#be able to really sort through my emotions

[bluewxrld07]

Soap (3)

Lando Norris X F!Reader X Max Verstappen

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Warning(s): angst, tension, flangst, fluff

A/N: TAGLIST IS FULL!!!! I won't be able to tag anymore of you on it, I'm sorry, loves!! I wrote this entire fic listening to Olivia Rodrigo guys so have so much fun lol. I love how much you guys are loving this fic and my writing, it truly means the world!! Enjoy this for now, friends :)

Things had been different.

As normal as they could be now, in the moment, but still different.

People had begun to notice that Lando and Y/N had not been seen with one another.

The pair had never really called it quits, but they both truly knew it was done the second she walked out that door at the Canadian GP. That's what hurt the most.

Lando knew better than most that she would come around when she was ready. That she would say her piece when she felt it was a better time. He knew better than to push her. He knew that now at least. It didn't stop the constant messaging he did the night of their fight, he couldn't help it.

His emotions got the best of him that night, and they continued to get the best of him. When it came to the after-party post the F1 movie premiere, he couldn't stop thinking about Lewis' words.

It didn't stop him from messaging Max that night of the premiere, asking if it were true.

You have a lot of fuckin nerve to be sending me a message right now

That's all he received from the Redbull driver, nothing more, nothing less. Lando didn't know if he should be worried or have no right to be upset knowing what he knows now.

He didn't even think Max would send a response back. If anything, he expected a middle finger emoji if Max did respond.

He definitely couldn't be mad in this very moment he woke up in.

A sigh left his lips as he got dressed in his hotel room, pulling on his clothes for the flight back to Monaco. Too tired and distraught to even worry about the state of his hair, throwing a hat on over it with his hood.

He grabbed his things, setting down a note on the nightstand. His eyes stayed on the familiar blonde head, Magui, who was his ex-girlfriend, who lay bare on his bed, fast asleep.

Without a second look, he had made his way out the door, and out towards the car waiting for his arrival.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

There was a knock on Y/N's bathroom door, the girl mumbling a 'come in' not too long, Max peering his head in. He looked at her in amusement, opening the door wider as he stood there leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N sat on her counter, legs criss-crossed in front of the sink, hair sitting in curlers as she was doing up her makeup, one of her playlists playing softly in the back. She looks back at him through the mirror, a soft and genuine smile forming on her lips. "What?"

He shook his head, snapping out of the daze he caught himself in as he looked at her with his arms crossed.

"Nothing. Do you want anything while I'm out?" Max asks her, and she nods, looking back at him.

"Can you get more bubbly water?" her voice softly responds, Max nodding at her. "The orange cream?"

She nods with a hum. "Anything else, or just that?"

"No, just that. I don't need anything else for now, especially since we have to leave for Austria in a few days," she explains, turning her head back to finish doing her makeup.

"Got it," he hums before walking up behind her. His arms wrap around her waist, causing her to flinch lightly, the action not going ignored by Max. He frowns.

Ever since they'd gotten home, she had been acting differently. Acting off, less touchy, more faded.

That was almost two weeks ago.

Max hated it. He hated this new her; it wasn't like her at all. He could tell she craved to be touched, to be shown affection in some sort of way. To hug everyone she came into contact with, because it was a normal reflex of hers.

He had watched how she would go up to hug some of the crew, only to hesitate and make it look like she was just stretching instead of pulling them into hugs.

Or when Max would come by to watch a movie with her, to keep her distracted from falling into the social media craze going on.

He could see how her body would twitch to reach out for him across the couch. Max is only sitting far from her to give her space, to not overwhelm her.

Then, when he would finally give up, pull her into his embrace, he would feel the instant relaxation her body would. Like she was melting into his own body.

This wasn't her. This wasn't Y/N.

Instead of arguing, as now wasn't the best time for it, he placed a kiss on her head and hugged her tightly. Careful to not mess her concentration up as she did her eyeshadow.

"I'll be back in a bit, yeah? Then off to La Rascasse?" he says, his eyes connecting with hers in the mirror.

"Sounds good to me," she agrees, Max pressing one more kiss to her head before leaving the bathroom. He heads towards her hallway to slip on his shoes and grab his keys.

The house becomes silent after he leaves, Y/N feeling weird now that she is on her own. Her music was playing softly in the background of the bathroom, echoing along the walls. Something in her body felt off when Max wasn't there.

Y/N hums to herself as she leans back to look at her eye makeup from a distance, nodding once to herself in satisfaction before moving over to put on her lashes.

As she begins to reach over the counter to grab her lash supplies, her phone began to buzz next to her.

She looks down at the name, only frowning as she reads the name across the screen. She debates with herself on answering. Deciding to slide it over to answer.

Y/N brings up the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Y/N, hey."

"Hey Charles, what's going on? You okay?"

"I'm alright, I just needed to make you aware of something," he says slowly, his tone sounding unnerving. "I think it's right to let you know, so you can sort out the options."

She frowns at his words.

"Um, yeah, okay. What does that mean?"

"Have you spoken to Lando?"

Hearing his name was easier than it was a couple of weeks prior. Y/N not freezing as soon as she hears his name off Charles' lips.

"He's been trying to message me. I just don't respond. I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."

She hears him sigh on the other end. She can imagine he is probably running a hand over his face as the breath sounds muffled. "Well, this might be a deal breaker. I think you deserve to know, in case things change between you two."

"Charles, I love you, but please spit it out. I'm not going to break more than I already have."

"Y/N," he starts, as if he is trying to find the words. "He's been seeing Magui again. They left together after the premiere, and then she's been around our group a lot more."

Y/N doesn't really know how to react in that moment. She thought it would break her to hear the news, but she didn't feel her insides churn. She didn't feel like screaming, just felt like her throat went dry.

The girl hadn't even noticed how long it had been until Charles said her name, making her clear her throat and shake her head slightly.

"You okay?" he asks.

She didn't know at that moment. She wasn't exactly peachy, but she wasn't crying on the floor, unable to breathe. Not like she would've been if it were two weeks ago when she heard the news.

"Fine. Yeah, I'm fine. Just don't really know what to say."

"I'm sorry. I just figured you needed to know. Alex and I really thought it would be wrong if you found out by her being seen around the paddock one day," he admits, making her nod with a hum. She began to pinch at her skin not too long after. "I know this is probably a dumb question to ask, but does this mean you guys are over? Like really over?"

Hearing the question in real words made it feel surreal. It made it sound official. Not that they ever really did vocalize it, but deep down, they both had known. She had known she wouldn't have been able to act like it never happened. Like he never said what he did.

"No. I don't think so," she finally says, pinching her thighs as she bites her lip.

Most would've said she was being dramatic or inconsiderate. What they didn't know was that it was way deeper than people knew.

She was never allowed to show her feelings, express them, or talk about them growing up with her grandparents. They absolutely hated it; they always said it would make her look weak.

It wasn't until she had met Max that she realized showing and sharing emotions was not a bad thing to do. It was a good thing. He was the reason she showed more love, more affection, more emotion with others.

Max showed her it was okay to be herself. He was never ashamed of her.

Lando had been skeptical of it at the start, shrugging it off. Always asking her why she was so touchy. Y/N never thought anything of it, never looked more into the way he gave her weird looks when she explained why.

When Max never questioned it. Not once. He embraced it, which to this day still shocks her, as he is not the type of guy who likes showing affection like that. He liked keeping the mysterious and dark persona.

That's why people said she was like the sunshine to him. She never had to hesitate around Max. When he was mad, he never pushed her away.

Always made her feel like she was enough.

Oh fuck.

Charles and she didn't talk for much longer after that, only asking when and where they would be once they got to the club later that evening. Y/N's mind racing as time passed.

It wasn't long before Max was back, the girl hearing him announce his presence when walking through the door.

"Schat, where'd you go?" he asks, Y/N realizing he had walked by the bathroom.

"Bedroom! Trying to put on my dress," she says more to herself as she huffs while trying to zip the side of it up her torso. "Neuken, come on," she mutters to herself, her tongue sticking out as she tries to zip up the side.

Max walks in, chuckling as he watches her struggle. He couldn't help but take in how pretty she looked in that moment.

The dress fit her form perfectly, despite her curses and arguments with the zipper; he thought she was glowing. "Wil je hulp lieverd?" (You want help, dear?) he chuckles at her, earning a knowing look from her.

"What do you think, wijsneus?"

Max puts his hands up in surrender before making his way over to her, bending over slightly to be at the height of her issue.

"Arms up, mooi meisje," he says softly, his head now closer to her own as she finds herself looking at him. She does as she's told, lifting her arms up as his hands smoothly help the zipper glide up her skin.

Goosebumps rose on her skin as he finished, Max keeping his eyes on the zipper in concentration.

"You sure love to stare, don't you?" he jokes, earning an eyeball from her. Max chuckles, hearing her swear at him in Dutch. Max looks down at the ground next to them, seeing her shoes sitting there.

Max goes to bend down, grabbing the heels before turning back towards her, fully kneeling in front of her. She frowns.

"What're you doing?" she asks. "You don't have to help me, I can do it."

Max tuts at her as she tries to grab her heels from him.

"Lemme help," he offers, giving her a look. She shoots one back.

"I don't wanna be-"

"I swear if you say that you don't want to be suffocating one more time, we're going to have bigger issues," his voice more stern and serious in that moment. She doesn't miss the way his eyes had something fiery behind them.

"But Max-"

"Enough."

"Max-"

"Y/N I said enough, liefje."

Y/N nods slowly, knowing better then to test Max's patience, as it was something that wore thing very quickly with him.

He pats his shoulders. "Put your hands here for support," he tells her while leaning down to grab her left foot and place her heel on. Y/N softly places her hands on him, keeping her grip somewhat firm. He began to wrap the straps around her calves, Y/N not missing the way his fingertips softly would come into contact with her skin.

It made it feel different. Weird. It was a feeling she wasn't complaining about, that was for sure.

He sets her leg down, then grabs her other foot to do the same process. Y/N feels herself gulping every so often as she finds herself craving his touch more and more.

She told herself it was because she was touch-starved. She wasn't as touchy anymore as she once was. It was the itch coming back as she tried to hold back from being who she normally was.

Max finishes tying the straps together, his eyes looking up at hers to see her looking down at him with an expression he could read better than she could.

Y/N was aroused. She didn't even know it. He could tell.

So instead of saying some snide comment, he decides to play into it. His eyes never left her own as he brought his lips down to the inside of her thigh by her knee, letting them run featherlight against her skin. He then decided to place a slow and light kiss onto the skin just above the inside of her knee.

He doesn't miss the way her chest moved up and down a bit quicker than normal, Max letting a small smirk form on his lip as he pulled away. He stood up shortly after, placing a hand on her waist as he placed a kiss on her head.

"Let's get going before we hear it from Daniel for being late."

She stood there dumbfounded, unsure of what had just happened. Her body tingling in a way she was not used to feeling. Like she wanted more of not just someone's touch, but Max's touch.

What was happening?

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Once they had arrived, Max didn't hesitate to grab her hand tightly to weave through the buzzing crowds inside the darkened atmosphere.

Y/N kept her distance when they approached the table, only doing small hugs with everyone she greeted. Not wanting to overstep in their space.

It wasn't until Daniel had come up to hug her, frowning when she gave him a shy side-hug. He shook his head. "No, you bring it all in. Come here," he chuckles to her, pulling Y/N in for the biggest bear hug. She felt herself relax as her arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing him back just as much as he did her.

Max kept his gaze on her as he watched her face contort from anxious to content in a matter of seconds.

Once Daniel had broken away from her, she didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around Charles in a tight hug. A Y/N kind of hug. Charles didn't hesitate to wrap her up in his embrace, humming with a laugh.

"There's the Y/N I know," he jokes as he pulls away. "Always sharing love with everyone. How it should be."

He nods at her slowly in understanding, Y/N giving him a sheepish smile.

"Wait, did Charles get a Y/N hug? Move over, it's my turn!" Lewis jokes before cutting in to let Y/N wrap her arms around him tightly.

"I've missed these. It hasn't been the same," he groans. Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Such a drama queen."

