#and now he does without caring what anyone else thinks

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[hanafubukki]

Still thinking of lilia and love letters so imagine this:

Early on in your courtship, he wants to send you letters. After all, he’s a fae of romance. He wants to do you right. (He’s kicking his feet and writing you the cheesiest of letters at times)

But then, he doesn’t really know how to write them in the human language. Or rather, it doesn’t get the message across. He kind of thinks it’s boring. There’s some things that can only truly be expressed in the fae language.

He writes them in the fae language. It’s okay that you won’t understand them. You’ll know it’s a letter of his affection through the cute lettering he does.

So half the time, you get love letters in common tongue and others in fae. All of them are really sweet. Some funny and some…well, it’s better it others don’t see.

But over time you grow curious over the fae’s letters, you could always ask him of course but didn’t want to bother him every time. So you ask Sebek to teach you the fae language, and he proudly does because how can you not want to learn such a majestic language.

He teaches you letters and it takes time but even then, it was hard to understand. Which confused you both. You show him the letters and watch Sebek turn an interesting shade of red.

He stammers out how Master Lilia is using an older version form of the language. He would ask his grandfather for the books he learned from as a child. He then promises you to never ever show these letters to anyone else. Ever.

With the way he’s adamant and the warmth coming off him, you agree.

Eventually you do learn, you know exactly what Lilia wrote in those letters. Some of what’s written has you heating up from the sensual and carnal passages.

….poor Sebek, you owed him a whole buffet for having him read these letters.

You end up writing Lilia the most titillating letters that had him grinning wide and popping into your room. He was surprised that you learned the fae language, but the things you wrote? There’s no way you are sleeping that night.

Alternate:

You show Malleus and he almost burns the letters. Instead, he sighs and magically translates them without looking at the rest. Promising he’ll help you learn the language, now excuse him. He needs ice cream to cope with what he read. This is how Lilia courts you?? Maybe he should send him books about proper courting….

You take it to Silver who reads it to you. Bluntly. He barely falters in his translation. He offers to teach you the language and use the materials he learned from when he was young. He tells you he hopes you will take care of his father well. You almost think he wasn’t affect until he almost trips out the door and the tinge of red on his neck.

[howitcouldgoes]

for all my ragatha haters out there

I am not one of them

I love Ragatha - in fact I'm a firm believer if you hate Ragatha.. you kind of have to hate Jax too. I can understand where potential confusion might come from since despite this episode focusing more on Ragatha's past compared to Jax's we do get to hear most of it through Jax's perspective. Which leads me to believe personally ep. 6 will be the opposite. Jax's backstory and how Ragatha will react to that information.

But still, Ragatha is one of the most human characters out of the whole cast(tied with Gangle) to me personally. She feels the need to be happy and positive NOT BECAUSE she's trying to manipulate anyone - but because she doesn't want anyone to focus on the negative and abstract. That's her method of keeping herself and everyone else sane. Almost blind encouragement and a positive attitude things will turn out okay - because what else is there?

She seems the closest to Kinger whose whole mentality is "The worst thing you could do in this world is make someone feels unloved or unwanted." and to hold onto memories and connections because they're all we have.

And then you have her mother - who is her only memory. She grew up with someone who made her feel like shit, unloved and unwanted - Ragatha confesses this when she literally says "And my mother... I doubt she misses me."

No Ragatha is not perfect, but she was forced to be in her childhood and early adult life.

I genuinely don't believe she's trying to manipulate anyone - and especially not intentionally.

Ragatha's positive attitude towards Pomni and her friendliness is because she sees herself in the jester - in Ep. 2 Ragatha confides in Kinger about this on the candy truck, seeing how horrible of a day Pomni had when she first got here and compared it to her negative reaction when she first arrived too. She's not trying to steal her from Jax or force her to be happy all the time - the only reason she retaliates with something like that is because she believes Jax is trying to turn Pomni bad - and the last thing she or anyone needs is a second Jax.

So her jealously in Ep. 5 when Jax is growing close to her - IN THE MATTER OF A FEW MINUTES BTW - when Ragatha has tried for four episodes now to befriend her is killing her.

Hence why she's so relatable. Ragatha's inability to get angry without consequences(most likely from her mother), raised to be happy and perfect, humbling herself quickly by calling herself just a farm girl - is why people now think she's tricking everyone - but that's just it. She is just a girl, and by the sound of her and how Ep. 5 ended - she grew up with absolutely no friends.

It brings us back to that question we all had at some point in our lives: "Why does no one like me?" "Why does no one want to be friends with me?" "Is it me?" "Am I the problem?"

Ragatha watches Pomni, the girl she wanted to befriend so badly not out of pity or a selfish desire but because she thought Pomni was lonely just like her - walk away with Jax. And then watches Zooble and Gangle walk off with Kinger mindlessly following because he doesn't care and we see her standing all alone.

And there she debates: Does she want to keep pestering Jax and Pomni? Like a bother? Like she finds him annoying but here she is anyway chasing after him..

or does she follow the trio that didn't even realize she got left behind?

I love this little Raggedy Anne look-alike because I see so much of myself in her. She just wants to be good and yet that overly positive attitude and friendliest over the years is growing tired and annoying and the only person willing to tell her that isn't even Jax. Not directly anyway. With no one to tell her what to do - how to improve - what can be done differently - Ragatha can only keep asking herself those same questions and keep trying with the same approach.

Jax may be my favorite character - but I just don't agree with his view on Ragatha. I think she's a delight.

But if you deadass just hate Ragatha because she's annoying to you, or boring, then okay idc disregard the above-

btw i know ive been spamming so much tadc this might be my last post temporarily but i wanna make a few things clear for ppl who shockingly hate my girl

[propenseverbosity]

Spoilers for Eddie and Volt's story in Date Everything but I need to rant about this for a minute.

I get why Volt exists. Honestly if I got to that point where Eddie was, I'd be burned out too. (Hell, I did. And I was.)

Keeping the power stable is a full-time job in itself. Now that he's running the Breaker Box too, Eddie needs someone to run the bar, dazzle the crowd, command the stage, complete all the necessarily repairs to maintain the club, and have enough mental and physical energy left over to keep the damn lights on. He's only one man. All that on top of a faulty wire? He knows he can't keep up with all of it forever without fizzling out.

To fix this, he made Volt to pick up the slack. For both the house power and the Breaker Box, but it's become so much more than that. He made Volt to be the host because he's the personification of what Eddie thinks people want from him. Volt is handsome, charming, and likeable. He doesn't tire out as easily after a surge, doesn't need to take breaks between social interactions to recharge (or else he starts snapping at customers left and right) and he doesn't shy away from flirting with people he finds attractive.

Volt is Eddie's mask taken form. He's there to throw on a smile and flirt with the human often enough that they won't want to peek behind the curtain and see what a mess everything really is. All they see is a loose floorboard here, a cracked bulb there, and hidden beneath it all is Eddie, barely keeping it together.

After all, why would they ever want Eddie when they can have Volt? Eddie himself created Volt to be everything he wants to be. How could anyone not fall in love with that?

So when the human starts taking an interest in Eddie of all people, he's confused. They must be there for Volt, right? Everyone's there for Volt. No one actually shows up to the Breaker Box just to see Eddie. Not that Volt would allow that in the first place, especially if Eddie was resting that day.

(Half the dialogue options for that interaction involve asking him where Volt is, or mentioning they'll wait until Volt gets there and that just broke my heart. This man is not ready for anyone to take an interest in HIM.)

Because the human does, of course, like Volt too, but that doesn't make Eddie any less important to them. (They are truly a bonded pair, do not separate.) The human wants to make sure both of them are okay, and seeing Eddie hurt is hard for them. They want to help in any way they can, whether Eddie trusts their intentions or not.

Even during the repairs he's hesitant to trust them. After all, they're probably only helping him to get in good with Volt, right?

But then he opens up to them about his struggles, and they promise not to tell Volt about what's going on, and he realizes they really do care about him, and want to help the club.

THAT'S the reason he calls them Live Wire after the reset, because it's not really just Volt who calls them that, Volt is literally a subset of Eddie's existing personality.

The way I see it is more like how a circuit splits power from series to parallel. He created another version of himself during that split, but in terms of making that split power into A Person, he hand-picked certain aspects of his personality to give Volt so that people would like him. After the split, Volt kinda grew to become his own person, so their personalities would be sorta like a venn diagram. Eddie on one side, Volt on the other, and the intersection is the specific traits Eddie chose to give Volt.

And how could Eddie not fall in love with the person he created to protect him on his worst days?

Anyway thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I'm very normal about the breaker box tyvm

[thisissirius]

my dear siri, I would love a fic based on “I’m worried about you” please and thank you

your wish is my command. for you to improve the mood :)

man this should be fifty thousand words longer but have some mack and robert emotions :D

Mack is pretty sure this is gonna bite him in the ass.  “Hasn’t changed much.” “Not sure it ever does,” Mack agrees.  Tommy Merrick looks over the houses, the pub, with a passive expression. He has a casual demeanour, but Mack’s known him long enough to detect the thrum of nervousness underneath. It’s a sight to see on someone pushing fifty. Haven’t you seen everything by then? “I was four the last time I was here.” Mack whistles. “Yeah, things have definitely changed, mate.” There’s a slam of a door and then Robert storms out of Vic’s house, face of thunder. Mack doesn’t know what his problem is–it’s not like he hasn’t left Mack in the middle of nowhere before. “Oi!” Mack winces. “Hi, Robert.” “Don’t ‘Hi Robert’ me, asshole. You left me by the side of the road and–Tommy?” Robert’s anger deflates as he sees the figure standing to Mack’s right. He looks confused and, Mack thinks, a little off-kilter.  “Hi Rob,” Tommy says, lips quirking into a smile. “Been a long time.” Robert just stares.  “Oi,” Mack says, nudging him. “Say something yeah?” That seems to propel Robert into movement, and he grabs Mack’s sleeve, hauls him away from Tommy far enough they can talk without being overheard.  “Where did you find him?” “I know him. He called me when he found out I was in Emmerdale–asked if I knew you.” Robert mutters something under his breath, peering over Mack’s shoulder at Tommy.  “Rob,” Mack says slowly, “He isn’t here to cause trouble.” “You do enough of that for me,” Robert says, half under his breath. He narrows his eyes. “Why is he here then?” Mack scratches at his neck. “Well I might have said something about John.”

Robert rubs at his face. “Why?”

“I’m worried about you,” Mack admits. “Since the roofie thing, the way you and he interact–I don’t like him either, but the way he looks at you, well, he’s bad news. We both know it. Figured you could use every person in your corner I can find.”

The expression on Robert’s face is one of shock, confusion. Mack wants to punch everyone who’s put it there, though that might also mean punching Aaron, which would be a shit show all around. “He doesn’t know me.”

“You spent four years living in his house,” Mack points out.

“Then stole half his money and ran off,” Rob admits, self-deprecating smile in place. 

Tommy snorts from where he’s sidled closer. “I don’t care about the money, Rob. Just that you’re doing well.”

“You’re about ten years too late,” Robert says. “Could have done with those well wishes in prison.”

Mack sighs. “Rob.”

“What? Just figured we should all be on the same page about the kind of person I am,” Robert says, and it doesn’t carry the anger Mack’s been told to get used to–just bitterness. 

