poof onto your face, your body instinctively shuffling around making ventures predicament worse. your squirming caused Ventures hands to fly to your hips, strong fingers pinning you down to stop your movements. your face was red and nervous as heat from your core suddenly started pooling within you.

feeling Venture underneath, you, the outline of them firmly against your clothed core had your heart racing. Their fingers strongly keeping you in place with a small gasp leaving your mouth.

venture couldn't be more mortified even if they tried, their tongue continually moving against their chipped tooth as they tried to speak, leaving you to watch their wet muscle move in languid strokes, somehow making you hot and bothered.

you let yourself take in the situation, venture a flustered, blubbering and aroused mess. the two of you alone for, mercy knows how long, no way really *out* and watching venture messily try to explain themselves surprisingly has you becoming quite hot on your own,,

now or never

you let a smirk grace your lips, a newfound confidence swelling in your chest as you leaned your face in, hot breath fanning over Sloans face as they whisper your name questioningly.

your soft hand came up to their face watching Sloan avoid your gaze with the cutest blush gave you an insane kick of heat pooling inside your gut

"Sloan~" you drawled out their name, you couldn't help but tease. Their face was too cute as they chewed their lips trying to hide from the world as you lightly grinded down. Sloan chokes on their voice before their eyes snapped to look at yours.

"Well, Sloan?" you roll your hips this time, clothes ruffling as you graze over their arousal, a small whine leaving their lips.

"Need some help?~" Your voice danced on heat as your eyes flickered down to their plush lips, your tongue wetting your own "if you want of course" your voice melts their Armour, a rushed nod coming from them as they quickly speak up "ah Mi amor, I want nothing more than your hel-p, please" Your name leaves Ventures lips in a whimper, heat building in your core as you smile at them giving them a sweet kiss.

Ventures mouth opens before taking your lips in theirs.

It was hungry and downright nasty with the way their tongue made its way in your mouth, desperation laced in whines being taken into the others mouth. Their cold tongue piercing skillfully rubbing against your tongue made you squirm, their cock rubbing against your clothed cunt making a loud moan escape into the kiss.

"Fuck baby~" Ventures voice sounded; kisses being shared in a frenzy.

"Sloan~" their name barely audible as the two of you kiss, mouths wet before pulling away for air.

"Sloan, fuck, call me Sloan again mi amor" your fingers find their way to Sloans hair lightly pulling on the curly locks with a fast nod, and you couldn't help the wet smile gracing your features as your grind against them, a loud whimper being ripped from their throat as a small one leaves yours.

"Fuck yeah, just like that baby~!" They held your hips with their calloused hands, guiding your cunt, before kissing you again, your tongue lolled out as they sucked it into their mouth this time, your tongue exploring their warm embrace. You couldn't help the moan that slipped out as their hands gripped onto your hips, moving you against them as your tongue swirled with theirs.

When you pulled back for air you couldn't help the dopey smile that lit up your face, your heart felt hot as you kept rocking with Sloan, fuck were they perfect for you.

With your brain muddy from lust your hand began to move on its own, soft fingertips going under the hem of Sloans sweater, eager to touch as much skin as possible as your hips grinded away.

sloan quickly shed their top throwing it behind you before doing the same with your shirt. hands making quick work of any belts and accessories, Sloans gasps and desperate whines echoing in your ears as you pull down your shorts, clumsily ridding them off your body while sloan struggles to unzip their pants.

Impatiently you lightly smack their hand away, pulling the zipper down swiftly before pulling their cock out.

a small moan escaped your throat as you lazily stroke the hot muscle, it twitching deliciously in your hand.

sloan whimpers against your neck, their teeth lightly biting down as they try to ground themself.

Infatuated you start to tease Sloans tip, the mushroom head a blushing red as pearlescent liquid cries out of it, your thumb gently spreading venture's cum across the head before stroking back down, gently caressing the prominent vein on the underside.

Sloan was...thick to say the least, not very long, standing at about 5 in a half inches you'd say but what they lacked in length they made up for in size. Their dick twitching with every stroke you lolled out your tongue, your spit dripping onto Sloans cock with a loud cry from their mouth at the makeshift lubricant.

Sloan had been a biting and whimpering mess as you did all this, their hands shakily making their way to your panties, shoving the fabric aside to let their middle finger slide through your slit, unskilled fingers toying with your entrance before entering, their thick digit causing a moan to slip through your praise.

"fuck i wanna take my time with you Sloan but right now if i dont get you inside of me i might explode" You give a breathy laugh as sloan nods, their whines not hiding anything as their fingers are quick to retreat.

you kiss them a few times before hovering over their cock head, the blushing tip almost teasing your entrance as sloan pants, their hands back on your hips with a vice grip as yours are on their shoulders.

"FU-ucK~!" Sloans voice cracks as they moan, the word being hottest thing coming from them as their dick breaches your hole, the thick shaft giving you quite the stretch as you pant in heavily, legs slightly shaking as you inch your way on them.

A slew of whimper came out of Sloan as you finally sat fully down, their girth causing you to take deep breaths as you get used to the feeling.

sloan grabbed your neck, pulling you in for a kiss with a needy moan, their tongue clashing with yours as you messily make out, their cock twitching inside you before pulling away.

"You okay Sloan?~" your voice raspy as they nod

"better...better than ever" They whisper out, their voice hoarse as they try to keep their hips from bucking.

without warning you finally start to move, your hips grinding as venture shrieks out a moan, their mouth hot against your chest as one of your hands situates into Sloans hair, slotting your fingers between strands.

your body starts pulling up, Venture's cock almost being pulled out before you slide back down swiftly, moans spilling from both your mouths as you start a Rythm

your bodys almost melting together perfectly as you both moan in synce, the pace you set hard but slow.

Sloan couldnt help but whine for more, their fingers digging into your hips with pleads of "f-Faster!"s and "more mi-mi amour~"

you couldnt help but smile, a little fucked out sure but a smile non the less as you spoke "more?~ my baby wants more?~"

Sloan continued their beyond fucked out pleas as you pulled their hair lightly, bringing your face close to theirs hotly before spitting in their mouth as they happily swallowed

"you are a good doggy~ and good doggys do in fact get rewards~" They whined and nodded furiously as you breathlessly chuckled before obliging to their needs, rutting your hips fast and hard, Ventures poor throat being dried as they couldnt stop almost screaming, their cock twitching as they moaned and whined and cooed out "thank you"s like a broken record on loop.

Your moans weren't much better as your hips snapped up and down, your orgasm coming in close as you kept talking venture through it, the twitches of their cock more frequent had you assuming they were close.

Both of you gripped onto each other for dear life, bodies sweaty and hot as you both reached your peak, your stomach knotted up before all of a sudden your nerves going numb in pleasure with a loud whimper, Sloans hot cum shooting inside you in spurts as they draw out your name in the neediest moan possible while they almost cry into your shoulder form their release.

your arms draped around venture as you held each other close, their cock softening inside you as the two of you panted for breath, both heavily breathing as you calmed down.

you stroked ventures face with a small smile, praising them through their high before they too smiled at you, a red and fucked out face showing off their chipped tooth with the happiest face in the world.

eventually the two of you did have to separate, cleaning off with ventures coat wasn't ideal but it worked for now, the two of you the standing up and trying to catch another signal.

#sloane cameron x reader #sloane cameron #venture ow2 #venture smut #venture x reader

88 notes · View notes