Lewis pulls away and looks at her. "I'm serious. Your physical affection is like the entire grid's depression cure. Never change."

Y/N lets his words sink in, nodding at him before going to sit down on one of the couches next to Max. He leaned over to her.

"See? Everyone loves it. Loves you," he mumbles into her ear. "Get that nonsense out of your head. Own who you are," he assures her, pulling back to give her a knowing look. She just stares back at him, his closeness making her heart beat faster.

"I'll try."

"And trying is enough."

She smiles at him before he kisses her temple, turning to start a conversation with Daniel and George. Y/N had ended up talking with Alexandra and Kika for a bit, her mind staying distracted as they conversed.

The night had dragged on, filled with dancing, drinks, trips to the DJ booth and appetizers being ordered to their section.

Y/N had felt relaxed for the first time in days.

She had loosened up enough to go dance with the girls, feeling her throat drying up from the lack of water in her system.

Her hand finds Kika's, squeezing it to get her attention. "I'm going to go get some water, and then step outside," she tells her, watching her friend nod with a smile.

Y/N went and grabbed a water from one of the bartenders, then made her way towards the balcony where a staircase led to the rooftop. She stuck with standing out on the balcony, not wanting everyone to send out a search party if she was gone for too long.

She let herself lean over the balcony, somewhat resting her aching feet in the heels she wore. A sigh left her lips as the wind blew into her face.

"You look gorgeous," a low voice booms behind her, causing her to whip her head around. Her breathing stilled.

Lando stood there with his hands in his pockets, his button-up halfway undone, and a pair of black jeans donning his legs. He had a somewhat nervous and sheepish expression on his face, like he was preparing himself for her to not give him the time of day.

When she said nothing and turned back to the view in front of her, Lando took that as his chance to take the spot next to her.

He leaned over the railing, lacing both of his hands together as his elbows propped him over it slightly. He let out a huff, his eyes searching the view in front of them.

"How have you been?" he asked her, keeping his gaze ahead.

She nods slowly, pursing her lips together. "Good."

Lando hums with a nod. "That's good."

"What do you want, Lando?" she asks softly, her tone sounding defeated as she begins to pinch at her skin. He lets his head fall to look at his hands.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he starts, hearing her scoff. "I know it's late, first off, and that you don't want to give me the time of day, second off. I just couldn't keep it contained any longer."

"Is that it?"

"No," he sighs. "I regret what I said. Every single day since then. You're not anything I said. You're the complete opposite."

She looks at him, seeing his jaw clench and unclench before he turns his head to look at her. "You're loving. You're caring. You give love to everyone around you because that's just who you are. You're a giver."

Her gaze was blank, but he could tell she was preventing herself from lighting him up. Because she was better than that. Even though they both knew he deserved it. "I was angry and mad and upset about how the race ended for me. I took it out on you, and that's not okay. I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry," he says, his tone uneven and cracking every so often as he turns his whole body towards hers.

Y/N crosses her arms, feeling her guard slip lightly. Then the reminder of the phone call with Charles earlier echoes in her brain. She looks down at the ground for a moment. She then looks back up at him.

"Thank you. For apologizing," she starts, her voice like silk. Lando feeling his body physically relaxing. "But you chose to wrap yourself around Magui for the time being."

Lando felt his face falter, his stomach drop to his ass. He frowns. "How-how did you-"

"Charles thought I should be aware. In case things would have changed between us," she admits. "I get that you were feeling a lot of guilt and regret. But seeing her after what she's done to you showed me something else in you. I can't trust that."

Lando nods at her words, letting his head fall to look at his feet.

"I do care about you Lando. I always will, that'll never change," she assures him. "But I need someone who won't make me question my worth when things get tough. Or say things in the heat of the moment that cause breaks like these."

He nods. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I hope you know that."

She nods, giving him a shy and sad smile. "I know that now. But you can't turn back time."

"I know," he agrees. "Can I at least hug you? It's been killing me."

Y/N stops herself from chuckling at his words, nodding slowly. Lando doesn't waste another second slithering his arms around her waist to pull her into his embrace. She wraps her arms around his neck, the affection feeling different between them now. More platonic than romantic. "I hope she treats you better this time," Y/N admits as they pulled away.

He shrugs. "Seems like she's changed. I don't want to take any risks yet."

The pair soon makes their way back inside, Y/N looking around for a familiar Dutch driver. She somewhat feels her body react before her emotions, stopping in her tracks.

He was across the bar, talking and chatting closely with his ex girlfriend, whom was getting closer than Y/N liked to admit.

She didn't understand why it was making her insides churn. Why she was glaring at the two long enough to make Lando chuckle at her expression.

"I wouldn't stress about that," Lando says, making her snap out of her daze and frown at him.

"What do you mean? Worry about what?"

Lando laughs harder at her dumbfounded state. He motions towards Max and Kelly. "That. The pair you're basically digging graves for with your eyes."

Y/N shook her head in confusion. "I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Lando can see the genuine confusion in her eyes, the Brit realizing she hasn't come to her senses yet. He knew Max would probably kill him when he found out the next thing he let slip before he could control it.

"Max is so in love with you," he admits, making them both widen their eyes. Lando for being shocked that he just said that, Y/N for hearing the words that left his mouth.

"I- He- What?" she sputters, Lando groaning as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Well fuck," Lando chuckles to himself nervously. He then sighs in defeat. "No going back now. But yeah, Max loves you. Always has."

Y/N shook her head. "No. No way. Good joke," she chuckles before walking back towards their section of the room. Lando followed after her as she marched her way towards Daniel and Lewis.

The pair smiled warmly at her, then they frowned, seeing the determination and shock on her face.

"You alright?" Daniel asks once she gets to them.

"Is it true?" she asks, the boys looking at her confused.

It wasn't long until Lando came up behind her, a somewhat anxious look on his face. Lewis scowls at him. "What did you say to her?" he whips, making her put her hands up in defense.

"He didn't mean to, don't yell at him," she defends, not missing the way shock is all over their faces. "Although he might need help escaping after Max finds out."

"Okay, seriously, what did you tell her? Max already has a target on your head," Daniel groans while rubbing a hand over his face.

"Max is in love with me?"

Lewis choked on his drink, Daniel choked on air, and Lando rubbed the back of his neck. The two older boys look at Lando. "I'd get a head start on running if I were you," Lewis says, Lando letting out a groan.

"So it's true?" Y/N asks, her tone softer as she crossed her arms.

They look back down at her before Lewis sighs with a nod. "Yeah, it's true."

Y/N didn't know what to think, or much less what to do in that moment.

A part of her was confused, while a bigger part of her felt something different. Almost as if it were relief. Like hearing those words brought her entire body into a calmer realm.

"I think you made her short-circuit," Daniel says as he leans over to Lewis. Y/N gives them a look. She then turns to Lando, putting a hand on his arm.

"They're right," she says with a nod. "You're gonna want to get a headstart on running right now."

"Y/N!" Lando groans while running both hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry! It's true!"

"She's right, mate. Espcially after he almost bashed your head into the wall at the dinner last week-"

"He did what?!" She snaps, the boys all flinching at her tone, the dutch accent coming out more evidently in that moment.

"To be fair he deserved it after everything that happened on race day," Lewis says while pointing at Lando, whom agrees shockingly enough.

"Besides the point," Daniel cuts in. "What're you thinking? What's happening in that brain of yours?"

She shook her head. "Everything. Nothing. I don't even know," she sputters out, rubbing her forehead. Her head snaps over to Max, whom was still happily talking and laughing with Kelly.

Before she realized it, her insides began to churn again, eyes squinting harshly their way.

"Wow, jealous much?" Lewis jokes, making her smack his arm.

"I don't get jealous."

"You do," Lando admits. "You are right now."

She glares at him. "Shouldn't you be halfway across Europe by now?"

His face fell at her words, and Daniel and Lewis both snickered at her words. He rolled his eyes a second later, putting a hand on her torso and squeezing it lightly.

She sees Kelly's hand reach up to caress his shoulder, which made the boys all mumble out 'uh-oh's. Y/N decides to fully turn her body towards their direction, crossing her arms while keeping her stare directly on them.

"Are you gonna glare them to death?" Daniel jokes, Lewis and Lando immediately catching onto what she was doing.

"Just wait for it," Lando trails off.

A few moments later, Max chuckled at something Kelly said. He turned his head towards their section while his eyes searched, then immediately froze when he caught Y/N staring.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"You Dutch women are scary," Daniel chuckles while shaking his head. "How does he sense that?"

Lewis chuckles. "It's the face everyone fears on the grid. You just sense it before you know she's there. It's scary being on the receiving side of her stare."

Max's entire face fell, shame contorting into an ashamed expression. His expression soon hardened, then darkened fully when he caught Lando standing next to her. He was standing way too close for his liking.

What made Max drop everything he was doing, Kelly not even existing in his mind anymore, or in front of him for that matter, was seeing Lando's hand on her waist.

Max didn't even acknowledge Kelly after that moment, just leaving her mid-sentence as he made his way to the group.

Y/N stood her ground, not flinching as he got closer.

"Why're you near her?" Max's voice boomed as he got closer to Lando, but he almost tripped over his own feet when she stepped in front of Lando. His entire demeanor softens, but then goes to complete embarrassment as he meets her glare.

"He and I are fine. We sorted it out. Don't start," she explains. Max was about to argue with her. Until she raised her brows, as if saying, 'try me'. He huffs, not hesitating to nod at her words.

He then glares back at Lando. "You're still in deep shit with me," he points out, Lando pursing his lip with a nod.

"He's about to be in deeper shit," Daniel mumbles with a snort, Lewis smacking his arm hard. Max frowns as Y/N gives Daniel the same scary look.

"Not funny. Sorry."

"What's he mean?" Max asks.

"Doesn't matter," she rejects, shaking her head. "What were you and-"

"Don't change the subject, what're they talking about? What did Lando do?" he argues back.

Y/N shook her head. "We're not doing this here."

Max turns his gaze back to Lando, hardening as he looks. Lando leaned to Y/N before squeezing her side. "That's my cue," he says. "Good luck."

With that, Lando's pace quickens as he leaves the space while Y/N lets out an internal groan at Max. "Do you always have to go Mad Max on people?"

"When it comes to you, yes," he says with no hesitation in his tone. "Now what are those two talking about?"

She looks over at Daniel and Lewis for help, the two boys putting their hands up in defense. "I'm gonna go find Charles," Lewis says before leaving.

"I'm gonna get another drink," Daniel says, leaving shortly after Lewis.

She lets her mouth drop in awe, muttering a 'klootzakken' as she watches them leave.

Her gaze turned back up to Max, who stood towering over her. His look hard and only focused on her. She now very aware of how close he was.

"Let's go then, shall we?" he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Fine."

It wasn't long until they were outside of the venue, Max helping her into his car before shutting the door behind her and making his way over to his side.

The first few minutes in the car were silent, Max's jaw clenching as Y/N kept pinching at her wrists.

It didn't take an ounce of hesitation for Max to reach over with his free hand and lace it with hers. "Pinch it," he tells her, Y/N looking at him for a second before sighing.

"Why were you with her?" she asks softly, Max taking note of how defeated she sounded.

He didn't hesitate to answer. "She was telling me about P. How she was doing," he explains. "Then she told me how much her and P missed having me around."

That made her scoff. "Yeah, she misses using you for her advantage," she says more to herself, but loud enough for him to hear.

He smacks her thigh. "No need to be jealous, schat. Enough of that."

"I'm not jealous. Why does everyone think I'm jealous?" She groans, Max trying to hide the amused and smug smile on his face.

"Because you are. Your telltale signs aren't very discreet, honing."

"Because I'm not jealous," she scoffs, keeping her gaze out the window.

"So if I went home with her, you wouldn't have been upset with me?" he tests, making her movements on his hand stop. Max chuckles lightly to himself as he squeezes her hand.

"Exactly."

"Whatever."

Max frowns at her tone, turning to look at her for a second. "Hey, no. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Shut down," he says before looking back at the road. "I would never go home with her. She's not the one I want. She never was."

Y/N stays quiet, knowing she couldn't trust her emotions. Everything heightening as every moment passed.