“Murder, assault, almost going on the run,” Tommy lists off. At Robert’s expression, he sighs. “I’m sure there’s a ton of other things I’m forgetting, but I’m still not leaving.”

Robert opens his mouth to respond when he sees a couple of other people on the street, and even Vic’s poked her head out of the house. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the Mill. I’d rather catch up,” his expression twists, “without anyone else overhearing.”

Tommy seems only too willing, though he adds, “Ashamed of me?”

“Don’t be daft,” Robert says, too quickly to be a lie. “I don’t really have a lot of fans right now and I’d rather avoid you being told to leave me alone, or take me with you when you leave.”

A dark expression crosses Tommy’s face when he looks at Mack, who shrugs. “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

“I’ll tell you about it in the–Mill?”

Rob nods, though he looks between Mack and Tommy. Finally, he relents, narrowing his eyes at Mack. “We’re talking about this later,” he warns.

Mack shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Rob mutters under his breath, probably cursing Mack’s father, which is fine. It’s not like Mack hasn’t done the same. 

“Who’s that, then?” 

Aaron’s drifted out of the pub, hands in his pockets, and nods at Tommy. 

“Rob’s brother.” At Aaron’s expression, Mack grins. “Yeah, another one. Thankfully, not a drop of Jack Sugden’s blood in him.”

Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to say. 

Mack leaves him to it. He pulls out his phone, bringing up Sandy’s number. Might as well see how she’s doing while he’s at it. 

<3<3

[biancasaidstfu]

I think some people don't want to believe Luke knows what Antonia did/is doing because they can't reconcile the image of him as a sweet lover boy with one that can be involved in some type of PR. Nice celebrities do have PR relationships or use their relationship for PR. You don't only have to be a controversial celebrity to be involved in it, the PR exists for all of them. Sometimes it works and sometimes it does not.

I agree with the opinion he knows what is happening with and without Antonia. If he was so not aware of it then why the need for the SEO for both of them and then the sudden silence from Antonia after she shared so much on her stories and TT? Plus he was tagged in troll content on IG since last year after pap walk. I do not think she is that well known enough from anywhere to call any shots and have him as a puppy dog just agreeing with it being dragged around. He's not stupid, he may have us scratching our heads confused sometimes but he's not that powerless in his own life. A life that a 24 year old does not control as the "villain". Give him some credit because I think labeling her as the villain paints the picture that he doesn't have his own agency and say in how he lives as a grown 32 year old man with a whole public career. That's kinda reducing him a bit.

This is all opinion and in no way meant to shit on anyone else's thoughts. This is also not a Luke hate opinion, I'm just explaining why I think it's a bit reductive to think she is the villain calling a lot of the shots behind the scenes. I actually think the opposite about her, I think she's going with the flow and likes the benefits she gets now until that time runs out. The only thing I'll say is that she's not making good use of her exposure and based on her movements I don't really think she cares to benefit much from this in a professional way as much as some people in the fandom thinks she wants.

And no one should take this as being told to like Toochino. I’m not a fan personally but I think it’s good to looo at it from this perspective because to me it looks like she’s doing what she’s meant to be doing in this situation.

[noinoi10101010]

the sun proposed to the moon

Nova and frost ended up making there own pizzeria there love growing even stronger. there main goal to protect kid like they always did came into reality as they saved even more kids like they wanted there bound growing more and more closer. "Ready to entertain the kids today novie" frost says happily as nova looks at him innocence in his eyes "of course frostie" ~ he says in a excited voice as he hugs him. Oh frost precious little sunlight if only he knew what he had planned for him. "So what do you want to do today?" Nova says happily as one of the children chime in "ooo oo how about we all act out snow white." One of the little boys said happily "yeah and we can all be the seven dwarfs and nova can be snow White and first can be the Prince" A girl suggested as nova blushed at the idea but loved it none the less he loved snow white and unknown to nova a lot of the kids seem to be very excited more then usual With frost giving then both a knowing glances. They all set up the stage And the play starts pretty normal. Everything seems to be going well throughout the whole play. But then the part were the prince is supposed to kiss snow White and frost who is playing the prince does easily does and even the end were everyone celebrates but something is added at the very end frost goes down on one knee as all the kids can berly hold back there excitement as nova looks down confused "frostie we both have been there for each other through thick and thin I can think of anyone else that I wouldn't choose as my soul mate. I want to continue saving kids and....even start a family of my own with you. " frost says as nova blushes "Just imagine novie us taking care of kids. I can see how often you want to start a family with how often you mention how good we would be as parents and how you wonder how we would be as parents." Frost says as nova has a puppy love grin on his face "you really remembered all of that frostie. Oh frostie I don't know what I would do without you." Nova says as what feels like his jaw hitting the floor as frost pulls out a dark blue small box "what if you don't have to worry about that." Frost says as the crowd of kids start cheering "ASK HIM"! and "SAY YES NOVA!" To a crowd of cheering kids as frost opens the box to see a special designed ring that changes into a gold ring with a yellow sun gem to a silver ring with a dark blue moon gem depending on who is in control. "novie will you marry me?" Frost asks as tear will up in his eyes as huge ones will up in nova's "YES OH YES FROSTIE OF COURSE!" nova says happily as the crowd of kids cheer as nova puts the ring on and hug tackles frost and give small pecks all over his face. They can finally start a family now together and save kids together just like they always wanted.

@sillyzone1209

[redheadsramblings]

Why My OC Sucks

Buckle in kids I'm working through my tags again 😱

I was tagged by the lovely @officialnostradamus @jukkaricity and @curiouswisp for this 🥰 which was thought up by the lovely @hedwigoprah 😘

Now I love Rowan but dear Maker the girl has issues (issues I gave her but sssh 🤫) I'm not a fan of the term sucks, but it's the vibes 😉

Zero Self Preservation

My Girl has no concept of keeping herself safe, she will and does frequently just rush in to dangerous situations without a thought for her own skin or life. Better me than anyone else is her thought which leads into

Reckless

Can she jump in feet first without thinking it through beyond gotta get in there? Yes, yes, she can and will. Varric (only half) joking said she was the reason he went so grey so quickly.

Insecure

She always thinks she is the problem, even if she's not. Constantly saying sorry even if she did nothing wrong, in fact it's usually the first words out of her mouth.

Emotionally Repressed

Can't have emotions, cause that annoys people and no one cares what she's feeling. So just keep it inside and never ever talk about or show it so no one realises what a fuck up she is (she's not)

Self Hatred

No sugar-coating it, she hates who she thinks she is and who she thinks people perceive her to be. So she does everything to make herself palatable to what she thinks are the expectations of others, and all it does it make her hate it all.

No pressure tagging No pressure tagging @the-font-bandit @blightedcrow @libdibs @serbarris @ferocious-notes @emmg @themontess @mosoderbergh @randomnonsensedragonage @galacticsparkles @sunny374940 @tinygameralec @mistressandry @scottysketches @draco-illius-noctis @theroseunblown @holdingontojupiter @danyrics @crimsen-khalessi @pseudospaceship @jochiemgrace @notyourmamasdeerbat @crystalinn @guacamolleee  @queenmuzz @andthekitchensinkao3 @lavenderprose @caughtnyact @gomezwrinkles @tacoteddy22 @thequeenofthewinter @sofiemystique @crystallpistol @shootingstar7123 @omabell-illustriert @aiyestel @babydinosaur930 @soeasilyswayed @paramortality @novaobscurity @ermagerdperpehs @kirain @razildor @theyearningghoul @pwneyand anyone who sees this and fancies a go tag you're it 😁

Dividers are by @flowersforthemachines and can be found here

If you would like to go on my tag list, I have a post here where you can sign up

[writingjourney]

How do you think a Rook x Emmrich romance would have been different if she had been one of his students?

Oh boy. Put on your seatbelts for this one (also… mild 18+)

I think, first of all, it depends a little on how directly involved he was in her teaching. Just a lecture here and there? Hm, not good, no, but it’s doubtful anyone would care in the long run. But we know Emmrich is INVOLVED in his teaching. In the game he talks about how important close supervision is, how he prefers smaller groups so that he can cater more individually to his students, and now, hear me out, if Rook was someone that he’d been working so closely with this man would have the most intense existential crisis to ever exist. Full on meltdown wondering about his own sanity at this point. What man of his academic caliber would ever fall for one of his students?

Sure, this attraction to her should not matter in the grand scheme of things, not when the Gods threaten to destroy life as he’s known it. Rook has been working with Varric instead of taking her classes and who knows if she’d ever go back to any of those he’s involved with. They could definitely find a way for this not to happen, he’s got the connection, could get her under supervision from someone else. And he can calm his doubts insofar as to remind himself that he was not into her before all this, not before he got to know her so closely, there was nothing untoward. But then, is this true?

Every interaction with Rook – or, just Ingellvar at the time – would be viewed through a different lens. Is it true that he never noticed the intensity of her gaze, the specific colour in her eyes? The beauty of her smile when she directs it at him? The way her fingertips dance across the pages of a book when she’s so focused on reading, the materials he presented her with? Memories flicker in his mind, of her visiting him during his office hours, how their eyes met across the lecture hall, the way she’d linger with other students after class and how he’d nod at her to say his goodbyes, the smile she met him with. Nothing feels quite so innocent anymore, in retrospect, and he wonders if anyone ever noticed, if his colleagues or the other students already think him perverted.

Naturally, he vows to never act on these new-found feelings, lest anyone ever finds out.

But oh, Rook does not share the same hesitations. When you’re on a death mission, really, why care about propriety? Or, has she ever really cared? And no, at first she doesn’t notice how he’s fighting with himself every time they touch, how he’s half-mad with want and half-mad with disgust whenever she flirts and he flusters like a teenage boy. The worst, however, is that he can see that his hesitation is hurting her, how her interest in him seems to go beyond superficial flattery for a teacher in hopes of a good grade.

No, she confirms their connection is genuine, that her interest is genuine, and he’s tempted to push it just a little farther, take her back to the Necropolis under almost-false pretence, show her around the memorial gardens, careful to avoid anyone they know. Just… out of curiosity, of course, and because it is her home as well. It won’t hurt if he introduces her to his parents, an eager student who he gets along with. It’s only after that outing that he notices he’s in way over his head. The way she’d reacted to his opening himself up about his fears was everything he’d ever hoped for, the way she never flinched back, put her hand on his arm to squeeze in comfort without knowing just how welcome her touch was.

From then on, he can’t stop thinking about her and these thoughts are sometimes so inappropriate that he’s shaking whenever he tries to suppress them. It spirals, then, the oh i should not and the oh but i want to. and he’s touching himself to the thought of her, not even purposely, but the image of her mouth just so happens to pop into his head and he comes so hard he almost blacks out. Only for then to have a proper meltdown, tears involved, until Manfred hears him in despair and fetches Rook because he’s so worried. Emmrich snaps out of it so fast but he’s mortified to even attempt touching himself from then on.