It was quiet for another moment, before Max spoke up once more.

"So are you going to tell me what they were all talking about earlier?" he trails off.

"I don't think you're gonna want to hear that. Trust me," she chuckles while shaking her head.

"Try me, honing."

She huffs. "If I tell you, then you can't kill any of them. Not even Lando."

Y/N didn't miss the way his jaw clenched and eyes hardened at Lando's name, only nodding after. "You have my word."

She looks at him, her fingers playing with his hand once more.

"Are you in love with me?"

Her body is jolted forward in a harsh move, due to Max slamming on the brakes for a split second at her words. The tires are heard screeching as the car comes to a halt.

Y/N looks behind them, checking to make sure he didn't just accidentally brake-check someone. Taking the clear sign of no car honking behind him as the first hint, then seeing nobody was behind them for blocks.

She then whips her head over to Max, whose eyes are now wide with shock, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other is now clutching onto her waist for safety.

"So I'm guessing by the reaction you just had that it's true," she says slowly, watching his face contort into all sorts of emotions.

He stayed silent, Y/N seeing his Adam's apple bob a few times before he began to accelerate the car once again. "Max," she says. He stays silent still. "Max Emilian."

"You weren't supposed to find out. Not like this at least."

She frowns at his words. "Elaborate, please? When was I gonna find out?"

She watched as he pursed his lips before biting them every so often.

"Max if you don't start talking-"

"I didn't want you to find out. Not with everything fresh with Lando," he admits, shaking his head as he pulls the car into the apartment garage. "I didn't want you thinking I was taking advantage of you when I just wanted to be there, just as much as you are with me."

Her face softened, seeing that it really was making him feel guilty. Seeing that she had to find out amid everything she had been dealing with for the last few weeks.

Before she can ask him anything further, he puts the car in park and whips his door open before closing it with a slam.

She doesn't miss the way he still makes his way around the car to her side, opening her door softly as he helps her out. She could tell he was ready to murder the boys, but he kept his composure around her.

They walked up to her apartment quietly, the tension rising as they got closer to her door. Y/N practically being able to feel Max's frustration radiate off his skin. She unlocked her door, walking inside as he followed shortly after.

He shuts the door behind him before huffing, his eyes looking to see Y/N standing there with her arms crossed. Her expression basically begging for answers.

Max rubs his forehead. "I'm not getting out of this am I?"

"Begin niet, Max." (Don't start, Max.)

He could tell by her tone that this wasn't the time to joke.

The man lets out a sigh, letting his eyes gaze into her own across the room. "Yes," he chokes out. "I'm in love with you. So in love that it hurts my chest."

Y/N lets her stance somewhat falter, her arms uncrossing. "Oh Max," she softly answers, seeing the pain in his eyes. Like he felt guilty for telling her.

"I have since the day you stood up for me at the Go-kart championship with my dad," he chuckles dryly to himself. "It was that day I told myself this girl has some spark in her. Playing with fire with no remorse. She's it for me," he half-heartedly jokes, but meaning every word. "I'm in love with you to the point where all I care about seeing is you happy. Even if that's not with me."

Her brows furrow. "What?"

He shrugs in defeat. "When Lando came to me after your first date with him, I could tell he was good for you. Same with you for him. Yeah it hurt like a fucking scooter to the ankle, but you were happy. That's what I cared about," he explains. "So if you two decide to fix things, and it makes you happy, then I'll be okay with that. I'll still probably give him a run for his money every so often, but if that's what you want."

Y/N was about to speak up, but then he says one more thing to her.

"I didn't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you. Of stealing you away after what you went through. I'm better than that, but I didn't like seeing you not be yourself. I hated it and hated him for that. I wanted to be there giving you the support and tough love you needed to heal and make the right decision," he admits once more. "So if he's still it for you, then I'll live with that. He just better not ruin his chances again."

Y/N stays silent for a moment, just in case he had anything further to say, soon seeing he was finished. She kept her arms crossed.

"You know, I have been fighting with myself all week. About going back to Lando. Working things out," she starts. Max feels his heart beat faster every second that passes. "But then there were small things I noticed. From not just these past few weeks, but the last decade. Little things you've done, no questions asked."

He just keeps his gaze on her. "When I was on the phone with Charles today, I came to the realization of why I've always been picky with my relationships," she says, laughing dryly to herself. "Because they weren't you."

Max feels his mouth open just slightly, as if giving him the lightest breath of fresh air from her words.

"Liefje." (Darling)

She nods, more to herself as if confirming it to her mind. She had feelings for Max. She wanted Max.

"I can't promise to jump into things right now," she adds. "But it doesn't mean I'm not willing to try seeing where this goes with you. I really want to. More than I think I can admit."

Max smiles are her softly. "I can work with slow."

She smiles at him as he advances towards her. He cautiously wraps his arms around her waist, watching her soften into his touch instead of freezing or jolting at it.

It was a work in progress.

"Can I at least kiss you? Or is that too fast?"

"Kus me maar, jij zachtaardige reus." (Kiss me, you gentle giant) she chuckles, watching his smile grow slowly as he leans in.

He didn't waste a second longer

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Ahhh, that's part three! How're we feeling? What's the vibe for everyone? Satisfied? Lemme know, I'm intrigued hehe!!

She's a long one, but she is here! I hope you all enjoyed!

I may or may not have an alternate ending for Lando in the works?? What do we think??

Vote below ;)

See you soon, friends!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Permanent taglist : (Please message me if you'd like to be removed!!!)

@nickie-amore , @tylerstacobell , @piceous21 , @ariesandwolves , @lifeonawhim , @formulawhore , @asterooidsblog , @staple-your-mouth , @sinfully-yoursss , @smileyshaven , @midnightsaugust , @astrlape , @relijanka , @jooooooooo-cycycy16 , @cherryhazee , @nina481 , @lighttsoutlewis , @suns3treading , @areej003 , @dramallama9 , @putherup , @green--beanie , @footyball , @callsign-mirage , @kearasaltynalapepper , @idkwahr , @teti-menchon0604 , @footyball , @avengersgirllorianna , @4norrislove , @boocmarks , @evilive , @gulphulp , @hopeless--romamtic , @f1fantasys , @ccupidbow , @ini3103 , @vinylphwoar , @ernegren , @mel164 , @lemon-stvrrr , @behindmygreyeyes , @sillyfreakfanparty , @flowersandalll , @paankhaleyaaar , @ushygushybaby , @lifeonawhim , @themasqueradereveler13 , @vdkah8ter , @p1astrizz , @rickybobbydan , @sparklepiastri

[mysteryshoptls]

Ortho Shroud Chat Lines

Same as the King of the Underworld.

Ortho: You're curious about my hair? It's made of flames, just like my brother's. Ortho: I hear it's the same as the King of the Underworld, too. Ortho: And his even turned red whenever he got angry! Ortho: My hair is managed by a program, so by changing the gas composition, I can make it any color I want. Ortho: Ehehe, it's so cool, don'tcha think～?

A Gamer's Soul

Ortho: Hey, Prefect, what sort of games do you like? We should play together sometime in my dorm. Ortho: We can play any type of game. Ortho: Even if my brother doesn't own the game, I'm pretty sure there'll be at least one person in the dorm who'll have it. Ortho: Ignihyde's filled with a bunch of guys who love computer games and board games. Ortho: They say that the King of the Underworld also planned his strategies on a chessboard, so maybe he liked games too. Ortho: Maybe that's why those with a gamer's soul end up in Ignihyde!

Transform into Anything

Ortho: Oh man, your heart's racing... You must've just come from PE class. Ortho: Maan, you're so lucky. I wanna be able to exercise too! I should see if I can get my brother to swap out my attachments. Ortho: I hear that the King of the Underworld's minions could transform into anything at will. Ortho: When they want to fly, they turned into birds. Ortho: When they wanted to run fast, they turned into horses. Basically, they were shapeshifters. Ortho: Isn't that super handy? If only I could get equipped with a similar function～

Watching Sparring Matches (New!)

Ortho: Most people know that the King of the Underworld loved watching sparring matches. Ortho: Sometimes he'd just watch it casually, snacking the whole time, but there were times he'd get really into it. Ortho: My brother and I like to watch livestreams of fighting games a bunch, too, so I definitely understand. Ortho: Like, the other day, the streamer we were rooting for lost, so we both ended up shouting at the screen. Ortho: I wonder if the King of the Underworld also had a champion he liked to cheer on? I should do some more research on that!

Small Talk

Idia: They say that the King of the Underworld was great at small talk and could negotiate like no one's business... Idia: B-But I can't even get through a research presentation in class without stuttering... Idia: As Ignihyde's Housewarden, presiding over a dorm honoring the King of the Underworld... Idia: This is beyond pathetic, isn't it...? [sighs] Ortho: I mean, as long as you're not actually talking to someone face-to-face... Ortho: ...You can spit a million words a second that'd even throw the King of the Underworld for a loop! Ortho: Replaying an excerpt from your chatlog, recorded 15 hours and 42 minutes ago: Ortho: "Can always count on Muscle Red's support in a pinch! See, vets are a totally different breed～!" Ortho: "Now, for the main event～ All your rare drops are belong to me! Yahoo!" Idia: S-Stop... Please, nooo...!

Like Lightning (New!)

Ortho: Um, Vil-san, I'm having a bit of a difficult time figuring out the right emotions behind this script. Vil: Why are you asking me this? I'm sure you're capable of searching up anything you need. Ortho: Yeah, that's true... But I feel like "as angry as lightning" is a little too metaphorical for me. Ortho: When I looked it up, I hit on a story of how the Thorn Fairy brought down lightning in a rage... Ortho: But it's way too hard for a mere actor to show anger like lightning. Vil: Being able to express that is what being an actor is all about. There is nothing I can help you with. Ortho: Yeah, but I feel like you'd get the performance you're wanting if you give me more specific instructions, don't you? Ortho: Or, maybe you're just don't know how to handle these kinds of stuff efficiently, huh? Oh well, I guess I just gotta give up, then～ Vil: I know you're just trying to anger me in order to see an example of the correct expression. You won't glean anything from me. Ortho: Aww man, you saw right through me. Oh well. This is all to help my understanding in expressions, so I'll keep on trying!

Something He Left Behind (New!)

Ortho: So, there's this tale about how a prince rode a magic carpet to go see a princess... Ortho: But wasn't she startled to see someone just floating in mid-air all of a sudden like that? Vil: Rather than being startled, it seems she and the prince went off on a date right after. Ortho: Whaaat!? You mean, even though he could've been some kind of intruder, instead her affection level went up!? Vil: I bet your brother would be the type to faint if some unknown party were right outside his window. Ortho: You're probably right... Oh, but the other day, I flew up to a window in my brother's classroom and delivered something he left behind. Ortho: 'Cause that's faster than climbing the stairs to deliver it! Vil: You were calling him an intruder, but you did the exact same thing as that prince...

Requested by @monavitty.

[lesbiansanemi]

I'm so tired

[the-fyre-flie]

Batmans "No Metas In Gotham" rule but all of his kids (the batboys in particular) are secretly Metas. A silly AU

EDIT: PLEASE CHECK THIS POSTS REBLOGS BTW, THERES LOTS MORE STUFF!

Obviously, Dick has weird contortionist stuff going on. He's an acrobat gymnastic, he can twist any part of his body into a pretzel. But that doesn't explain him being able to squeeze into a vent system that even rats struggle to get through. When Bruce finds an 11 year old boy crying through the vents "daaaad I got stuck" he did not expect to find that Dick managed to squeeze himself through 20 feet of 6 inch wide 3 inch tall ductwork into a small pocket meant for a fan. Bruce was left questioning for months if Dick somehow popped a joint to do it, but nope... Dick just straight up has squishy bones. It's an at will thing, so no one's ever noticed it before. Bruce only finds out when Dick yells "think squishy thoughts!" to try and help Bruce free himself from a Joker death trap, and when questioned, is like, "Yeah.. my mom taught me to."

Jason gets mild elemental control. Nothing insane or super noticeable, but he manages to stay completely dry even during rainy patrol nights, fires seem to naturally pull towards him when he walks past them, lights flicker if he gets too emotional, ect. Bruce only found out Jason could do any of this stuff after Jason died and came back. It was raining hard that night. Bruce found his should be dead son. But Jason was dry as a bone. Half of Gotham was missing power, the street lights flickering madly every time the fight moved further down the street. The explosive Jason planted in the helmet seemed to be an all-consuming everlasting flare that was hell-bent burning Bruce.

Tim has night vision. It's not the most impressive or cool or weird, but it's so very helpful. The way Bruce figures it out is he finds Tim in the pitch black batcave, writing away in a notebook while reading some old case files from pre modern batcomputer era where Bruce had written down everything himself. He was attempting to solve cold cases in the dark. At first, Bruce is like "well maybe his eyes adjusted," but no. I (Seth) have been caving/spelunking irl before, it's really fun, but it's So. Fucking. Dark. It's literally impossible to see at all, even when your eyes slightly adjust. He starts to freak out the rest of the batfam by wandering the manor at night without any lights. Sick Tim, standing over Bruce's bed in the pitch black going "I threw up" in the most pained voice ever and Bruce nearly shits himself.

Damian is all sorts of fucked up and weird and I'm not saying the Lazarus Pit was involved, but why else does Damian have an utterly insane healing factor? It's basically impossible to cut him cuz it's like his flesh instantly heals. At first Bruce is convinced that Damian was just taught really well for an 8 year old kid, dodging so many hits, until he realized that actually Damian was incredibly sloppy, he just never worried about getting hit cuz he healed so fast. One time, his hand got chopped off and Bruce was about to have a mental breakdown cuz "Oh god I failed my son." And Damian just holds up his already reforming hand like "father, chill the fuck out."

[gf2bellamy]

hiii, you can ignore this request if you don’t want todo it!! It’s sort of fluffy/hurt comfort. Spencer and reader have been pining over each other for ages until reader finally asks Spencer on a really cute date to a museum or something. Reader shows up a little early to make sure they are there on time, and waits for Spencer to arrive. Spencer is super super late because something happened on the underground/metro, and reader thinks Spencer has just stood her up so she flees to Penelope. I’m not sure how it would end, and sorry it’s so long!! :)

date — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling upset bc she thinks spencer stood her up a/n: hii !! i love this idea and i hope you like this :) also this gif might be my all time favorite spencer gif

You were early. Maybe a little too early.

But sitting at home, pacing back and forth, obsessively checking the time—it was only making things worse. You’d spent the better part of an hour staring into the mirror, pulling and adjusting your clothes, second-guessing every little detail. At some point, you just had to force yourself out the door before you talked yourself out of it completely.

And now, here you were. Standing outside the museum, shifting from foot to foot, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp afternoon air.

It was a history museum. The moment you’d heard about the new exhibit, your thoughts had gone straight to Spencer.

It had taken you a month to work up the courage to ask him to come with you. A full month of rehearsing in your head, psyching yourself up, only to completely fall apart when the moment actually came.

You had been a stuttering mess, stumbling over your words, barely able to get the invitation out. But Spencer—Spencer had been just as awkward. There had been a long, heart-stopping pause where your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Then he nodded. Enthusiastically.

His curls bounced with the movement, and for a second, you thought he might actually be more excited than you were. The two of you had grinned at each other, wide and dorky and entirely too pleased with yourselves.

The memory made you smile as you stood there, phone in hand. You glanced at the screen. 1:55 PM. Five more minutes.

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh as nervous energy buzzed through you. You weren’t sure if it was the anticipation of the date itself or just the fact that it was Spencer.

Maybe both.

Time passed. More than five minutes. More than ten. Too much time.

You had started out standing near the entrance, glancing around every few seconds, expecting to see a familiar figure rushing toward you with an apologetic look on his face. But as the minutes ticked by, your stomach slowly twisted into knots.

Now, you were sitting on a nearby bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check. You stared down at your phone, heart sinking as the screen lit up. It was much, much later than 2 PM.

Spencer wasn’t coming.

And you knew him well enough to know that Spencer was the most punctual person on the planet. If he hadn’t shown up by now, there was only one explanation.

Spencer Reid stood you up.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled up your contacts, pressing the call button.

Penelope answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sugarplum! What’s up? Are you geeking out over fossils and artifacts yet?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Hi, Pen… are you busy?”

Immediately, her tone shifted. The warmth in her voice was still there, but now it was layered with concern. “No, not at all. What’s wrong? You okay? I thought you and Boy Genius were off on your little nerd date.”

You let out a small, shaky breath, staring down at your shoes as you nudged a small rock. “No… uhm… no.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a softer, more careful voice. “Do you wanna come over?”

You nodded before realizing she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I made cupcakes this morning. I’ll have some waiting for you.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before hanging up, already pushing yourself off the bench. Penelope’s apartment wasn’t too far from the museum—thank God. You just needed to get away from here.

The walk to her place was a blur, and before you knew it, you were curled up on her couch, a plate of cupcakes in front of you. You picked at the frosting absentmindedly before finally whispering the words that had been weighing on your chest.

“He stood me up.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

You took another bite of the cupcake, trying to drown your sorrows in the taste of chocolate.

Penelope was still staring at you, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But… he was so excited.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced up at her. “Hmm?”

She shifted closer, her expression troubled. “Spencer. He had been talking about this all week.”

That caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter, swallowing the bite of cupcake.

Penelope nodded, as if replaying the memories in her head. “He actually bought a new tie for it,” she added, her voice full of certainty. “A completely new tie. I helped him pick it out.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “What?”

“He wanted it to match you.” She gave you a knowing look. “I mean, he didn’t say that, but I know these things. The man was so particular about the color, the pattern, everything. He kept fidgeting the whole time we were shopping. It was adorable, really.”

Your mind reeled.

Spencer had been planning for this. He had been excited.

So why hadn’t he shown up?

You were suddenly wide-eyed, staring at her as she continued rattling off all the things he had done in preparation for the date—how he had debated over restaurant options in case you wanted to get food after, how he had even worried about what books he might mention so he wouldn’t ramble too much.

He had wanted this.

“Oh.”

It was all you could manage to say. Your brain was still trying to process everything Penelope had just told you.

He had been excited. He had planned for this. He had even bought a new tie.

You couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your neck, a soft blush blooming across your cheeks. “So… he wanted to go out with me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

Penelope tilted her head at you, giving you a look that practically screamed, Seriously? You still have to ask?

Silence settled between you.

Then, finally, you spoke again—quieter this time, your confusion only growing. “So… why didn’t he come?”

Penelope hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Maybe he got the day wrong?”

You gave her a flat look. “Garcia, it’s literally our only day off from work. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mix it up.”

She groaned, slumping back into the couch. “Right. Good point.”

The two of you sat there, completely stumped.

Penelope let out a dramatic sigh. “I also have some cookies if that helps?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “That helps.”

She shot up from the couch. “Good, because emotional support baked goods are my specialty.”

You managed a small smile, but even as she disappeared into the kitchen, your thoughts remained elsewhere.

But then you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a knock at the door.

Before you could react, Penelope’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m trying to heat up the cookies.”

“Sure,” you called back, pushing yourself up from the couch and making your way to the door.

The last thing you expected when you opened it was him.

Spencer.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

He stood there, slightly breathless, his shoulders slumped like he’d just run a marathon. His curls were messier than usual, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead. But what caught your attention most was his outfit—something you’d never seen him wear before. A soft button-up, a tie you knew had to be the new one Penelope mentioned, and a blazer that was slightly wrinkled, as if he had been gripping the fabric with nervous hands.

Neither of you said a word. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you just stood there, locked in place, staring at each other.

Then, from behind you, Penelope’s voice broke the moment. “The cookies are ready!”

You heard her footsteps approaching before she finally reached the door, holding a plate of freshly warmed cookies in her hands. “Who’s at the—”

Her sentence cut off the moment she saw him.

Spencer.

She froze.

Now she was staring too.

More silence.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Spencer,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but the words just wouldn’t come.

“How dare you stand her up like this?”

Garcia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. She held the plate of cookies in one hand while the other jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he stammered, shifting nervously. His gaze flickered from Garcia to you, his expression almost pleading.

“I took the metro,” he rushed out, “and then it broke down. Completely. They couldn’t get it fixed for an hour and 10 minutes, and my phone didn’t have service underground, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his ramble faltering as he let out a breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m so sorry.”

Garcia pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as if debating whether to keep scolding him or let him off the hook. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically and slowly backed away toward the apartment.

“Alright, alright. I see what’s happening here,” she muttered under her breath, before giving you a not-so-subtle wink and slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Now, it was just you and Spencer.

You weren’t sure what to say.

You had been so sure he had stood you up. The hurt, the disappointment—it had all settled deep in your chest. But now, standing here in front of him, hearing the way his voice shook with sincerity, seeing the genuine guilt in his hazel eyes, you felt your frustration unravel, piece by piece.

“Oh.”

It was all you managed to say—again.

Spencer winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that’s not really an excuse. I should have—I don’t know, found another way to get to you, or—” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m really sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “So you didn’t ghost me on purpose?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he rushed to correct himself. “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His voice dropped slightly, filled with sincerity. “I was actually looking forward to today. I did my research on the museum, and I heard there’s a painting on the second floor that—”

Spencer abruptly stopped himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. He tugged at the strap of his satchel nervously, clearly embarrassed by his over-explanation.

You couldn’t help it—you smiled even wider.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Spencer seemed momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Oh.” He blinked, looking slightly flustered. “Well, you’re very good friends with Garcia,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

From inside the apartment, you could hear Garcia mumbling with an exaggerated tone, “Good? We are best friends, Dr. Reid.”

You grinned, knowing she was eavesdropping. Spencer’s cheeks reddened further, and he seemed to realize that his conversation was no longer entirely private.

Spencer continued, recovering quickly. “Every time you’ve had a bad day at work, you tend to go to Garcia.” He gave a small shrug, like it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that one time when Hotch made you rewrite your report—remember that? You went to Garcia then.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Or when Strauss got mad at you,” Spencer continued, his voice now soft with the memory. “You also went to Garcia.” He fiddled with his satchel again, clearly fidgeting with nerves.

You let out a small chuckle. “I see how it is. I’m predictable.”

Spencer gave a sheepish smile, his hands finally falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just—well, you seem to always go to her for advice when you're upset.”

You could hear Garcia mutter a small “As she should,” behind you.

Your heart warmed at his words, and you pushed yourself off the doorframe. “I guess you’re right. I do tend to run to Garcia when things go sideways.”

He nodded, looking slightly relieved that the tension seemed to break between you. “So, I just assumed you’d be here… and when I got here, I wanted to explain… before you thought I had just… forgotten.”

You stepped forward, offering him a smile. “Well, i'm glad i can stop worrying that you've stood me up.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, his eyes soft and earnest.

You looked him in the eye, the teasing edge of your voice gone, replaced by something warmer. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face as he let out a quiet sigh, trying to smooth down his disheveled curls. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, attempting to look a bit more put-together in front of you.

Then, as if on cue, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, loud and clear from the other room. “Dr. Reid, ask her if she wants to go to the museum now!”

You could almost hear her taking a bite of something, likely one of the cookies she’d been baking earlier.

Both you and Spencer immediately blushed, the heat rising to your faces at her suggestion.

“R-right—yeah, uhm…” Spencer stammered, his voice faltering for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Would… would you like to go to the museum?” His voice was shy, and the way he stumbled over the words made your heart flutter a little.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to bubble up. “I’d love to.”

You turned to Garcia, who was still sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with a smile so big it practically took up her whole face. “I’ll, uh, see you at work, Pen,” you called over your shoulder, still feeling a bit giddy.

Garcia shot you two thumbs up, still grinning like she was the proudest friend in the world. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she yelled after you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm as you turned back to Spencer, whose face was still a little flushed. “Shall we?” you asked, motioning toward the door.

Spencer nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… let’s go.”

[sugawhaaa]

SKZ HEADCANONS

The type of women they like in bed...