And Rook? Well, he doesn’t tell her and he’s not going to indulge his need for her reassurance. But it’s harder and harder to stay in control of it and he does not want to lie to her, not when his forced distance is already causing her brow to crease in that sad way every single time he pulls back. So when she touches him the next time he lets it happen, when she compliments him he smiles with a little more charm, and it’s a bit of dance to keep it hidden until he knows that it’s working out (not to anyone but them, really, they ALL know). This could be an academic suicide if he's not careful and despite it all he is still scared of his mortality, of their age difference and the fact that this could be such a fleeting thing, but holding her hand is healing something inside of him and every hour they spend together makes him feel a little more like himself. How can any of that be so bad?

So, yes, eventually he can’t resist taking her on a date, though he won’t call it that, and he can’t resist kissing her, showering her in gold and compliments and love. And through it all he gets protective of her in completely new ways. Because if anything, this is his burden and he never wants her to be the subject of rumours and whisper and gossip. He does not want her to think he’s ashamed of what he feels for her or that he does not want people to know, so I do not think, once they actually move forward, beat the Gods and commit to each other, that he’d keep it secret.

No, at this point, it is a selfish thing and he's assured enough that their love transcends any such obstacles. I think he’d be very firm on standing his ground, making sure that, if she wants to continue her education, it will be with a safe professional distance from him, and if not? Even better, he’ll support her in whatever else she’s set her mind to. But under no circumstances will he let anyone sully their relationship by painting it as dirty, inappropriate or worse. Because no matter what happened before, Rook is his now, his to love, his to please, his to show off – and he takes that very seriously.

[kidlightnings]

Karel/Mark/Volke under the cut hehe

SFW questions-

Do they have petnames/nicknames for each other? Is there a reason why not, or a reason they picked what they did? Mark doesn't do petnames much at all, but Karel took up calling them "lovely" towards the end of the war, out of an accidental almost-love-confession, and it stuck. Volke? He started off calling Mark "sweetheart" as a joke. It quickly wasn't a joke anymore. And Karel and Volke both have a habit of referring to each other as "that man" when referencing one another in conversation... It was somewhat petty at first, and now, it isn't, it's quite affectionate. ... It isn't a petname, but Volke will playfully call Mark a bitch to their face and they're not only ok with this but both into this.

Who cooks? What's their favorite thing to cook? Look at these three. None of them can cook. No, I'm kidding, Karel can cook - he does impressive things with meats. And if you got them into a decent kitchen, Mark can cook, but doesn't like to. They're actually really good at desserts. Something if they ever bothered to try, they'd find out that Volke likes quite a lot. Him? He does not cook. He makes really good coffee and tea, though. Great with getting the water temperature just right to bring out the flavors.

Is there something one of them is quite bad at cooking? Do they get better? Volke tried breakfast once and did not improve, he instead paid someone to do it better. Mark... certainly did try to make soup once for Karel back in Elibe and it came out... You know the scene in LOTR where Eowyn makes soup for Aragorn? Like so. They actually did work on it, can now make a nice, passable stew.

Are they ok with PDA? What counts as public to them? Are there levels? Despite being so touchy-feely in private, Volke doesn't initiate much affection in public, though, his definition of public is... questionable. He likes semi-public shenanigans quite a lot, risky business. Mark is all business when anyone from the order is around, and in fact comes off pretty coldly when they're in tactician-brain. Karel doesn't think much of being affectionate, and with how both Mark and Volke are, it's a nonissue, but if he had to consider it, he doesn't really want anything that could draw attention if there's a lot of people around.

What level of pain/sickness are they comfortable showing each other? Is there anything they hide? Mark hates being sick or otherwise feeling poorly around anyone at all, both Volke and Karel included, but especially Karel. They can't quite shake the feeling he might be judging them (he isn't, he doesn't hold them to the same standards he has for himself). They're also physically frail in some very conspicuous ways, though, so it's not something they can wholly avoid. They're a bit more comfortable being ill or injured around Volke, will still downplay it. Karel? Karel isn't sick or injured ever, what are you talking about? No but really, he's exceptionally private about it, he'd sooner disappear for a week and lick his own wounds. He is frigid as hell about it if he has to be under someone's care. Volke? Volke would put up some token resistance, but if either of them wanted to dote on him, he'd actually love it if he got taken care of.

Are they the marrying types? Or something else? Mark doesn't consider themself to be the marrying type, avoids thinking about it. Every time there's one of those festivals, they get all squirrelly and have somewhere else to be. They're not unpacking that. Karel? He'd do it, but it's just a piece of paper to him. He's already wholeheartedly committed without it. Volke...? Contracts have significant weight for him, and that one especially would. It's not something he'd ever push for, but if one of them got down on one knee for him, he'd be incredibly flustered and incredibly into it.

If they lived together, whose name(s) goes on the lease/mortgage? Oh, Volke's, hands down. That's the man with the credit score. Mark would insist on theirs too, just because they're a control freak. Karel wouldn't care at all. He lives there. Volke would push him into being on it due to the legal risks of not.

Is there any early bird/night owl split? How do they deal with it, if so? Well, Karel doesn't sleep much at all, and both Mark and Volke have an understanding that if he is asleep anywhere, any time, that he gets to stay asleep. They will do everything in their power not to wake him up. Mark can sleep through most things, but can also be up... basically any time, so little concern there either. They're used to a really flexible sleep schedule through all of the wars. Volke? Don't wake him up unless there's a reason or else he's cranky. But his sleep is also pretty flexible, he takes it where he can get it. He has a habit of being up late. Common situation of the three of them all giving one another shit for being up at 2am... despite that they are all up at 2am to do so.

Do they have hobbies that take up a lot of space? Is this ever a problem, if so? Mark has books, maps, writing implements, miniatures Everywhere. It isn't just limited to the war room, and if you touch any of the arrangements, they get cranky. Common habit that they'll use random objects to hold books open, including other books, which are in turn held open precariously by a pen laid across it... Given the purpose, Volke and Karel both leave it all alone, mostly. Karel badgers them that they're going to get something blown over at some point and lose their work if anyone opens a window on a breezy day, which has happened. Volke has a habit of tucking flowers, notes, other things into these arrangements. Karel has also found things tucked amongst his swords...

Who slams the oven, and who plays the trombone? ( https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/when-mama-isnt-home ) Is it a trombone, or a different instrument? Mark slams the oven. Volke plays the violin. Karel stands uncomfortably in the background.

Who can keep plants alive? If nobody, who has the best rate of success? Karel can in fact keep a plant alive, bless his heart. He keeps a mint plant in a pot that Mark had found and against their better judgement taken along from one of their battle sites. It's in a window in the armory. Why does he keep it? He would shrug and just ask why not. He munches on the leaves sometimes. Volke could but doesn't care to. Mark? Cannot. They can't remember to take care of it.

Are they in agreement over shoes off or shoes on inside? They're running all over the castle, nobody has time to take their shoes off or put them back on regularly. Mark gets really cross over shoes on furniture, though. Especially shoes on the bed. Karel is in agreement, shoes don't go on bedding, because if he's in the bedroom, he's there to relax, and that means shoes off. Volke will not tell either of them about how much he naps on various furniture with his shoes on. He gets very technical with it, where just the soles will be off the edge. Mark wants to be annoyed at this but feels like it isn't reasonable. He is following the rules. Technically. Gods.

Do they stick to fairly fixed roles in their relationship, or is it flexible? Realizing I should have put this one into nsfw XD It's loose, but has a general vibe. Karel? He's passive until something is initiated towards him, at which point he'll step up. He will do... literally anything Mark asks of him. If we were gonna get into top-bottom-etc... submissive top. Otherwise? He does his own thing and minds himself, outwardly. Volke is very active and can be a driving force in the relationship when Mark isn't. You could reduce it to his being a service top. I'm just gonna throw out there that if this was getting fanworks, he'd get fanonized as being their dom, a lot. They trade off being in charge. At the beginning of things, Mark was more than happy to let Volke take the lead because he stepped into that role very naturally. As they've gotten more comfortable with one another, Mark has seen that same tiredness in him as he saw in them, and takes up some of the slack. Their default is submissive bottom With Opinions. Take the role assignments a bit tongue in cheek - I'd argue it's more nuanced than that.

Who would take up more of the closet? What do they have the most of? ... Shockingly: Volke. Once he's settled into being in a fixed location, he gets more clothes and especially accessories than the other two combined - which still isn't a lot, and a lot of it is functional, for covert operations, but, still. Not all of it is for him, though. He also gets various things for Mark. He finds it charming when they dress a bit finer. He has all of that money, you see. Mark just has a lot of coats.

NSFW questions~

Are they particular about where to/not to have sex, like nothing on food prep surfaces, only in bed, nothing outdoors? If so, what are the rules? Are they in agreement about said rules? :3 Volke will fuck anywhere mostly out of sight, especially if it's a bit scandalous. Karel? He prefers some discretion, though he has a bit of a thing for doing it outside, somewhere scenic. Mark doesn't like the idea of being caught by any of the heroes, so wants some degree of privacy, but trusts the other two such as to go along with just about anything they want.

Are sex toys something casual, or reserved for special occasions, or not used at all? So they don't really have any on hand in Askr (...not for lack of availability... they're just not looking for em), but, if I transpose them to somewhere it would be more likely to come up? Karel still never thinks about them, so with him? Not really a thing. Mark, on the other hand? Has definitely thought about pegging him, but the nature of things in Askr, how busy things are, has made them pretty shy to bring that up... (...writes that in the wip doc). It would be a special occasion thing for them, what with the prep work they'd want to do to make sure a good time was had. It's fortunate for both of them though, especially Mark, that Askr hasn't invented vibrators yet. Volke would be a menace. He'd be almost too casual about it for Mark's health.

How about roleplay? Casual, or something that would be meticulously planned out? Can they stay serious during it? Also does not occur to Karel to do, but, he would be deadly serious with it were it ever brought up to him. He would have a whole persona cultivated. Likely something he already had some familiarity with, like some kind of teacher/student thing, but that's where it would err XD he'd do the scenario too straight. Mark would just get tired, they can only take so many sword drills. They wanted a different kind of sword... So then it does get silly, because they make it so. Mark? Mark has a really hard time not being flirty and a little silly during roleplay, and it's something they would just start casually as a situational joke, "it's like you're my boss... (starts running their mouth about that)" sorts of things, but also, they'd be very open to something more planned out. Volke? That's a lot of work, but also, he's great at it with a bit of time to plan or with something he already knows. He could run a hell of a stranger in a bar pickup, a break-in turned sexy, sexy kidnapping, sexy extortion, sexy interrogation, whatever, really, if either of them ever wanted it.

Do they change the sheets after sex, or just avoid the wet spot? Firmly team avoid, especially since a lot of the linen care isn't in their own hands and they're not trying to sleep on a bare mattress while waiting for laundry to come back. Volke though specifically does try to avoid making a mess.

How pressed do they get if the other doesn't orgasm during sex? Is it personal? Doesn't come up much, they're all three very sexually compatible, and Mark is very easy. But Mark would in fact struggle greatly not to take it very personally. It'd be a whole thing. Volke? Much more "eh, try again later" approach. Karel... might take it more personally than Mark does, in fact. This is a man who is used to getting results.

Would they be bothered by a pet walking into the room? ... Volke could and would pet a cat while getting fucked. Mark would be weirded out but would let it continue and find it kinda funny once Volke finally shooed it away. Karel doesn't like that at all. It's looking at him. It would throw him off his game.