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, shower sex (Hyunjin), cowgirl (Changbin, Felix), BDSM (minho) Collar (Minho) creampie (Chan)

Pairing:: ot8!Skz x fem!reader

A/N:: so I started with ateez and now I'm done skz should I do...a txt version 🤨 or maybe piwon 🤭

Skz masterlist:: 🍒

Taglist:: @weallneednamjesus @strykdsstanot8

Emotional, a girl who will let him take care of her in many ways

Chan has many different sides to him in bed but no matter what, he loves to cherish his partner. He wants to be able to treat her like a princess or a slut or just his girlfriend.

"You're so pretty like this," Bangchan groans before leaning down to kiss your neck, his hips never losing their pace. You can't even reply because you're so focused on the sensation of his fat cock stretching you wide open. "How you feeling baby?" He tucks a strand of your hair back. You let out a choked moan as you try to form words.

"Good," You claw at his back as you struggle to speak. "Faster please," You whine and Chan smiles shyly.

"Already?" He asks in a teasing and genuine way.

"Yes please! Fuck, I can take it," You assure him and he grins before snapping his hips against yours. The room fills with a symphony of screams of pleasure and the clap skin on skin. As Bangchan pounds into you he leans back, holding your hips, to admire your body. The way you squirm and twitch, the way you pant and moan and reddened face, the way tears of raw desire build in your eyes, and it's all because of him.

Obedient, a woman that'll listen to him and enjoy it

Minho loves to be in control during sex but he doesn't want his partner thinking their opinions aren't valid. He needs his woman to understand that this is his way of showing love and that he just wants to love on her...hard.

"C'mon, look at me baby," Minho says as he lifts your chin up to look at him, however the vibrator pressed against your core drew your attention more. "You need to keep being good for me alright?" He tugs on your collar slightly to draw your attention. You nod with a little whine and Minho smirks, his power over you shining through.

"C-Can I cum yet?" You ask between heavy breaths, the band in your stomach tightening its knot.

"Soon baby, hold on as long as you can," He then leans into your ear, his breath ghosting over your ear. "The longer you last the greater your reward babygirl," Minho smiles before bringing a hand up to your breast, cupping it in the soft lingerie. "shh, you've been doing so good," He says before smirking. His opposite hand creeps down to your vibrator, ticking it up a few setting, the vibrations now more intense than ever. You squeal and arch your back, your head falling back as well. Minho chuckles darkly at your reaction. "So cute~"

Comfortable, a girl who will make him feel safe and relaxed

Changbin has rough appearance and exterior but everyone knows he's very vulnerable inside. He needs to find someone who will keep that vulnerability safe, especially when indulging in something like sex.

It was moments like these you really cherished with Changbin. Your bodies nearly bare and pressed up against each other, your tongues intertwined as your hands frantically search for a place to rest. Changbin holds the back of your head, his fingers sorting through your hair, as he hungrily kisses your lips.

"I need you," You pull back to announce and Changbin smiles shyly, looking down.

"Whatever you need," He kisses your cheek as his hands trail down to your ass, picking you up and lifting you higher up his lap. His mouth finds yours again as he messily helps you take off your panties but you're too impatient to let him take off his underwear, instead you grind against his boner. He moans quietly, his brows furrowed at the new sensation. "Wow that feels..." His hands fall to your sides, relaxingly resting on your hips. "Keep doing that baby and I might cum in my clothes," He chuckles as he tosses his head back.

Gentle, a woman that will put care into every touch

Hyunjin has a frail heart and he can be a little sensitive to such intense feelings such as lust. He needs someone to calm him and occasionally steer him during sex.

"Yes fuck, are you slipping baby?" Hyunjin grunts as he slows his hips, making sure the wet surface wasn't causing you any risks.

"No, I'm okay, keep going," You pant softly and rest your head against the shower wall again. Each one of his thrusts was deep and passionate, the pace was slow but the strength was there. You bounce against the wall with each pound and Hyunjin comes around to hug you, pulling you off the wall like a starfish.

"Is...Is this position okay?" He asks shyly as his wet hair clings to your shoulders, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"God yes," You moan and throw your head back. He begins to thrust into you again, hitting up deep in that one spot that makes you scream. Hyunjin focuses hard as he watches your body from over your shoulder. "Yes right there, keep going," You moan, subtly praises him. Hyunjin has to hide his smile as he fucks you faster, hoping to receive more praise later.

Passionate, a woman who will bask in his presence

Felix has a bit of a clingy side, but it's not as much physical as it is emotional. He needs that person release on especially when it's his love.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that baby," Felix encourages in his thick Aussie accent but a hint of something else lingers in his voice; perhaps lust, hunger or love? His hands stay fastened to your hips as you hop on his lap, his cock slipping in and out of your warmth. Felix rests his head in the crook of your neck as he pants heavily, his hot breath ghosting over your damply sweaty skin. He lets out a low growl before tossing his head back. "Oh yeah, harder baby, c'mon bounce on me," He smirks softly at the lewdness of his words.

"I can't," You breathe out softly and Felix sits up again, holding your hips with more strength.

"You can babygirl," He kisses your jaw before assisting in lifting your body up then back down on him. His cock hit imaginably deep very hard, making you moan loudly, eyes wide. "That's it, feels good doesn't it?"

Needy, a girl who will match his constant need for relief

Han is undoubtedly clingy and loves the feeling of hands and attention on him. Jisung needs a girl who won't mind his constant need and ache for her. This fact transfers into the bed as well, he gets aroused easily, especially with physical stimulation, and he needs a partner will understand and care for his needs.

"Baby..." Han whispers as you peacefully sleep. He gently shakes your shoulder and you startle awake, forcing your eyes open. "I'm sorry," Jisung instantly regrets waking you and hides his face in the plush white sheets.

"What's wrong?" You ask groggily as you prop yourself up with your elbows. As your eyes adjust to the lighting you notice Han looks quite distressed; his eyebrows are curled upward, his lips swollen and red, his eyes glossy and his face and hair damp from presumably sweat. "Is everything okay?" You sit up, alerted by his appearance.

"Yeah but I um..." He blushes and looks away, ashamed of his behavior. "I had a wet dream and I've been trying to get off but..." He bites his lip before looking at you. He lets the plump skin between his teeth go with a sigh. "I need your help," He whines and your heart melts at his puffy cheeks and doe eyes.

"Of course, what do you need?" You watch as he sits up beside you, the blanket falling to reveal his broad chest.

"Anything...your hands, your touch, your voice, just be here with me," He whines as he extends a shaking hand toward you. "I need you," He caresses your jaw before pulling you into a deep kiss.

Patient, a girl who can wait for and understand him

Seungmin feels a little conflicted about his sex life. There's times when he's really into it and other times he can't find the lust to indulge in. He needs a girl who will respect his boundaries and understand his conflicting emotions.

Seungmin lays back on the bed after a long day with hands tucked behind his head, a thoughtful look on his face. As you put away your laundry you notice his stern expression. "You look scary when you're thinking," You smile, your voice light hearted. "What's got you thinking so hard?" You ask sincerely, assuming he's stressing about work. You set aside your laundry and sit next to him. Seungmin tenses as you come closer.

"Not sure...I feel," He looks away, pausing for a moment. "I feel like I wanna have sex but I'm so tired. My body feels weak from working," He groans as he props his head back, his arms now limp at his sides.

"That's okay," You smile, trying to assure him that he's feeling normal.

"It's annoying," He grumbles with a little pout. He shifts his hips and a blush creeps up his neck. "Could you...help me?" Seungmin asks hesitantly before making eye contact.

"Of course, lay down," You push his chest down softly, encouraging him to relax. As you do so you notice the throbbing tent in his jeans; you tilt your head in curiosity. "Is this what's been bothering you?" You smirk softly and he looks away from you with a slight pout.

Daring, a girl who will take the lead and follow his lead

Jeongin has a switch in his sexuality. Sometimes he wants to be on top, be mean, be hard, be in control and other times he wants to be hurt, broken and rebuilt as someone else's. He needs a lady who will be able to do both: fold for him and fold him.

"What's it gonna be tonight?" Jeongin says as he kicks his feet up on the bed, his elbows propped up to hold his jaw. He watches as you walk around the bedroom, doing chores, while he patiently waits for you to finish and indulge in some lust. "Maybe you'll let me bend you over the bed or desk?" He says with a devilish smirk before rolling onto his back, his legs now crossed. "then let me fuck you into the wall of the shower for round two," He tilts his head as he watches you get flustered by his words, your focus fading as you brush your hair. "Or would you rather pull out the sex toys and use me until I cry?" Jeongin just kept egging you on until you reply.

"Bending over sounds nice," You smile with red cheeks as you sit beside him on the bed. He instantly pulls you closer by your hips, setting you in his lap. He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"I was hoping you'd let me fuck you tonight," He flicks his tongue out to snake around your ear, making your body shiver with excitement.

[split-spectrum]

YOU'VE GOT TO LEARN

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Tags: extremely dubious consent, non-con elements, explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, age gap, established relationship, jealousy, possessive!joel, softdom!joel, unprotected sex, alcohol, hair pulling

Length: 3.3K

Summary: At a client's house party, you catch yourself getting jealous of other eyes on Joel. Joel pulls you aside to show you exactly what he thinks of that.

This is my first time writing for Joel Miller, so please go easy on me <3

☆☆☆

What is it about Joel that makes him most attractive when he's stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be?

You tip back the last of your whiskey sour, gazing at the tight creases in the corners of his eyes as he nods along with the blond guy who's been talking for twenty painful minutes about the crypto market. Joel is leaning back, arms folded over his chest, his big shoulders pushing at the seams of his denim shirt.

He once told you that no one besides you could tell his emotions on his face. You'd laughed and called bullshit at the time, telling him every thought in that pretty head of his showed up plain as day on his face, but right now it doesn't seem to matter. He's been looking like he'd swallowed glass since this guy started talking, and it doesn't seem to make a bit of difference to him.

When Joel had asked if you wanted to come along to the holiday party one of his clients was having at his house, you'd said yes even after hearing that the guy was 'kind of an idiot' and you'd probably be 'bored to tears'. Joel would have skipped it, but unfortunately it was one of his biggest clients, and the invitation wasn't one he could politely decline.

Right now, though, you're sort of wishing you'd listened to him. The party stopped being fun somewhere around the second MLM scheme that had been pitched to you, and you're now counting the minutes until you'll hit the mark Joel set on the drive there: "Least a couple hours - then we can head out."

The guy takes a short pause, then launches into another tirade on bitcoin, and you realize you're going to need another drink to get through it. Joel's arm slips from around your waist as you pull away.

"Be right back, fellas. I'm going to get a refill."

Joel's brows lift as you leave him behind. "Now hold on there. Wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you get your own drink-"

You wave him off, trying to hold in a smirk. "No really, I need to take a lap. Stretch my legs."

He licks his lips, looks off to the side for a second before calling after you, "Grab me one on your way back, will ya?"

You smile innocently. "You got it."

After your host declines your offer to get him something, you head to the kitchen, making a little chit chat on your way to the well-stocked fridge. You decide to get Joel's beer before you return to the open bar to ask for another drink of your own. You hook your knuckles around the neck of a Modelo, no sooner closing the door to the fridge before you glance back in Joel's direction, seeing he's been joined by a few more people.

It isn't surprising. Joel's the type of guy who tends to draw attention, and not just because of his looks. He's the guy who's in charge, even when he's not in charge. People gravitate toward him; just something about his presence that makes him the most interesting thing in every room.

In spite of that, your attention isn't on him at the moment. It's on the girl making moon eyes beside him. She's tossing a long, shiny ponytail behind her shoulder and grinning ear to ear despite the fact that bitcoin boy hasn't stopped talking.

Picking up a bottle opener, you pop the cap off the beer in your hand by muscle memory, not able to tear your eyes off of them. Joel's attention is still on the host, but when she says something to him, you watch him pull his chin back to nod, holding her in the corner of his eye to give a quick smile.

Kelly, you remember. That's her name. She's the receptionist at the client's office, and she's probably seen more of Joel this month than you have.

You watch as she cranks up her smile another thousand watts, laughing at something one of the other guys in the group has said. Kelly, you think. No. Probably spells it with an i. Kelli. Probably dots it with a heart.

Your face is starting to warm up, and when someone on the other side of the kitchen counter gently asks if you're alright, you clear your throat, then reply that you're fine as you quickly open the fridge for a second Modelo. It's time for you to slow down on the whiskey.

As you make your way back to the group, you catch Kelly/Kelli's eyes and give her a subdued smile. She blinks and smiles back, suddenly looking very shy.

"Now what did I miss?" you ask, when the men dissolve into laughter.

Henry, one of the contractors under Joel, shakes his head. "It ain't worth repeating in the presence of a lady."

The host interjects, "So what do you call Kelly?"

Henry puts an arm around her shoulder. "Aw, she's heard it all before, haven'tcha?"

"That don't mean she wants to hear it from you!" one of the other men shouts, and there's another round of laughter while you bite your lip, watching Joel's eyes as they dip to Henry's arm.

You wrap your lips around the tip of the bottle in your hand, letting the taste of the beer give your mouth an excuse to look sour. Henry's hand is dropping from Kelly's shoulder down to her waist, and while the conversation carries on, Joel leans in close so that only Henry - and you - can hear.

"Cool it, Henry."

"Huh?" comes the slow reply, as he pretends not to have understood him.

Joel just lifts his brows, and that's all it takes for Henry to back off, looking a little sheepish as he unwinds himself from Kelly, who looks more than a little relieved.

Henry turns to you, suddenly trying to make small talk, to save face. "Have you two met? This's our girl Kelly. She takes good care of us, don'tcha, sweetheart?"

You give a polite smile. "We've met. Nice to see you, again. Both of you."

"Uh huh," Henry answers half-heartedly before he wanders off, perhaps to join another conversation, or just to find another drink.

Kelly gives you another polite smile, then as the host starts to back away, bringing the rest of the group with him, she goes along with the crowd. Before she leaves, though, she softly murmurs to Joel, "Thanks for that."

He answers with a stiff nod, but it's more than enough to put the stars back in her eyes as she walks away, leaving the two of you alone.

You're biting your lip again, practically chewing on it, as you dangle Joel's beer by the throat, handing it over to him.

"Thank you," he says, then tips it back immediately.

You don't reply, lost in thought, but pretending nonchalance as you watch the group leave.

"Meant what I said, though," Joel adds in your silence. "Shoulda let me get it. I don't like to have you wanderin' around on your own. Not with this bunch of degenerates."

You smirk. "What, like Henry?"

"For one, yeah," he says, turning to face you now that the sounds of the party are fading into the background. "Lookin' the way you do, won't be able to keep their eyes or their hands off ya."

You laugh him off, but can't pretend that his voice isn't settling right in the bottom of your stomach. He's standing a little closer, now, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with the spice of his cologne. Something about him talking this way puts some boldness into you, and your words come out a bit more reckless than they should.

"Well, maybe you should have asked Kelly to get your drink, then."

He looks dumbfounded for a moment, and you widen your smile to show you're joking.

"I mean, I'm sure she would have," you go on, digging yourself deeper even as your heart kicks up faster. If you'd switched to beer two drinks ago, you probably would have explained yourself better. You would have insisted it was just a joke, because she so clearly has a crush on him. But your words are just swimming in all that whiskey.

"Cute little thing like that," you say, shrugging. "Probably don't mind her 'taking care of you', do ya?"

Joel's eyes are fixed on you, voice easing down into his chest when he asks softly, warningly, "What did you just say?"

He's turned all the way toward you, and all at once the room feels so much smaller, your face so much hotter. He's waiting for an answer, and your breath is caught high in your throat. "I-uh... it was just... nothing."

He's very slowly setting down his beer, looking down to a side table. "Wasn't nothing; I heard it." He looks back up at you, pinning you hard where you stand. "Now repeat it. Wanna make sure I heard you right."

You swallow, mouth dry. "I nn-nothing, I just said..." You force a crooked smile that you know he isn't buying for a second. "Y'know... she's- she's pretty cute, and maybe you... maybe she oughta... 'cause maybe you want her to..."

Your babbling doesn't impress him. He's just staring at you under a darkened brow. He opens his mouth to say something, but the motion of someone else entering the room catches your eye and you snap defensively before he can say anything.

"Joel, I didn't mean-"

He follows your gaze, then turns away and shuts you up with a wide, heavy palm sliding to the small of your back. "C'mere," he says. "C'mon." And the way he breathes it as he guides you out of the room and down the hall, you don't argue.

He finds a bathroom and pushes you inside. While you're looking over his shoulder to make sure no one sees you going in together, he's staring straight ahead, and he closes the door with one hand, still holding you with the other.

"I'm... sorry," you confess as soon as the door closes. "That was stupid. I don't know why I said it."

"Yeah," he grunts, crowding you up against the closed door. "You do."

The way he has you held close, arm around your waist and words warm against your mouth, you'd normally try to kiss him right about now. But looking into his eyes, you know there's no kiss waiting for you on his lips.

He's mad, and you're a little scared. Not scared of him, but scared of what he might do at a party where people might hear. People that he has to work with on Monday.

He isn't drunk, but he's had a few, and your fear ratchets up when his hand slides to your backside, gripping your ass and kneading it as he growls, "You think I give a goddamn about some teenager?"

Despite the way he's manhandling you through your dress, you can't help but roll your eyes. "She's not a teenager."

She isn't really that much younger than you are. And with Joel in his fifties, the thought has crossed your mind that he might just be keeping you around because he got a thing for younger women. You'd just never said anything out loud. Until tonight.

He stops, pulls back. "Alright, guess I'm not bein' clear enough."

He takes you by both arms, pushes you against the sink so you're looking at yourself in the mirror. Behind you, he starts unbuckling his belt.

"Joel..." you whisper, heat pulsing through you just from the sound of the metal clinking. You know you should ask him to stop - is the door even fucking locked? - but you can't get any other words out besides his name.

He slides a hand under your dress, pushing it up and over the swell of your ass. He doesn't slow down, doesn't even run his hand over your skin. He just pushes your panties to the side, pressing the head of his cock right up against your pussy, holding it there as he grits against your ear, "Guess I gotta show you where I want to be."

He pushes the thick head inside you, wrapping one arm around your stomach to keep you from falling forward. His other hand is flat on the sink, not playing with you, not easing anything. He doesn't give you any prep, just shoves in slowly, his cock stretching you all in one go.

You hiss, brow pinching. He didn't even let you get wet enough to take him. You can feel every damn move he makes inside you as he shifts his hips closer to pin you hard against the cold edge of the sink. When he's all the way in, you watch your mouth pop open in the mirror as you take a few panting breaths. The stretch is almost unbearable, but feeling so full of him, you don't want to stop.

He eases out, just a couple inches to coat himself in your slick, then presses back in even harder. You feel like your lungs are going to give out from how tight your gasps are getting.

"Fuck, Joel... hurts," you whine.

He slowly slides you off of him, then feeds it right back in.

"I know it does, honey," he breathes against your neck. "I know it does."

His deep voice makes you pulse around his cock and he drags his big, calloused hand down to the front of your dress, lifting it up just far enough to see your pussy, stuffed full of him. You're leaking down the sides of his cock, glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

"See that?" he asks, unmoving. "That's where I wanna be. You hear me?"

Giving a shaky nod of your head, you whimper, "Yes."

He starts to piston in and out of you, and you can only watch. You close your eyes tight when he speeds up a little. "It's... mm- it's too much."

He doesn't change his pace. "Ain't about feelin' good. You've got to learn."

He groans when your pussy clenches around him, and you follow with an answering moan as the tension in your muscles starts to fade. You're soaking down both sides of your inner thighs as he opens you up further.

When you've dissolved into whimpering his name, he hooks one arm around your leg from behind, lifting it up so that you're spread wider. His other hand is still holding up your dress.

"Look at that," he grunts, making an obscene display of his cock fucking into your pussy. "Look how fucking hard you make me, baby."

You whine again, struck dumb by how good he feels with every snap of his hips. "God, feels so good... please..."

He's dragging his teeth against your neck when he replies, "Please?"

"Please, Joel. Feels so fucking good," you repeat, eyes closed.

You want him to fuck you properly, to bend you over and make you take him, to use his fingers - to let you use yours - anything; it doesn't matter. You're so worked up, you just need a little more.

"M'not gonna give you what you want, darlin'," he answers. "Don't work like that."

You can't help but loose a plaintive moan, even knowing you deserve it. "Baby, please-"

He drops your knee, letting your leg come down to the floor as he bends you over the sink. When he starts to fuck you for real, you can't hold it together anymore, softly pleading and whining for more, begging him not to stop, opening your eyes to watch him in the mirror as he starts to lose himself, too.

Until a knock at the door jars you right out of it.

"Is anybody in there?"

Joel doesn't even slow down. Just flattens his palm along your lower back to bend you back over after you jolt up.

"Joel-" you hiss. But he keeps giving you exactly what you need, and your eyes roll back.

"Hello?"

He slides a warm hand down the open neckline of your dress, kneading your breast as he looks at you in the mirror. His brown eyes are stern and steady. "Answer."

He keeps feeding you his cock, and you hiccup, legs shaking as you whisper, "I- I don't..."

"Go on and tell 'em. You're busy."

Fuck fuck fuck. "Uhh, s-someone's in here!"

Your voice comes out strained and airy, and you wait for the reply while Joel kisses the skin of your shoulder, sliding the front of your dress down.

"Joel, it's... somebody is..."

"Nothin' in here that I wanna hide," he growls, pushing his hips right up against your ass as he circles a thumb around one of your nipples.

"Fuck, Joel..." The silence outside has been long enough that the person is probably gone, but your pulse is still pounding, and he's making it so fucking hard to think. "Oh my god, yes..."

He's quietly panting, lifts his head long enough to say, "Understand now, pretty girl?"

"Mm..."

"This here's right where I wanna be. Nowhere else," he grunts, pressing his weight down on you, the squelching sounds between your bodies getting louder than your moans. Your eyes are drawn up to the mirror, watching the veins in his neck tighten as he fucks into you harder and harder. "You got it?"

You frantically nod, desperately near the edge of coming. "Fuck, yes, mhm..."

"Maybe I oughta fill you up right here, leave you with somethin' to think about."

"N-no," you stutter, almost sounding like you're sobbing your words. "P-please, I get it. I heard what you s-said."

He has to let you come. You don't care that you were acting up, making something out of nothing. You don't care what got him mad at you. All you can think about is how flushed his chest is beneath the open collar of his shirt, how tight his grip is, how stiff his jaw is set. You just want to listen to that throaty growl, feel him mercilessly fucking you a little while longer. That's all it would take. Just a little bit...

"Fuck-"

Joel pulls out, hand tightening into a fist around himself. You slump against the sink.

"Goddamn, baby. Almost got me, there."

You're on the verge of tears, shuddering with wild breaths. "No, fuck, Joel, please please please-"

He grips a handful of your ass, fingers brushing through your wetness and making you whimper.

"Told you, I ain't giving you what you want."

You hear him zip up his jeans, and then his hand is back at your ass, but this time he's pulling your panties back into place and tugging your dress down.

"Never gonna learn that way."

You whine pitifully, knowing you brought this on yourself, but still pleading under your breath, face drawn tight with frustration.

He helps you stand up properly, giving you his arm to steady yourself. You straighten your dress, cleaning up your appearance in the mirror, and eventually you're able to leave the bathroom, walking out on trembling legs.

He gives you a smirk as you leave the hallway, and something in you finally snaps. Maybe it's a little unfair, but you know exactly what to say to knock that smirk off his face.

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "Guess you didn't want me that bad after all, or you would have finished."

And all of ten minutes later, you're in the cab of his truck. You're screaming his name as you come all over his cock, hands fisted in his hair, tugging it hard while he pumps you full of his cum, cursing you the whole time.

Turns out, he's the one who's never gonna learn.

--

A/N: Thanks for reading! I don't have a taglist for Joel, but I'll add one if I ever write for him again. Hope you enjoyed! :)

Masterlist

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

CAN WE HAVE DOEY BEING A PLATONIC YANDERE TO THE PLAYER?? I WONDER HOW HE WOULD ACT GIVEN HIS CONFLICTING PERSONALITIES AND EMOTIONS DUE TO BEING MADE OUT OF THREE KIDS

Yes, you absolutely can! This ended up being way longer than I first planed and I'm actually pretty proud of it :)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me.