Are they comfortable being intimate if a housemate was at home? If so, do they try to be quieter? Mark and Karel had so, so much quiet sex during Mark's time in Elibe and it's in fact the norm for them, given the encampment situation, which... Certainly was analogous to housemates. They're quite comfortable with it. In fact, getting Karel to make noise at all is rare. Volke similarly is fine with others being in earshot so long as he has some cover and will be quiet, even down to covering a partner's mouth to keep them quiet, if the situation calls for it. But here's the thing about him is that sometimes, if it's low stakes? He does not feel like the situation calls for it. He gets a little thrill from his partner knowing they could be overheard. Mark? Mark has come to terms with others knowing they have an active sex life but gets embarrassed drawing attention to it.

Are their sex drives pretty well aligned, or different? How do they handle it? Karel has a pretty low sex drive but is very receptive to advances from his partners. Mark and Volke are both high and they take full advantage of that. Karel is very amicable to this situation, it works out well for him since they'll bring him in when he's wanted but otherwise they take care of their needs. Mark gets worried sometimes that he doesn't get enough, but it's an ongoing conversation.

Is the relationship open to other partners? If so, what are the rules around it? How would a conversation around opening it go? It's something they actually should talk more about lmao but probably won't. Karel had of course prompted Mark to seek other partners but there's an unspoken expectation that they're not just fucking around with just anyone - he really had just meant "go talk to that thief that keeps making eyes at you" which is...hmm. probably not great! Mark is quite loyal, though, and wouldn't go looking, but duplicates are another story... I have done some art and consider it to be vaguely canon. And Volke certainly supports it. Karel? He was prior just Marksexual, and has allowed Volke into that, is really not interested at all in other people. Volke? Would happily fuck other people with Mark if they so wished if said others were his vibe, but isn't looking. He would prefer they're all primarily committed to each other.

If applicable, is contraception something they think about? Mark is insane about it until they have some work done to make it a moot point. Like it's something they were so extremely anxious about and made use of every available precaution up to making themself quite ill with it in Elibe. Karel? He pulled out by default anyway. He wasn't trying to mess with all of that. The mention in talk of war? It was...complicated. Volke... He hates pulling out, and there's some idle thought in the back of his head that the Concept of getting Mark pregnant would be fun, but it's not something he actually wants. It's nice for him that it's a nonissue and he can think about their having mommy milkers all in his head. If it did happen? He wouldn't really be upset about it, except for how much it would make Mark freak out.

Are marks/bites something they'll let be done to them? Do they cover them or have rules about where they can be done? Mark prefers any ...marks....be able to be covered by their clothes, but that's not hard with how much they wear - does like receiving them, especially on the neck. Karel likes aggression enacted on him in general, likes being bitten, marked, scratched, and wears it very openly. Volke wishes a bitch would bite him. Either of them should get on that. He isn't trying to cover anything, but his clothes do that by default.

How long did they wait after getting together to have sex? It is in fact how Mark initiated getting together with both of them (: Mark "let's be fuckbuddies" lastname is just like this. They may or may not hold people at arm's length emotionally (:

Any uncommon kinks/fetishes? Would they bring it up, and how so? Karel does not bring it up, but he has a thing for tears, especially ones from overstimulation. Mark has a huge fixation on both of their partners' footwear. Wants to rub off on them. Not subtle about it, but also doesn't directly bring it up.

The only hotel they can get accommodations at is a sexy themed one – how do they feel about it? What room theme are they picking? Karel would think it's just really pointless, not worth the time to worry about it, whatever room is cheapest, they're just going to be sleeping there anyway. He is dead wrong. Mark pretends not to be interested? Actually really wants the room themed like a magical forest. Volke thinks they're all fun in a cliche way, and could work with any of them, but would notice Mark lingering on that one. He's going to be insufferable with it, truly. They're both losing their names to the fae. He is the fae. He owns them now. It's a bit silly <3

Domestic/established pairing questions, with nuance :3 tried to use language to include polyam situations! Do as a questionnaire or an ask game or whatever, really, I'm not the boss of you

SFW questions-

Do they have petnames/nicknames for each other? Is there a reason why not, or a reason they picked what they did?

Who cooks? What's their favorite thing to cook?

Is there something one of them is quite bad at cooking? Do they get better?

Are they ok with PDA? What counts as public to them? Are there levels?

What level of pain/sickness are they comfortable showing each other? Is there anything they hide?

Are they the marrying types? Or something else?

If they lived together, whose name(s) goes on the lease/mortgage?

Is there any early bird/night owl split? How do they deal with it, if so?

Do they have hobbies that take up a lot of space? Is this ever a problem, if so?

Who slams the oven, and who plays the trombone? ( https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/when-mama-isnt-home ) Is it a trombone, or a different instrument?

Who can keep plants alive? If nobody, who has the best rate of success?

Are they in agreement over shoes off or shoes on inside?

Do they stick to fairly fixed roles in their relationship, or is it flexible?

Who would take up more of the closet? What do they have the most of?

NSFW questions~

Are they particular about where to/not to have sex, like nothing on food prep surfaces, only in bed, nothing outdoors? If so, what are the rules? Are they in agreement about said rules? :3

Are sex toys something casual, or reserved for special occasions, or not used at all?

How about roleplay? Casual, or something that would be meticulously planned out? Can they stay serious during it?

Do they change the sheets after sex, or just avoid the wet spot?

How pressed do they get if the other doesn't orgasm during sex? Is it personal?

Would they be bothered by a pet walking into the room?

Are they comfortable being intimate if a housemate was at home? If so, do they try to be quieter?

Are their sex drives pretty well aligned, or different? How do they handle it?

Is the relationship open to other partners? If so, what are the rules around it? How would a conversation around opening it go?

If applicable, is contraception something they think about?

Are marks/bites something they'll let be done to them? Do they cover them or have rules about where they can be done?

How long did they wait after getting together to have sex?

Any uncommon kinks/fetishes? Would they bring it up, and how so?

The only hotel they can get accommodations at is a sexy themed one – how do they feel about it? What room theme are they picking?

I'm open to asks for these if anyone is so inclined! Canon/canon, oc/canon, oc /oc (and polyam of any) is all on the table

[seagreenstardust]

IDC IDC THIS WAS SO INSANE

[sunsetovertheocean]

Adults are so stupid

[readwritealldayallnight]

“Believe the briefing’s down that way, LT.” Soap says, walking alongside the Lieutenant as they make their way to meet the rest of the task force, when he notices the older man starts turning down the wrong hallway.

“Small detour.” Ghost replies in his deep Manchester accent, continuing on his way, uncaring whether the Sergeant follows him or not.

“Where we goin’?” The Scot turns to quickly follow him, curiosity piqued, knowing Ghost is nearly always religiously early to briefings. He has however noticed him appearing nearer to the start time recently now that he thinks about it, something that wouldn’t mean anything should it have been anyone else, but with Ghost, these minuscule changes never came without reason.

“Jus’ have to scratch an itch.” Ghost utters, barely glancing sideways to see the bewildered expression on Soap’s face.

It’s not long before Soap recognizes that they’re on their way to passing by the med bay, confusion worsening when he notices that the Lieutenant keeps fidgeting with something in his pocket. Something that’s making a - crinkling noise? Just as they reach the doors, he watches him pull something out- almost doing a double take at the sight.

“What the fuck are ye doin’ with a bunch o’ lollies?” The Scot asks, befuddled.

“Jus’ shut up and watch, Johnny.” Ghost quickly murmurs, pushing through the doors and walking in a confidently past the nurses station without a care, as though he does this every day. Maybe he does-

Soap tentatively follows behind him at a slower pace, unsure of what he’s walking towards exactly, but utterly intrigued nonetheless. As he turns around a corner, he sees Ghost has just walked up to you, one of the bonnie medics he’s seen around.

“Morning.” You smile softly at him, warmth apparent in your gaze towards the tall man. “Was wondering if you were coming or not.”

“Pick a colour.” The Lieutenant practically grunts at you, holding up a handful of colourful lollipops towards you in his large gloved hand, ignoring your teasing.

“Think I’ll do red. Matches my nails.” You say, leaning towards him to reach a hand out and pluck said lolly from his grasp. Both men watch as you remove the wrapper, pink tongue peeking out from your mouth to wet your plush lower lip. Soap feels the wires in his brain click as well as his pants suddenly tighten when he sees how you wrap your lips around the sucker, closing your eyes and letting out a small, satisfied hum as you taste the candy and pull it out with a ‘plop’.

“Thank you, Ghost.” You blink up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to lick at the lollipop this time before sealing it back in the wetness of your mouth, eyes locked with the man before you the whole time.

The first time you met the Lieutenant was while treating him in this very med bay. Already enamoured with you to begin with, the deal had been sealed when you had pulled out a few lollies from your coats pocket, offering them to him. He had come back to see you the next day, his own stash of candy in hand, saying something about how it was only fair that the doctors got sweets every once in a while as well. ‘Every once in a while’ turned out to be every single morning you worked, truly nothing more than an excuse to see you.

And if you looked up at him so sweetly as you licked at the treat, his blood never not rushing down south in the process, well then that was just an added bonus wasn’t it?

Readjusting his tactical pants and licking his own lips, Johnny had never been so grateful to Ghost before.

[thepencilnerd]

And Through It All

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: What starts with years of coffee, rooftop conversations, and quiet closeness unravels in the aftermath of a violent patient attack. As the hospital reels, so does Robby—until everything he’s buried comes to the surface. warnings: depiction of violence towards women genre: slow burn, pining, angst, fluff, you both suck at feelings word count: 3.6k a/n: yes this show still has me in a chokehold, this man is old enough to be my father, and protective/emotionally constipated Robby has consumed my every waking thought. also someone please sedate me because I don't know how I'm going to make it between episodes.

p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | Feels Like Trouble) if you're interested

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch always clocked in just after you.

It started as coincidence—years ago, when you were a new year-2 resident fumbling your way through charting and sleep deprivation. You’d arrive blurry-eyed at 5:58 AM, and two minutes later, he'd walk through the side door with two cups of coffee. One always ended up in your hand.

"This is my warm welcome to the pit, I’m not on coffee rounds," he’d grumbled the first time.

"Yet, my savior, here you are," you smiled, taking the cup. "Thanks, Dr. Robby."

He gave you a look, dry and fond. "Don’t get used to it."

Needless to say, you both did.

Now a senior resident, you’ve long since earned your stripes—but the morning coffees kept coming. So did the banter.

"That differential on bed 7 was a mess," Robby muttered one morning.

You sipped from your cup. "I was experimenting with chaos as a teaching strategy."

He stared, deadpan. "Rein it in, Nietzsche."

Late nights sometimes ended on the roof—shoulders nearly touching, silence stretched long between you. The rooftop was a liminal space: above the noise, between shifts, between you and him. You'd talk about patients. About medicine. About what the job takes and what it leaves behind.

One night you’d murmured, "Do you think we make a difference? Or are we just putting out fires that never stop?"

Robby didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing. "Some burning buildings are worth running into," he said eventually, voice low like he was admitting something he'd carried a long time.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t not. You were close—so close it blurred. You never noticed how often he drifted into your orbit. But others did.

"So... you and Robinavitch—what’s the deal?" McKay would tease with a grin.