Platonic yandere Doey & Reader

★ When Doey first meets the Player, he is intrigued. It's not every day you meet someone who keeps cheating the grim reaper. As Doey spends more time with the Player, he realizes that they are different than most employes. You are nice and treat him kindly.

★ His conflicting personalities create a strange mix of curiosity and adoration inside of him. Especially after you stay to help the Safe Haven instead of working with Poppy. Plus, the Player has been through so much already. They really should take a break.

★ He goes above and beyond to make them feel comfortable and secure in their new home. He introduces them to the other toys, making sure they feel included and part of their little community. Tries to help them relax after what they have been through, also.

★Doey becomes emotionally dependent on the Player, deriving a sense of purpose and stability from their presence. The thought of losing the Player or not being able to protect them fills him with fear and anxiety, fueling his yandere tendencies.

★ All three parts of him agree on one thing, protect the Player at all costs. That means not letting them leave the Safe Haven. At least not without him. It comes from a place of genuine care, having concern for the Player's well-being.

★ He prioritizes their needs, ensuring the Player feels safe and loved. If the player were to reciprocate his care by doing things to make him feel valued, it would mean the world to him. If it's not too much, could he pretty please hold your hand? (please say yes)

★ The player's consistent care builds trust between them. That trust is very important. Never break it or you might regret it. Doey is still unstable at times, and he could still lash out at you if the wrong button is pushed.

★ Yandere Doey is very possessive, he is aware of this and tries his best not to be. He really wants to give the Player the freedom they deserve but at the same time he fears losing you to others and may become anxious if you spend too much time with another toy.

★ Those thoughts are silly, he knows it, you would never abandon him for a new friend. However, that nagging voice in his head tells him differently. It may end up with him subtly manipulating the Player. It was for friendship though so it's okay!

★ He might use guilt or even fear to keep the Player close, making them feel responsible for his emotional well-being. The thought of the Player getting hurt when he's gone fills him with all sorts of bad feelings. Ones he doesn't even want to think about.

★ By this time it's too late to go back. He is too afraid of being abandoned, if you suggest going off to finish what you started and killing the prototype he would have a panic attack.

★ His conflicting personalities are unified in their fear of the Player facing danger and he becomes visibly distressed. It's too dangerous! If you leave and never come back, what will he do? Doey may even go as far as physically putting himself between the Player and the exit if it comes down to it.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel's pent up, you've got ideas.

author's note | just had the urge to do some free-use/cnc stuff with softer jackson!joel, huddled into my little writing cave and came up with this. also, happy birthday to the man who's brought me so many great friends within this fandom <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, DEAD DOVE: CNC, FREE-USE, brief aftercare, established relationship, jackson!joel, pre-arranged dynamics, dom/sub elements, mentions of safewords, facefucking & forcefucking, eating out from the back, none of this is good for joel's knees, a short game of chase, claiming kink, degradation, slapping (consensual), unprotected piv, creampies. this fic contains dark elements, if it is not your thing, continue on.

word count — 4.7k

It grows like weeds in your brain.

Joel is notoriously tightly wound and rigid. Only in the comfort of his own home do you see the softer side of him, still subdued and quiet—most of his words transferred through touches and silent facial expressions.

You’ve grown on him, opened him up in a way that most would never be able to.

You weren’t ever on his radar nor was he on yours—there was a sort of stigma around Joel, off-limits completely of his own volition, a natural recluse. You only ever really saw him with Ellie and Tommy, otherwise he was busy with patrol or a complete ghost.

It wasn’t until you’re paired up with him on patrol that something changes.

It wasn’t instantaneous either, but just as persistent with the thought in your brain as you stare at him now, leaned against the bar with a sour expression, you grew on him.

You were well-versed; starting fires, skinning animals, and knowing how to field strip your pistol with your eyes closed.

Joel witnessed it once and he’s not sure he’s ever been more entranced by something in his entire life, the genuine confusion on his face as you finally glance up at him was enough to kickstart the beginning of…whatever this was.

There weren't any explicit labels given—but if Joel wasn’t in your bed at night, you were always in his. Things were just that; happening, existing. You were settled with the fact that labels and titles weren’t of immediate concern in the grim apocalypse.

Joel’s hair is grown out and you feel the constant need to tuck it behind his ear, doing so as he eyes you carefully, jaw tight and set in place, hand gripping tight around the glass in his hand.

“I think you need an outlet,” your voice is quiet, starkly opposite of the room around you.

You’ve got your own language, communicating through silence that is cataloged through expressions and subtle emotion. He’s clearly had a bad day, a bad week, coming back to you reeking of decay and musk, traversing through rain and hoards of infected for weeks just to take out a few groups that wander too close to Jackson, riddled with cuts and bruises that you tried to convince yourself a kiss would heal it quicker.

“Let’s go,” you suggest, finger trailing down his bicep until you can pry the glass from his hands.

Joel is more than willing to be dragged away into silence, never the most chipper individual at the community events that his brother and wife insisted on holding for morale.

–

It’s strange how diplomatic the suggestion becomes, a conversation over a shared cup of coffee—Joel was running low and inherently stingy.

“That side isn’t a mystery to me,” you tell him, watching how he stares at you wearily over the cup, “I’ve seen you kill men with your bare hands. Granted, they deserved it.”

“So, you think me hurtin’ you is a better alternative?”

You sigh, shoulders shrugging. You reach forward and claw your fingers into the front of his shirt and tug, pulling him toward you slightly, face falling flat and serious.

“I’m not so easily broken, Miller,” you retort, “Besides, with this, we can set rules.”

“Rules?” 

Suddenly, he’s an echo. 

You nod—in all seriousness, you wanted him to understand.

“We’ll have a safe word, something non-verbal in case we can’t talk. There’s a mutual understanding, trust—”

“No, I know…I know how this works,” Joel interjects, “Jus’ didn’t suspect this was something you were willin’ to try is all.”

“I like your gentle side,” you assure him with a subtle smile, fingers trailing up his neck and through the stubble of his graying beard, curling around the back of his head and into his soft curls, “but I like it just as much as the rest of you.”

Joel’s silent, pensive as usual, his hand curling around the back of your neck to mimic your own touch, and he nods, “We can try it, f’it is somethin’ we both want.”

“I’m all in,” you grin wider, carefully prying the mug from his grip and placing it on the counter at your hip, “are you?”

“Game on, sweetheart,” He breathes against your mouth before he captures you in a slow kiss; the kind that makes your heart flutter with need, a floating feeling as it grows.

–

He doesn’t give you any warning, but you wanted it that way.

There had always been an understanding that Joel could have you whenever he pleased, the same extended to you—as long as it was when you were both alone.

Espresso is the word you both settle on, a vested interest in the situation.

It was the element of surprise that made it all the more enticing, both of you running on empty most days, and with the usual gentleness that Joel provides on a daily basis, you sense it as you meet his doorstep on this particular night.

He wasn’t back yet, still on his route back with Tommy. But, you knew he’d slip in at some point that night, making yourself at home with the small remnants of your presence throughout his space. 

Shoes at his front door, jacked laid over the back of his couch, the key to your house on his kitchen counter beside his owl mug, a miniscule amount of cold, brown liquid pooling at the bottom.

You leave the lights off, scouring through his cabinets for a clean cup to pour yourself a glass of water, fetching the pitcher from his fridge and vigilant to the gentle creaks of the house, heat expanding and making it snap.

It’s subtle, but something shifts.

You ignore it outright, knowing that Joel wasn’t due home yet.

You replace the pitcher and sip gingerly at the glass of water, obviously to the lingering shadow that seems to move with you, closing your eyes as your head tilts to the side, feeling a pop in your shoulder with the movement, too tense to relax.

It has been like this for the past few days.

Shitty sleeping arrangements, long nights on watch, it was hell on the body.

You hum, eyes closer as your head rolls around and forward. You slide the cup onto the surface of the counter and pull your bottom lip between your teeth and groan softly, allowing everything else to fade away before the pressure comes, sudden and unexpected.

It sends the water in your mouth out, through the hand that’s clamped tight over it.

There’s a soft yelp on your behalf and a grunt of acknowledgement, another strong hand wound tight at your wrist as they were maneuvered so easily behind your back. 

Someone was back early.

“You sure you still want this, sweetheart?”

It was the final moment of grace before you both succumbed to the deep desire of escapism. 

You nod, barely, but Joel feels the movement.

You snap into the subservience naturally.

You fight against his restraint, hearing the soft click of his tongue as he yanks against your movement, “Doors are locked,” his voice is like fire; so hot it burns, “ain’t nowhere for you to run.”

You make a small noise and force the struggle, both desperate to get out of his grip in an effort for the game to begin, but because it did hurt, though the discomfort was nice.

Your breath is uneven, heartbeat hammering in your chest as Joel’s grip tightens. 

His calloused fingers dig into the flesh of your wrists, pinning them behind your back with an ease that makes you shudder, full body.

He’s unrelenting, pressing your body flush against his, the broad plane of his chest a solid, immovable force. He’s always felt intimidating, but you’ve never been on the receiving end like this, caught and cornered.

His breath ghosts over your ear, warm and slow, a sharp contrast to the way he wrenches your hands higher up your spine, dead center on your back while your hips dig into the edge of the counter. 

A low grunt rumbles from his chest as you writhe, the feigned struggle met with nothing but amusement from him. Joel’s always been playful, though often reserved, this was the perfect way to squeeze it out of him.

“Tryin’ awful hard to get away, babygirl,” he muses, voice laced with darkness.

You bite your lip, twisting again, testing. He can feel it under the press of his palm, squeezing tighter against your cheeks. His opposite grip tightens further. A warning. A reminder.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Your breath catches again as he shifts, pressing you firm and flat against the counter, chest parallel with the surface. The coolness seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of him behind you, evident arousal against your ass.

 He leans in closer, his nose grazing the shell of your ear before he speaks again, “Say it,” he orders, voice just above a whisper, shirt bunched up in his hands where he has your hands held.

You swallow hard as he removes his palm for a brief moment, your fingers twitching uselessly in his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His chuckle is low, a rumble of satisfaction. “That’s right.”

His now free hand trails up your stomach, fingertips barely grazing over the fabric of your shirt before he hooks it beneath the hem and yanks it upward, manhandling you with the movement as he pulls it over your head and down your back.

You gasp, the sudden exposure sending a thrill racing through you.

Joel shifts, releasing your wrists only to catch them again a second later as he turns you to face him, this time capturing them at your stomach. He twists them together, holding them in one hand, the fabric of your shirt is ripped apart and knotted around your wrists, keeping you stuck but allowing him full mobility again.

“Color?” he asks, his tone softer, just for a moment.

You exhale shakily, the word coming easily. “Green.”

It was the first time in a few days you’re able to see him and he’s looking particularly wrecked, smelling like mulch and rain, but something so distinctly him.

His fingers tighten around your wrists as he hums in approval and tugs, “Good girl.”

The praise sinks into your skin, setting you alight in a way that has you pulling against him again, an involuntary reaction. 

His grip holds firm, an unspoken reminder of who’s in control.

Your pulse quickens, your body thrumming with anticipation as he steps back just enough to admire his work. Joel’s thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, a fleeting moment of tenderness before his other hand grips your chin, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but you know that look—you’ve seen it before, felt it in the quiet moments when he lets himself want.

“You remember the word too?” he asks.

You nod, pulse roaring in your ears. “Espresso.”

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl.

–

The pout you form is instinctual, watching him examine you for a brief moment, admiring his work, the exquisite press of your tits where they’re trapped between your arms, wrists bound tight, the remnants of your sweats hanging low on your hips from the brief struggle.

He’s witnessed a lot of beauty in his life but nothing quite like you.

He takes a step forward which is met with you moving away, eyes wide with adrenaline and playful fear, so genuine that Joel believes it, like you’re finally seeing him for the monster he really is.

“Don’t run,” he warns, “it won’t end well for you.”