You furrowed your brow, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

She leaned on the nurses' station, unbothered. "C’mon, you really don’t see it? The way he looks at you? Brings you coffee every morning? Steps in before anyone else can when the ball rolls downhill?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "He just… cares. That’s his job."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Except he doesn’t bring me coffee. Or look like he’s going to deck someone if they so much as raise their voice at me."

You opened your mouth to reply—but the sliding ER doors slammed open. A gurney rushed in, shouting echoing off the walls. Without thinking, you turned and ran toward the trauma bay.

"Saved by the bell," McKay called after you, but you were already gone.

But you didn’t see how his eyes tracked you in a crowded hallway, lingering just a second longer than necessary—guarded, but unmistakably drawn. How he'd appear at your side before anyone else when things turned sideways, voice calm but stance protective, like he was positioning himself between you and whatever chaos had just erupted. The way his jaw would tighten when residents spoke too casually around you, especially if their tone dipped into flirtation. The moments when his voice dropped low, quiet and edged with something softer, when asking if you’d made it home safe after shifts—always phrased like a passing question, but one he never failed to ask.

Earlier that week, Robby had been leaning against the counter in the break room with Dana and a few of the nurses clustered nearby. He was sipping bad coffee and flipping through a chart when Dana nudged him lightly with her elbow.

"You know," she started with a smirk. "You're getting pretty soft on that senior resident."

Robby didn’t look up, adjusting the frame of his glasses. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

Princess glanced at Perlah, who grinned. The two exchanged a few rapid lines in Tagalog—something teasing and full of mischief. Robby raised an eyebrow.

"Just because I don’t speak Tagalog doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you’re saying," he said dryly, finally taking off his glasses and staring at the nurses judgementally.

Dana just about cackled. "Come on, Robby. You bring her coffee every morning, you hover when she’s in a tough case, you barely let interns breathe near her."

Perlah added, "And you always look at her like you’re trying not to."

Princess laughed. "Sir, that’s not just coffee—that’s courtship."

Robby rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. "You all have too much time on your hands."

"We're just saying," Dana said as she turned toward the door. "If you're gonna pine, at least be subtle."

He shook his head and muttered, "Back to work, people."

Then came the day everything cracked.

The patient had come in hostile—angry at the world and bleeding from a cut above his brow—muttering about how no one respected him, how women thought they were better than him. According to his chart, he had a record of violent outbursts and a chip on his shoulder the size of the hospital.

"You think you're smarter than me, don't you?" he sneered when you entered the bay, his arms crossed and chest puffed like a bull ready to pick a fight.

You kept your voice calm and professional. "Sir, I'm just here to update your chart and make sure you're getting what you need."

He laughed—sharp and bitter. "What I need is for people like you to stop looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. All you female doctors think you're so much better."

You froze for just a second. "I'm here to provide care. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me!" he spat. "I see how you talk to the others. You think you're above me like some queen. But you're not. You're just another stupid cunt—"

"I'm going to get another physician to help with your case," you said quickly, trying to disengage, stepping back toward the call button.

"You walk away from me, and I swear—"

The second he was out of your peripheral vision, he lunged.

You cried out as his weight slammed into you, sending you hard to the ground. Everyone around you scattered, the staff protecting patients and patients protecting themselves.

Your elbow struck tile and pain bloomed across the crown of your skull. Your head snapped back like a slap bracelet. He loomed over you, shouting a string of vile insults, hands grabbing at whatever they could. Another set of fingers clamped around your throat. A scream pierced through the air shouting, "Robby!" Only after a set of doors burst open did you realize it was yours. 

Before you had time to process what was happening, he was there.

Robby knocked the patient off of you with brute force that stunned the entire hospital staff. Without help, Robby pinned him to the floor facefirst with practiced strength, knees braced, and jaw clenched. "Security!" his voice thundered.

Subduing the attacker by his wrists, Robby's knee dug into the man's back thigh without mercy, making him cry out in pain. "Collins! Dana!" he barked, voice sharp and commanding, reverberating through the trauma bay like a shockwave.

You were on the floor, dazed, breath knocked out of you. The two women rushed to your side in the blink of an eye. All around, med students and residents stood frozen, eyes wide.

They had never seen Robby like that.

No one had ever seen Robby like that.

The patient struggled once more before Robby leaned in and drove his knee harder into the attacker’s thigh, his grip unrelenting, voice low and deadly calm. "Stay down."

Security took over a moment later, but Robby didn’t move until he was sure it was safe. Then he stood, exhaled once, and turned to Dana and Collins.

"I'll be over as soon as I can, brief me later," he said. "I'll assess her myself."

Dana crouched beside you, one hand firm on your shoulder. "We've got you," she said gently, then glanced over her shoulder. "We'll be in 4."

Collins helped you up with care, guiding you slowly down the hall while Dana kept close at your side. You were still disoriented, a sharp ringing in your ears, but you caught a glimpse of Robby speaking to security. He didn’t even glance your way—focused, furious, deadly calm.

In Exam Room 4, Collins set you down on the cot, already checking your pupils with a penlight. "You hit your head?"

"Yeah," you managed, wincing as you moved. "Elbow too. Think I caught most of the floor on the way down."

Dana pressed a cold pack into your hand. "You’re in shock. Just breathe. We’ll handle this."

Collins nodded, gently examining your face and palpating around your ribs. "No obvious trauma, nothing broken. Expect some bruising around your throat the next few days. We should get you in for a head CT just to be safe. You took a hard hit."

"I'll get that booked ASAP," Dana said, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping out to handle the order. She paused at the doorway just long enough to exchange a glance with Collins—an unspoken check-in—before disappearing down the hall. 

Moments later, the door opened again. Robby stepped in, his expression unreadable but his eyes scanning you like he was cataloging every mark, every breath.

"I’ll take it from here," he said quietly to Collins.

They exchanged a glance, then wordlessly stepped out.

And then it was just you and him.

He crossed to your side, kneeling. His hands moved automatically, gently tilting your chin to check for swelling, eyes flicking to your pupils, then the scrape along your cheekbone. "Can you look up for me? Good. Follow my finger."

His voice was low and clinical, but his touch was careful—too careful.

"Headache? Nausea? Double vision?" he asked, bringing your hand into his and turning it over to assess for any injuries.

"No, just a little dizzy," you murmured.

He nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your elbow, then the bruising along your neck. Then the questions stopped. His hands stilled.

He just looked at you—really looked at you—and the silence took hold.

His jaw flexed, like he was trying to say something but couldn't. Something had cracked open in him. Not just from what happened. From what it revealed.

And you could feel it—the weight in the room. Something unsaid between you, thick as blood and twice as loud.

You tried to fill the silence. "Dana said she'd put in a rush order for a head CT. Collins didn’t think anything was broken, just some bruising and—"

"Don’t," Robby said, almost too softly.

Your words faltered. You watched him—how his shoulders stayed tense, how his eyes didn’t move from yours, how still he was, like saying the wrong thing might make everything unravel.

"Robby," you said gently. "It's okay, I’m fine."

His jaw clenched, masseter muscles carving his sunken cheeks like a marble sculpture. "No, it's not. You’re not."

He said it so quietly, like he hated the truth of it. Getting up, he ruffled his hair and shook his head, voice still quiet but heavy. "Just... give me a second."

It wasn’t the injury that had shaken him—it was the realization. That in those terrifying few seconds, the worst thing he could imagine had nearly happened. And it wasn’t because you were his resident. Or his colleague.

It was because you were you.

You watched him pace as the silence dragged, your heart still pounding faintly in your ears. "Robby," you tried again, softer this time. "I'm okay, really..."

Still, he said nothing.

You gave a half-scoff, half-sigh, trying to shake off the tension. "I’ve had worse nights. Dana and Collins already cleared me—CT’s just precautionary. Nothing to worry about."

His movements stilled and eyes didn’t leave yours.

"What is it?" you asked, finally, your voice gentle but steady—like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it.

That cracked something in him. He looked away for a beat, jaw flexing again, his breath hitching as if he was holding back something too big to name. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw—nothing like the sharp, composed attending everyone else knew.

"I didn’t know it would feel like that." 

He rubs the back of his neck, a self-soothing gesture in an effort to hold back whatever threatens to overflow. "Seeing you on the ground. Hearing you scream. For me. I’ve seen worse—God knows we all have. But nothing’s ever felt like that."

You froze.

His eyes met yours again, and the walls he always held in place—stone and steel and professionalism—weren’t there anymore. He looked at you like he wanted something he had never allowed himself to want. Like he was terrified of the feeling and already grieving it.

You felt the shift like gravity tilting. Like the air changed around you. It was as though the ground beneath you had tipped on its axis.

And suddenly, everything between you was different.

Not unspoken anymore, just unbearable to say aloud.

You felt yourself retreating into the space between what you wanted to feel and what you needed to believe. The part of you that ached wanted to lean forward, close the distance, tell him you felt it too—that terrible, awful, beautiful clarity.

But another part held you back. The part that lived in hospital hallways and stared at name badges and remembered what it meant to be professional. To be younger. A resident. His resident. The part that convinced you it could never be more.

You searched his face, trying to decode what this moment was, or if it had always been there, hiding in quiet coffees and rooftops and restrained glances. And still, he said nothing. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he didn’t know how to cross that final line either.

So you just sat there in the quiet with him, suspended between the ache and the boundary—between what was true and what you were still too scared to say.

Eventually, you broke. Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed instantly. "For what?"

You shook your head, feeling heat rise behind your eyes. "I don’t know. For not calling for help. For being alone in there. For... allowing this," you gestured between the two of you, "to happen." You sniffled. "For letting myself—"

"Don’t," he cut in sharply, but not unkindly. "Don’t you dare apologize for any of that, you did nothing wrong."

You blinked.

He leaned in slightly, voice steady now, like he needed you to hear every word. "You did everything right. You followed protocol. That man was unstable, and what happened wasn’t your fault."

Your lip trembled, but you didn’t speak.

His voice softened again. "And if this is about me... if you think you’ve done something wrong because of how I feel about you—how I care about you—don’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything neither of you knew how to name. It sat heavy between you—thick with the ache of things buried too long and the sharp edges of everything that couldn't be said. You could feel it in your chest, pressing against your ribs and threatening to claw itself out, the unspoken confession of a man who just laid bare more than he meant to, and your own desperate need to pretend you didn’t hear it.

But you had. You’d heard it in his voice, in the way his hands had trembled just slightly when he touched your face, in the way his eyes wouldn’t leave yours even when they should’ve.

And now, as your chest rose and fell too quickly and your heart tried to find steady ground, all the small moments you’d buried—or maybe just refused to examine—rushed back like a crashing wave. His hand guiding yours during your very first incision, firm but not overbearing. The coffees every morning—always your usual, always on time. The time he’d found you on the stairwell after you lost your first patient, sobbing uncontrollably, and he didn’t try to fix it—he just sat there beside you until you could breathe again. The rooftop shifts when you couldn’t quiet your incessant thoughts, he somehow always found you there.

The silence that needed no explanation.

It had always been there. A quiet, steadfast presence. Not loud, not showy—but constant.

And now, undeniable.

And maybe you were still trying to find the line between what had always been there and what had just changed—but the silence was no longer uncertain. It was waiting.

You decided to break it.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, eyes searching his, breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Robby didn’t answer. Not with words.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His eyes searched yours, one last moment of hesitation flickering there—one last out, if you wanted it.

But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed. His skin was warm against yours, soft in a way that surprised you. Your fingers found his jaw, the roughness of his beard brushing your palms as your hands slid down slowly, until they came to rest at the curve of his neck—right where his pulse thrummed hard beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened a breath later, quiet and aching, full of everything you’d both held back for far too long. His hands rose to cradle your face, holding you like something fragile, like if he wasn’t careful, you might break. His thumbs grazed the corners of your cheekbones, grounding and gentle, anchoring you both in the impossible tenderness of it.

There was nothing hurried about it. Just warmth and softness and the quiet admission of something real. Something that had lived in the silence between you for years.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession.

He let out a breath, rough and shaky against your cheek. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he murmured. His voice cracked just slightly at the edges—like the truth cost something to say. And maybe it did.

You pulled back enough to see him clearly, your hands resting on his neck, feeling the steady, trembling pulse beneath your fingertips. He looked at you like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

For years, probably. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it. Not through the early mornings or the long nights. Not even when he stood too close, or when his voice turned soft just for you. Not even when your heart always found him in a crowd. But now, with his breath still warm against your lips and his hands still cradling your face like something precious, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

You’d been his and he'd been yours, long before either of you were brave enough to say it. You pulled back just enough to look at him—really look—and gently stroked his cheek, admiring his freckles like newly formed constellations in the sky. 

His eyes drop ever so slightly. "I'm old," he starts. "My work-life balance is absolute shit. You deserve someone who can give you what you need."

You stare at him, puzzled. For a second, you think he’s serious—like he's about to start building walls where they’d only just crumbled.

Then you catch the flicker in his expression. The barely-there smirk at the corner of his mouth. He’s only half-serious. Nervous. Teasing you.

You grin, easing the weight with a well-aimed jab. "At least you're not old enough to be my father. And it's not like my hours spent outside work ratio is any better."

He scoffs, ducking his head before shaking it all too lightheartedly.

"And for the record," you add, tapping his chest with a pointed index finger. "This is not some personification of daddy issues, I'll have you know that my father and I have a very healthy relationship."

"Well, that’s a relief," he murmurs, his smile softening as he encloses his fingers around your hand.

You sit back, playful. "I’ll keep you up to date on all the hottest trends the youths engage in. Like cat cafés and strawberry milk matcha lattes. And emotional vulnerability."

He groans, rubbing his face shyly. "God help me."

You grin, careful not to laugh too hard, and lean into him again. "Too late for that, Robinavitch. You’re stuck with me." 

"Yeah," he whispered. "I really hope I am."

Outside, the hospital buzzed as it always did—pages overhead, heels echoing on tile, lives beginning and ending behind curtain walls. But for a moment, the noise faded. The only sound was your breathing, his.

And the quiet hum of something long overdue settling into place.

You didn’t know what came next—how this would unfold outside the safety of Room 4, outside of bruises and adrenaline and low-lit confessions. But for now, with his forehead still resting gently against yours, and the weight of unspoken feelings finally aired between you, it didn’t matter.

You had time.

Until a round of cheers and high fives broke the stillness like a confetti cannon bursting into the air.

Both of you jerked apart, startled. Just outside the half-closed door to Room 4 stood a cluster of med students, nurses, residents, and paramedics—huddled together like a peanut gallery, barely containing their glee.

Fire. Fire beneath your cheeks igniting your face like the depths of hell and embarrassment. You buried it in Robby’s chest as he turned around slowly, one hand instinctively coming up to rest on your back as he started to laugh.

Langdon, of course, was the ringleader. He held up a neon orange post-it like a trophy, waving it proudly as the group chuckled and whooped behind him. In black Sharpie were the words:

UNPLANNED CONFESSION - Langdon & King—the bet circled and underlined. And below it: $7/week. Scribbled in tiny pen just beneath that, barely legible, was a date—six months ago.

He high-fived someone out of view next to him just before giving the two of you an exaggerated thumbs-up, grinning like he’d just won the Super Bowl. On cue, Mel stood up from beside him and gave you a quick wave and a shy smile, arms held tightly by her sides.

You groaned, still pressed into Robby's chest. "I swear to God, if they made a bracket—"

"Oh they definitely made a bracket," Robby said, laughing into your hair.

You peeked up at him, still mortified but grinning. "Are we seriously the plot twist in someone’s trauma bay soap opera?"

"Apparently," he muttered, pulling you closer. "Should we give them something to talk about for next week's episode?"

You scoffed, swatting lightly at his chest. "Take me out to dinner first, will you?"

Outside, the group began to scatter—some called back to rounds, others still giggling as they walked off. But you stayed there, tucked into Robby’s side, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chaos. Whatever came next, you’d figure it out. Together.

And if the hospital had front-row seats to your slow-burn becoming a soft landing? So be it.

[dollbrbie]

ever since toji found out you were a virgin, he’s been dying to corrupt your innocence.

the way you look up at him with you big, innocent doe eyes makes him want to destroy it. to claim you as his as he ruins you for anyone else. the idea alone makes his cock throb and ache, palming himself through his pants as he imagines your sweet whimpers.

he didn’t really care if it made him a bad person fantasying about you like this, the sweet girl in the neighbourhood. the only girl naive enough to give a guy like him the time of day. he’s a man who takes and takes, and he was going to take your innocence.

and that’s what he did.

he knew you were too nice for your own good. too naive, too understanding, too unsuspecting. so, when toji offered you a ride home after you had spent the day volunteering at an animal shelter, you of course accepted. he had been so nice to you, after all. what’s the worst that could happen?

well, you soon found yourself in the backseat of toji’s car, led down with your legs spread and you glossy folds on full display for him as he looked at you with pure lust, pure hunger. like a predator that has just caught it’s prey.

“can’t believe no one’s ever touched you here, bambi.”, he mumbles, a small smirk making way onto his face as his thumb rolls over your clit.

all you could do was whimper, your heart pounding in you chest and your clit throbbing with need. you hadn’t imagined losing your virginity like this, in the back of an older guy’s car. you pictured it with a boyfriend, in the comfort of your own bed and home.

but here you are, legs spread for this man. a man you barely knew because you found yourself being too nice.

“y’don’t need to tremble so much. i’ll make ya feel good.”, he promises, rubbing slow, teasing circles on your clit.

“please…”, you mewl.

“please what? c’mon, use your words.”

“please, i- i want more.”, you whimper with pinched brows, embarrassment written all over your face.

he chuckles at your shy demeanour, his cock twitching as he watches the way you tremble, the way your pretty whimpers fall from you lips.

he rubs the tip of his cock with his thumb before lining it up at your entrance, tapping your clit with it and sliding it against your eager folds, “more, hm? eager little thing, aren’t you?”

he leans down, whispering in your ear through his low voice, a smirk evident in his tone, “i’ll give y’more.”, he says as he sinks into your pussy without warning, a gasp escaping your lip with a loud, high pitched whine when you feel your throbbing hole stretch around toji’s fat, pink tip.

“shh.. it’ll feel good.”

and as your walls begin to accommodate his size, your pussy aching with both pain and pleasure, it does.

soon followed the echoing sound of clap! clap! clap! within the walls of toji’s car, the steam on his windows building up in parallel to the pleasure in your stomach.

you felt so full with toji continuously bottoming out inside of you and stretching out your gummy walls. he was so big, the curve of his cock constantly hitting your sweet spot, leaving your legs shaking and your back arching.

toji rubs lazy circles on your clit as he continues pounding into your pussy, his pelvis colliding with the curve of your ass as his free hand reaches for your neck, gentle squeezing every so often, the sensation making your walls flutter around toji’s cock.

you feel your stomach knot in pleasure, clawing at toji’s bicep unsure what to do with this unfamiliar feeling, “y’gonna cum, bambi?”, he asks.

you whine with a nod, “t-think so..”

“yeah? cum f’me then.”

your body soon erupts with waves of shock, the pleasure causing your hips to buckle and your toes to curl, your back arching as soft whimpers leave your lips and tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

toji adored this sight. the way your brows were pinched together, your eyes red and glossy from the overwhelming pleasure. the expression formed on you face after toji had just corrupt your innocence, and now claiming you as his own.

you didn’t know that yet, being the poor, innocent and naive girl you were. but, you soon would.

“aw, you look so fucked out.” he chuckles, “c’mon, open that mouth and finish me off.”

you look at him with wide eyes before feeling the tip of his cock tap on your cheek, reluctantly opening your mouth and placing his tip between your lips.

“i hope you understand that you’re mine now, bambi. don’t you know i’ve ruined you for anyone else?”

you feel your stomach knot at his words, knowing that he was right. you had just let this man take your virginity, your innocence. the one thing you had been keeping until you met someone special.

but you also felt your overstimulated pussy throb at his words, a part of you enjoying this, enjoying the thought of being owned and corrupted by this older man.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[notjustjavierpena]

Sundays

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Season 2 of The Last of Us ruined my life, so here is my attempt at fixing my eternal wounds. Lord knows that everyone deserves better. I spent four weeks trying to perfect this. It might be the best thing I’ve ever done. Please be kind and patient with me ❤️

Summary: Joel’s Sundays are for early morning patrol and making babies with you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic fluff, soft but haunted Joel, banter, teasing, Star Wars reference, kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, pussy eating, fingering, breeding kink, one use of daddy, emotional and filthy sex, creampie, aftercare, cuddling 

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65911807

Sundays

On Sundays, Joel does the morning patrols while the rest of the town sleeps. When someone asks why he has volunteered to do them, he lies and grumbles something about nobody else wanting to get out of bed during the weekend so he has to. Yet he always wakes up at the crack of dawn without complaint, showers in the miracle of hot water, fixes himself a cup of coffee, and reads his book - they have recently emptied a library on an extensive supply run and they found The Shining on dry shelves - with his glasses perched on his nose. He likes it; the quiet time for himself while feeling your presence in the house as you sleep under warm blankets upstairs. His morning routine always ends with taking off his glasses to put them on their designated spot on his nightstand and kissing your beautiful hair, watching your body curl up contentedly underneath the covers or if he is really lucky, you turning onto your back and sleepily muttering a demand for a proper kiss. 

He goes back down, ties his well-worn leather boots on a dining chair, holsters his handgun, throws his rifle over his shoulder, and then leaves with a quiet click of the door. 

The Spring air bites slightly in the morning but he doesn’t mind, appreciates the way it wakes him up a bit more and sharpens his focus. He misses you the second he steps out the door, thinks about your warm and soft skin while he checks the front of Ellie’s house, and then walks towards the stables, the gravel crunching underneath his boots. He listens for anything out of the ordinary - can’t be too careful - and even checks the fences surrounding the horses, the weak spots he keeps meaning to patch up himself because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it right.

Patrol is as usual. He doesn’t expect any danger and thankfully doesn’t find any either, but he is a man of habits and old habits die hard. His free hand rests near the strap of his rifle in case of anything out of the ordinary, but the only time he needs to be on his guard is when Callus, his horse, gets frightened by a rabbit in the bushes along the trail. He calms the animal with a broad, soothing hand and kind words. He thinks about Sarah, about how she would have loved the nature here, and rarely anymore about how her blood felt on his skin.

He is gone for a few hours, three maybe but no more than four. He does all of his usual inner checklists and rides past each checkpoint, all the while thinking about your hair still messy from sleep, your bare foot sticking out from under the blanket.

On his way back, his thoughts continue circling around you. It’s almost dangerous how much he lets his mind drift; how easy it is to get lost in wondering what you’re up to on his way home. He pictures you in the sun coming in through the windows of the house he built for you with hands that have killed but now get to cradle your face too. He loves you most bathed in morning light that makes your skin glow. With a half-laugh, you said you’d be doing housework today, dragging your fingers through his hair last night whilst tangled up in his body. 

He wonders if you’re humming to yourself while mopping the floors or fighting extra stubborn dust bunnies underneath the couch. What are you wearing? What are you thinking about? Is it him? Are your souls really so entwined that your thoughts are full of him whenever his are so full of you? Joel doesn’t even know if he believes in that sort of thing - hearts beating in sync like that - but you don’t give him a choice sometimes, a feeling that not even Ellie has ever teased out of him.

When he arrives home, he smiles with his eyes closed at the twinkling sound of the wind chimes hanging on the porch ceiling. There is dust on his boots and his bad knee has started to ache from the slow change in temperature over the last few hours but he feels content. He removes the rifle from his shoulder to leave it by the door and then toes the boots off carefully. 

He inhales the smell of home deeply in through his nose before holding his breath to listen for any sound of you. His brown jacket comes off right after he has noticed the quiet movements upstairs that make the house creak just a little. However, it’s not the noisy floorboards but your soft curse that makes him climb the staircase.

A younger version of him - a version that was newer to you - would have first thought that you were up to something sinful and private but Joel now knows that the near-silent swear is one of quiet frustration. You don’t hear him at first, too busy muttering to yourself about the fitted sheet that keeps slipping from your fingers as you try to tug it down over the corner of your shared bed. 

“Shit,” you curse again quietly, bent across the bed in a kneeling position with one knee on the mattress and the other stretched out behind you. 

He knows he should announce his presence like the gentleman he is but he is too busy trying to catch his hitching breath from the sight of your gorgeous body. The swell of your hips and the dip of your back have his old ticker beating in his chest like a kick drum but it is, more specifically, the choice of your underwear that has him feeling downright lightheaded. Hugging your hips are a pair of lace panties and they’re see-through and barely there but most importantly cute. You probably picked them up from the trading center without much ceremony, drawn by their aesthetic rather than their practicality, and then forgot they existed until laundry day arrived. He can understand why; they are so impractical that they almost piss him off but it doesn’t outweigh the near-laughable way he is already hardening in his jeans.

“Hey baby,” he finally says from the doorway, his hands shaking slightly with how hard it is to not just walk up and grab at your hips as a greeting. 

“Joel,” you jump a little in your spot and look at him over your shoulder, the sheet still hanging between your fingers in a secure grip, “You scared the shit outta me!”

“What are you wearing?” He asks simply instead of apologizing, trying to act nonchalant as he walks to the side of the bed but you pick up on the strain in his voice. 

You glance down at yourself with a sigh but it just makes your ass jiggle, “Oh, these? They’re my last clean pair right now since I’m doing an epic pile of laundry today. Sun’s coming out. Perfect day for hanging it outside.” 

“They’re–” he replies, gaze fixed on your ass. His voice continues in the same strained tone but he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. 

“They’re awful,” you help him and start struggling with the corner of the sheet again, “Feels like my ass is being flossed by lace.”

Joel snorts at that, “Should take ‘em off then.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You snort yourself, finally managing to pull the sheet over the edge. You flatten it with your palm, caressing it almost as if you’re apologizing for the roughness you’ve caused it and so it looks like it hasn’t been a battle to secure. Then you flop onto your back, stretching your arms out behind you to hold yourself up. The grin on your face is mischievous and sexy yet subtle, the position you’ve put your body in pushing your chest out so he can see your breasts through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. He thought he wanted you badly during his patrol but looking at you now, he thinks he might lose it if he doesn’t touch you soon. 

“You’ve got me. Take them off,” he murmurs with a smirk but when you playfully don’t follow orders, he starts leaning down over you slowly with his sore knee dipping into the mattress. You try to crawl back, squealing but he has taken on bigger things than you.

“Joel,“ you stop him by planting your bare foot on his chest but the way your leg bends at the knee just exposes that soft, intimate skin between your legs. He wants to dive into you but he’ll humor you for a moment.

He grabs your ankle to make you laugh but his mind betrays him by reminding him of how fragile his existence here with you is. Jackson remaining completely untouched by reality is a fantasy. He doesn’t tell you, never would tell you how easily it could all go wrong again, because you deserve the fantasy more than he does.

“Joel,” you repeat his name and he comes back to you if only briefly, watching your loving grin with a deep ache in his chest. He hasn’t felt this kind of ache since Sarah’s mother, a tell-tale sign that you are the real thing for him, that he built this house so you can fill it up with love and life. 

Life. It seems almost bordering on insanity to be thinking about children at his age in a world so broken but your eyes sparkle in the town square where mothers carry their babies in wraps while trading cartons of strawberries. You deserve to nurture someone other than him because your soul has so much to give. 

“If you’re not going to do anything but overthink,” you hum teasingly when time has passed and Joel feels embarrassed for having been lost to his own inner world. His thumb presses into the curve of your Achilles heel, tugging your body closer to himself by wrapping your leg around his waist instead.

“You’re the only person who talks to me like that,” he chuckles softly while his cheeks are slightly crimson. 

“It’s good for you,” you shoot back him and it is the truth.

“Was just thinking ‘bout how you do so much that I don’t deserve,” he says with his eyes roaming over your face and chest for a place to kiss. He chooses the column of your throat, “Cooking, cleaning… Lovin’ a man like me.”

“It’s not about deserving,” you muse and sigh at his stubble on your skin, “Do you want me?”

What kind of question is that? He wants you so much that it sometimes feels like it would be easier to live in your veins, to replace his tired and aching bones with yours if it meant never being without you. He sounds psychotic, sounds like something that he read in the string of horror novels he has gathered by now because they feel oddly comforting when there’s something worse on the other side of the gates. 

“Forever,” he replies simply. He would rather die than not have you.

“Not too much to ask for if you ask me,” you reach to cup his face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones until he closes his eyes at the feel, and then pull him to your lips. You kiss him gently for a moment but with how much Joel wants you, he quickly lets it drift into something else, something more. He kisses you with all that want in his body, needs it to stop prickling underneath his skin. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He murmurs against your mouth, checking in, the question heavy with care for you. 

“No,” you whisper back into another kiss, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his neck, “I was waiting for you.”

“What if, after this, I take you down to the market?” Joel starts descending his lips on your body. He mouths over the mound of your breast, nipping at your sensitive nipple as it strains against the fabric of your top in its arousal, “Could get you fresh strawberries. Or blueberries we could throw in pancakes.”

You let out a soft moan that’s mixed with a breathy laugh, “I’m ovulating.”

“What?” Joel’s voice has gone scratchy. He stills his touch, moving to look up at your face to see what emotion is playing on your features. He didn’t even know you were keeping track. At first, he doesn’t understand your point but you’re quick to let him in.

“There’ll be babies all over the town square,” you grin down at him, cheeks warm with playfulness as you glow, “Just saying.”

“Maybe one of ours one day?” Joel tests the waters.

“Yeah?” Your grin turns into one of unabashed glee.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind it if we made a baby,” he answers quietly and moves his palm up under your top to lay it flat against your belly, “We could try. I mean, we’ve been dancing around it for months now, haven’t we?”

“Then don’t pull out,” the way you say those words, like honey dripping from your tongue, makes Joel swear under his breath and his cock jump. He watches the dizzying sight of you shimmying out of the lace underwear before spreading your legs to give room for him. Looking between your legs is like he’s been offered something holy by the devil himself, your slit already glistening and ready for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he smooths his hand down your belly to grab the hem of your top again, easing it up your body. You lift your arms over your head to help him get it off, the movement of your body making your tits shake. He moves backward on the bed, kissing his way down your sternum while squeezing your right breast. You arch slightly into the touch, taking it with a soft release of your breath.

Joel revels in you, revels in the fact that you have allowed him something that he hasn’t thought about in decades because the world did not allow it. He wonders if he’ll be a good father again after all these years of never letting himself think of being something to someone so tiny and fragile, dependent. Ellie had already been a mouthy teenager when he got her, and while she had relied on him, she had had one hell of a survival instinct and hadn’t needed any cradling. A newborn will be different; they will need parts of his being that he hasn’t touched since Sarah was handed to him in the hospital. He doesn’t know if he can trust himself to cradle his newborn with hands that now only know how to pull a trigger. He doesn’t know if it is like riding a bike, that it will happen naturally the second he sees them, but he knows that he wants it. God, he wants it. 

“What are you doing?” You question when he is suddenly between your legs, his feet out over the edge of the bed, and it makes him stop dead. Maybe he should stop having these thoughts when he makes love to you. 

“What do you mean?” He asks as he is halfway down on the floor to get in position. He furrows his brows in confusion. 

“You do realize that this is not how babies are made, right?” You giggle in response, sweetly enough to make his cock twitch. Oh, that’s what you’re playing at.

“Ain’t it?” He smirks.

“No!” You snicker. 

“Then I guess I’m just doing this for fun,” he replies and swings your legs onto his shoulders. He yanks at your hips to pull you towards his mouth, “C’mere, you.”

You squeak with giggles and Joel’s heart dances to the sound. However, your laughter switches to a moan the second his mouth touches you and covers nearly the whole of you. He doesn’t need to think about it anymore, has learned what you like by now from the countless times he has eaten your pussy like it was his last meal on this godforsaken earth. 

“Shit,” you gasp towards the ceiling and cross your ankles on the broadness of his back. He swears that he can hear it in your voice how your eyes roll back when his tongue caresses you in soft strokes. You taste so good that he moans into you, lapping up every drop of sticky sweetness with his tongue. 

“I know, baby. I got you,” he pauses briefly to suck on two of his fingers to wet them, following it up by turning his hand toward the ceiling and then sinking the digits inside of you. He expertly presses them upward, curling them into the spot that immediately has your hips jolting. 

“There,” you tell him with a whine, twisting your hands in the freshly-made bed sheets with a curse that he doesn’t know if is directed at him or the stupid fitted sheets slipping from the corners again, “Joel— ah, don’t stop!”

You gasp as he rubs into that spot over and over again, pairing it with his mouth circling in on the place you need it the most. Your clit is hard and sensitive, perfect for wrapping his mouth around and sucking until his cheeks hollow. 

“Oh God… Oh God,” your pitch rises as he works you open on his hand. At some point, you lose yourself enough in it to start tightening your legs around his back and shoulders. It makes your pelvis lift off the mattress until your back is beautifully arched, makes your cunt press firmly into his mouth for any friction. He grabs your thigh with his free hand for leverage and groans softly into you, taking the reward of sinful pleasure shooting straight to his cock from the way you fuck yourself on his fingers and mouth. 

Outside, the heat can’t compete with the warmth coming off of your body. He can hear another gust of wind blowing through the wind chimes around the porch, mixing with the sound of the city waking up and coming to life. He could die right here, he thinks, between your beautiful thighs with skin that smells just faintly of your homemade lavender oil but right now mostly of sex. It wouldn’t be bad, hell, the whole town would say that he died doing what he loved. 

A hand tangles in his hair now. You have relented on the sheets in case you’ll rip them, and Joel takes each painful sting of his follicles with pride as you balance on the edge. He sinks his fingers deeper, works his mouth faster to get you to tip the scales and come so hard that the world fades away from the both of you. 

It happens a moment later. You hold your breath for just a few seconds, completely quiet as you concentrate while the anticipation within your body crackles like electricity he swears, he can feel. 

Then you cry out in relief, throwing your head back and squeezing your thighs around his head so the sound in his good ear blurs as well. He can feel your muscles clamp down on his fingers, near-arrogant pride swelling in his chest from how skilled he is in making you feel good. 

He keeps his mouth on you as long as you allow him, the tip of his tongue flicking over your sensitive and goddamn pretty clit until you protest with a whimper. When he draws back, he keeps fucking you through the aftershocks with his fingers and dares look up at you, heart beating out of his chest and his dick hard enough that it is aching. His fingers are wet with your come, making your cunt squelch in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Attagirl,” he breaks the silence with a praise in his easy southern drawl, letting his fingers slip out finally, “You liked that, huh?”

You hum approvingly in your afterglow and he can’t get close to you fast enough. He crawls up from the floor, grunting at the way his knees remind him of his age, and moves up on the bed. He slots between your legs again like he was made to fit there, kneeling between your thighs. You look soft and dazed, chest still heaving from your high. 

“I love you. Every damn inch of you,” he murmurs softly. He looks at your face, how you smile with your eyes closed and your nose is slightly scrunched up as the sun dances over your features through the window. You’re glowing. Simple as that, no other word for it, like you will when carrying his kid, and he should tell you that you’re the only peace he has ever found. He should say it to you but he cowers each time. It feels more weighted than telling you that he loves you. 

“I know,” you whisper back eventually, eyes blinking open and your hands reaching for his belt. The metal clinks as you undo the buckle, a smug little grin on your face. 

“Alright, Han Solo,” he rolls his eyes for show and then moves over you, the devil in his eyes. He wipes his slick chin and lips on your face, making you laugh in the way that is enhanced by dopamine. He bumps his nose into yours, “Think you’re funny, huh?”

“Little bit,” you smile and get the fly open. You reach inside and wrap your fist around him, the playful air in the room settling immediately when you stroke him lazily, “But I’m just trying to get you to take your clothes off.”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans while you run your thumb over the slit of his dick, “You’re killing me. Gimme a sec of this.”

You give in and let him have this for a moment, stroking him with practiced flicks of your wrist until his hips start to rut so he can fuck your hand. He moans as he stares down between you, the muscles of his neck and shoulders wound so tight from trying not to come that it is a miracle his old bones haven’t snapped in half.

When you feel him near the edge, you squeeze around the base to halt his orgasm. You’ve started to breathe hard alongside him, clearly worked up by the sounds he is making for you. 

“Fuck me,” you beg him, your voice stutters as you frantically try using your free hand to yank his jeans down over his hips, “Please, Joel, I need you inside me.”

He thinks about how worked up you must be between your legs after holding out for so long. Knowing how wet you get from touching him like this, you must be soaked for him and ready to be taken care of like you deserve. It means that Joel doesn’t need to be told twice, already tugging his jeans and underwear just far down enough for what matters. 

However, despite the rush of getting undressed, he still takes the time to reach for one of the newly-fluffed pillows resting against the bed’s headboard. 

“Up,” he says without further explanation but you know what he wants to do, would probably trust him with your life even if he just gave you a look. When you lift your pelvis in the air without question, he slides the pillow underneath you so your hips are tilted just right for him to reach deep. 

Your legs are spread, your cunt practically served on a platter for him with how it is raised slightly in the air, squeezing around nothing as if begging for him. He looks down at your face as he runs the head of his cock through your folds, coating the very tip in a mix of precome and your shiny slick. 

You aren’t watching him though, too busy chewing on your bottom lip with your eyes glued to how the head of his cock sinks into your wet heat. When he starts stretching you with his thick girth, your mouth falls open in a soft moan. 

He places a hand just above your mound, holds you there while he bottoms out with a growl. Then he rocks his hips once then twice, setting up a pace that gives the both of you time to indulge in each other. You are snug around his dick as he fucks you, slick heat that makes his skin tingle and his breath stutter. The remnants of a southern gentleman in him know that he shouldn’t compare, but no other woman has ever made him unravel so much during sex, has ever made him feel so powerful and powerless in bed. 

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he demands to regain some form of control, staring down at your face contorted with pleasure. 

“You,” you gasp feebly, “It’s yours.”

When he fucks you like this, you are his. He doesn’t need to second guess this fact, knows it just from the way your bodies are connected like they know it too. 

He reaches for your thighs, his knuckles going white as he lifts them onto his hips. You lock around him by instinct and force him forward, so he has to brace himself with a hand beside your head. The angle makes him go deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing at your cervix and your greedy cunt flutters like it wants to do the impossible and pull him further in. 

“Look at me,” he says in a voice that reveals just how good you feel to him, watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, “Say it like you mean it.”

You stare up into his eyes, your brows furrowed as the tip of his cock drags along the front of your walls. He is in there deep, focused on coming just where it matters. Meanwhile, you have to concentrate on forming words, needing to start over several times with how close you are to babbling.

“It’s– ah, fuck. It’s your pussy, Joel. I’m yours,” you cry for him, your pitch close to, but not quite, the one of a wounded animal. The difference is the lack of hesitation; you are both so sure of each other that it makes him ache all over and ignore the sweaty strain on his old back. 

Your hands scramble to touch him but you make a noise of complaint when his chest is covered by his shirt, the barrier a nuisance when you want all of him. He shed the flannel earlier along with his jacket, but right now, it is the soft fabric of his t-shirt that you’re pulling at to get to his skin. 

He dips down to let you pull it over his head, it slipping down his arm unceremoniously until he can grab it with his fist and toss it over his back. Your trembling hands find his skin immediately and it makes you sigh with relief. Your nails drag through the hairs on his chest, leaving red streaks in their wake until you grab the flesh of his sides. 

He sees how your eyes roam over his torso, where scars tell stories of a life much more complicated than this. You have loved each one of them so many times that he doesn’t feel insecure about them anymore, have traced them with your fingers and kissed them enough to get him to believe that he is more than the events that brought them. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you say softly and settle a hand at the back of his neck, drawing him into your arms. He braces himself on his forearms, kisses you like he isn’t inside of you, and has missed you for a weeklong patrol, still taken aback when you say things like that. 

“Sweet girl,” he whispers against your lips and you whimper as his cock pulses inside of your body. You look at him with fiery love and lust, the stare so intense he knows that this will be over soon because he can’t hold back anymore. 

His next thrusts are slower but rougher, harder and insistent in touching the parts inside you that make you barrel towards the edge. He can feel the difference between all the other times he’s been buried in your cunt to the hilt and this time. While the air is still thick with labored breaths and whispered cries for a higher power he doesn’t know if he believes, this is not just sex; this is about taking the very best parts of you and mixing them with the leftover parts of him that he has found aren’t fatally broken because of you. 

The sound of his name pulls him back to you. His pelvis has aligned with yours with each rock of his hips, the spot just above the base of his cock grinding into your twitching clit. 

“I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna come,“ you choke on air, “Please, Joel. Don’t stop, baby.”

“I know, honey,” he moans at the way you flutter around his length, voice cracking at how you feel better than a Texan summer. You’re so wet it sounds filthy when he fucks you, barely pulling out anymore and letting you soak his dick while he switches to simply grinding. For a moment, he is even scared that it’ll set him off before you’ve had your second fill, “Jesus, yeah, I can feel it.” 

Your orgasm hits like a runaway train. The hand resting on the back of his neck slides down to squeeze his shoulder, fingers denting his skin as you seek something to cling onto in your state of ecstasy. You come so hard that air is knocked out of him from how tightly your cunt grips him, his whole body shuddering like he’s the one losing it.

He presses a lingering kiss to your gorgeous neck while your head is thrown back, feeling the rapid beats of your heart under his lips. Your free hand cradles him like you’re meant to be a mother already, making it irresistible for him not to inhale your scent of lavender from the spot where your neck meets your shoulder.  

“You feel too good, baby, ’m not gonna last,” he grits out against your sweat-slicked skin, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

“Don’t want you to last, want you to put a baby in me. Gimme a baby, Joel,” you beg him and bury your nose in his temple. You squeeze him tighter in your arms, whining from oversensitivity as his thrusts start to intensify toward the end, “Wanna make you a daddy, baby, please, I’m ready.”

Daddy. The word coming from your mouth makes Joel snap. He pushes his hips against yours and comes with a groan, the head of his cock flush against the very back of your cunt. In his life, he has witnessed wildfires and his climax spreads through his lower belly just as fast. His breath is stuck in his lungs as he fills you to the brim, his tongue wanting to say filth but only your name comes out. It’s good enough to make a grown man tremble without remorse in the embrace of his woman. 

After a beat, his body sags from exhaustion. When you let go of his shoulder to run your hand over your hair, your nails have created little crescent marks on his body. He grunts as he rolls off of you in fear of crushing you underneath his weight. You whimper at the loss, a few heavy drops of his seed landing on the pillow still beneath your hips. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs as a haze settles over the both of you, the sweat on his skin turning slightly chilly. He holds his arm out to invite you into the space that always holds you perfectly and you oblige without a word. He’d lay here forever with you if he had to, would embrace being trapped here with you until they had to send out a search party. 

He is still breathing hard when you lay your head on his chest, draping your arm across his body whose stamina isn’t what it used to be. You don’t comment on it though, simply hold him while the sheets get dirty again from the mess between your thighs. While the world fades away around you, Joel decides that he’ll help you do the extra load of laundry. 

Without thinking, his fingers absentmindedly start tracing up and down your forearm in a soothing motion. You swing a tired leg over his body in response, attempting to get impossibly closer despite already practically melting together with him in the post-orgasmic heat you share. 

Outside, a young child shrieks with excited laughter and Joel nearly tears up from how new the sound seems even though it is a daily occurrence in the little town. He must know if you feel the same. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks and breaks the quiet, still caressing your arm gently. 

“Just thinking,” you reply and splay your hand on his chest, brushing your thumb over his nipple without thinking. You kiss him where you can reach. 

“About?” He pushes, looking down at the top of your head as if he can read your emotions like that. You probably could with him. 

You crane your neck to stare at him with a little tired smile, “Babies. You. How much I love you. I love you.”

“I know,” he answers smugly, arching an eyebrow with a smile. He thinks another confession of his devotion might set his chest alight and right now, you don’t deserve to have his guilt winning.

“You asshole,” you dissolve into a burst of laughter while his smile turns wolfish, your body curling in on itself on top of his chest. He loves your laugh, the way you nearly snort and feel embarrassed by it. It makes him settle a hand on the base of your skull and drag you into the sort of kiss from a person who’s learning to trust joy again.

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