Eventually, your back hits the wall adjacent to the kitchen, beside his front door. It was locked and deadbolted—when the fuck had he managed that? You turn your head to glance but you’re met with his fingers gripping your chin, body closing in.

His hand curls around the expanse of your throat and squeezes.

The pressure is deliberate, a reminder of your helplessness as he forces you back against the wall, trapping you between the solid wood and the heat of his body. His other palm skims over your side, down your hip, a featherlight touch that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Breathe for me,” Joel murmurs, thumb tracing over the delicate skin just beneath your jaw.

 He watches you intently, eyes darkened from their normal caramel warmth to near black.

You exhale, slow and measured, eyes steady on him.

His hand drags lower, over your collarbone, down to your sternum, your stomach, before slipping beneath the fabric of your sweats. There’s no hesitation. His hand curls, firm and unforgiving over your cunt, fitted to the size of his girthy hand.

“You feel that?” he asks, his voice rough, and you nod jerkily, “That’s all me. You’re mine now.”

You whimper weakly as your lips part in a gasp, the claim stabbing something deep in your chest. 

He tilts his head, eyes flickering over you, taking in the ragged breath you exhale.

“Still think you can run?” he taunts, smirking, his free hand gripping your hip, squeezing hard enough to make you wince—you’re silent, defiant.

You shift, testing his hold—there was nowhere to go, really.

His smirk deepens, wicked and wildly possessive. “Go on, sweetheart. Try.”

There’s a slight pause to your movements, unsure of what was to come.

Joel nods his head to the side, urging the chase.

Without a thought, you bolt.

His footsteps don’t follow, though.

Where he stays, he strips.

Boots first, then his jacket.

He’s slow, methodical in his movements and calculated.

There’s a few rooms upstairs to choose from—the bathroom was small, confined. Naturally, your instincts lead you toward his room, knowing that inevitably he would find you, but it wouldn’t hurt to play his game.

Joel so easily slipped into whatever role you needed—or that he craved; this side of him that craved you for nothing more than your body, an animalistic need that both of you felt. You enjoyed putting up the fight, the resistance you knew he could snap with a look or a word.

“Shouldn’t be here this late,” you hear his voice carry from downstairs, “sneaking into my house at this hour, no clue what you’re walking into,” heavy footsteps despite his lack of boots, one door opening and another closing, “well—that’s just stupid.”

You bend down to your knees and attempt to crawl toward his bed, hands gripping on the underside to pull yourself out of view, but you were already too late.

There’s a rasp to his voice that you’ve never heard before, the faint jingling of his belt before the door whips open and his hands are wrapped tight around your ankles, pulling with a hefty strength he’s acquired through years of survival.

“Caught you,” he growls, dragging you by your ankles against the faded turquoise rug, “hidin’ from me ain’t gonna do you much good, darlin’.” 

You let out a breathy laugh that borders on a whimper, his presence towering over you before you feel the weight of him settle, pressing your body firmly against the hardwood. You writhe beneath him, not to escape but to incite his need further. He’s kneeling over you now, the sight of him mouthwatering but vaguely frightening, nearly unrecognizable.

Your hips shift against him, and he responds with a hand pressing your wrists above your head, pinning you like prey. The other hand roams down, curling around the band of your sweats before he’s tugging them down and out of the way, the lack of panties not even the least bit surprising for him, shaking his head in amusement.

He knows you’ve been eager for his approach, waiting, but the sight of you now and completely bare underneath him as he tossed the last remnants of your clothes away was enough to quiet the buzzing in his brain, focused intently on the heavy breathing racking your chest, hands still tightly bound, lips parted in anticipation as you watched him, still struggling against his hold.

“You can’t untie me,” you barter, “I’ll be good.”

He chuckles darkly, “Nice try—stop talkin’,”

Your mouth snaps shut at the instructions, face going expressionless as Joel hoists you upright, hands pulling at your elbows until you’re on your feet and you’re pressing against the edge of his bed, the cool sheets kissing your back.

He’s not gentle or rough, rather more firm. He flicks at your chin until you get the silent instruction to lean your head back against the edge of the bed, waiting obediently on your knees for his next move.

“If I let you go–you gonna stay put?” He asks, your eyes too focused on the hand that goes for his zipper, fingers curling around the thick denim band of his jeans, mouth pooling with saliva that begs to drip off the tongue that’s resting against your bottom lip.

The slap is sharp, surprising, but not unwelcome.

There’s a silent moment when you lock eyes that Joel fears that might’ve been a bit too much, but then your bottom lip is pulling between your teeth and you’re nodding to his question finally.

“Good—quiet, I like that,” he tells you and you can feel your body vibrating with the anticipation as he shifts his jeans down, hand dipping inside of his boxers to wrap around his cock, settling the fabric underneath balls, tightly drawn from his straining cock, angered and pulsing with a thick drop of precum at the head, chin gravitating to pull you forward almost on instinct.

Joel scowls, though, pushing you back roughly.

“Look at you, squirmin’ around all helpless and cock hungry. I didn’t tell you to fuckin’ move, did I?”

Your eyes flutter with the harsh movement as you shake your head.

“Open your mouth,” he tells you coarsely, “tongue out—yeah….yeah, there you go,” he rubs the head of his cock over your wet tongue and forcefully feeds it into your mouth, slow and mindful until it nudges against the back of your throat, keeping himself in place as your eyes search for his face.

He smirks down at you, teeth gritting with the strain, watching you struggle to take more of him as you gag around his thick girth, tears pooling in your eyes. He’s got that familiar musk of a day's work, somehow more intoxicating than his normal, sweet scent from your shared body wash.

Joel knows it’s too much. He can feel it in the way your mouth is tightening around him, nostrils flaring to hold on for just a few seconds longer, but he doesn’t care—he wants to see you like this, needs it.

When he finally jerks his hips back and pulls out, a string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock, gurgling against the tip with your chin drenched in spit, drooling shamelessly down your neck as you gasp for a breath of air.

Joel groans through clenched teeth before he’s pushing himself back into your mouth, a low and constant moan rumbling from his chest as he fucks his way into your mouth, hand curled around the top of your skull, the other gripping tight into his sheets as he leveraged the surface for tighter thrusts.

It’s dizzying, bordering on too painful as your eyes flutter shut.

“Fu—fuck,” he stutters, his thrusts faltering, “filthy fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

Your response is a soft hum and the gentlest shake of your head you can manage.

Defiance, clear as day.

His hand grips into the hair at the base of your scalp and tugs, holding you tight as he suddenly pulls his hips back, “Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he instructs with a raspy tone, hastily prying your mouth open with his fingers as he slides his cock over your tongue, his brow furrowed at he tugged at his cock with a harsh rhythm, white knuckling the way he’s gripped himself before he’s spilling his warm spend over your tongue, opaque liquid filling your mouth and spurting over your lips, his strangled groan caught in his throat as he comes.

“That’s right,” he seethes, his hand pressing under your chin to shut your mouth, cheeks squished together as he kneels to your level, eyes following his movements with measured anticipation, “greedy girl. Swallow it.”

At this angle it was painful, blinking rapidly as you swallowed, his hands unrelenting in their pressure until he’s satisfied, letting you go carelessly as you slump forward, bound hands pressing into the floor to catch yourself. His thumb presses against the skin of your cheek and smoothes the mess he’s left there, dragging his spit-slicked fingers over your jaw, a lazy smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, voice still rough with lust as he leans closer, “you’re a fuckin’ mess.”

You give him a lazy glare from beneath your lashes, dazed but still sharp enough to form a coherent thought, “You’re such an asshole,” Your voice is hoarse and barely audible through the evident strain of your throat, but you manage to get it out in spite of yourself.

A jab, empty with meaning, but it makes Joel smile.

“Well, I ain’t done with ‘ya,” Joel antagonizing, “think you can just make yourself at home when I’m gone, I think that deserves some punishment,”

The element of surprises is what does you in, a sudden tug forward.

There’s a tightness at your wrists as he finally reaches for the knot binding them together, rough and calloused hands skimming over your skin and sending pinpricks up your arms. The fabric loosens with his handiwork, blood rushing back into numb fingers as he bunches the makeshift binding into his hand and uses his freehand to grip your bicep, tugging you until you’re falling against the floor, gasping at the impact.

Joel seems to hesitate at that, his touch suddenly softer. You can’t see his face, but the reassurance you give him is instant.

“Green, green,” you rush out to ground him back in the present.

It does the trick, it seems.

You’re on your stomach and you can feel the press of denim at the back of your thighs as he corrals you in, arms dragging down to your elbows until he can push them up and around the leg of his bed, watching with wide eyes as he binds your wrists again, though looser, around the wood.

“Can’t have you runnin’ away before I get a taste,” Joel says from behind, hearing the faint ruffle of fabric before his shirt hits the bed, his hands curling around your hips to pull you up, ass propped up for him to feast.

And he does, hands squeezing into your cheeks as he spreads you open, moaning out lewdly as his tongue licks greedily between your folds. He works you open this way, laps of his tongue reaching inside of you as he groans against your wet heat. Your fingers dig into your palm, biting at the flesh as you suppress a shaky cry, feeling the curl of desperation low in your belly and already threatening to unravel.

It’s sickening how easily he can bring you to this point of pliancy, even when you were so eagerly trying to resists, “Please,” you cry, “I can’t—please,”

“Say it,” he encourages once, reminding you that there was always control, but without the indication, he wasn’t going to let up.

You shake your head in defiance, “Fuck you,” you spit.

It doesn’t take long, either. 

Joel chuckles because he knows you well enough to read the rhythm of your breathing, the shallow way your stomach shudders when you’re getting close. You feel every inch of him, skin and warmth and breath until it’s building and—

“Fuck!” A choked off cry as your head falls forward, body vibrating against the wood.

“Oh I know you got more than that in ya,” he taunts from between your thighs, the heat of his words sending another shock through you, more ruffling of fabric before his cock is heavy against the back of your thigh, hands kneading into supple flesh as he rubs the head through your folds before spearing inside of you with one sharp movement, and he sighs, “there she is.”

You let out a weak gasp, your body stretching around the thickness of him, searing heat and pressure making your mind go deliciously blank. You can barely catch your breath; he knocks it out of you with every forceful thrust, drowns you in the sound of skin slapping against skin.

The filthy wet noises that fill the space between gasping moans.

It’s relentless, primal. 

He's everywhere, all at once, until there's nothing left but—

Joel. Joel. Joel.

“You’d let me do damn near anything to ‘ya,” he taunts, “helpless little girl without me, ain’t that right? Go on, tell me to stop.”

You whimper as his hand strikes your ass, demanding an answer.

He practically growls with insatiable hunger, the sound rumbling from his chest as he thrusts into you without restraint, “Speak when you’re spoken, too,” he bites, “open that fuckin’ mouth.”

“No—no," you sob, barely coherent.

“See?” he grunts as his hand slides around you to grip the base of your throat, tilting your head up and holding you against him while his cock hits devastating inside of you, silently undoing the bindings as he pulls you back against his chest, “Knew you could do it.”

It’s too much, the striking, brutal pleasure threatening to suffocate you. 

You feel so immeasurably full of him and still—he’s not letting up.

Joel’s breath is ragged in your ear, sweat-slicked chest against your back. He presses against that spot inside of you with his cock and your vision goes white-hot. The sound that rips out of you is undeniable, pure pleasure.

“Shit,” he curses, “this all you needed? Huh? Me fuckin’ you like I own you?”

His fingers are still around your neck, tightening, and you can only sob in agreement as everything unwinds inside of you. His grip drives you against him, faster, harder, each push a little more desperate as he chases you into the crest of your second orgasm with his fingers drifting over your clit, the touch enough to end you on the spot.

“Gonna make me come again,” he warns roughly, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

Your whole body clenches around him at the promise and he lets out a weak grunt.

“Fuck,” he snarls, “come on, babygirl—do it. Do it for me.”

You’re too far gone to do anything but comply.

The pleasure explodes in your core as his thumb works like magic against you. He feels impossibly deep, and you cry out one last time as everything snaps and sends you over the edge.

Inside of you, Joel lets out a vicious growl as your body milks him for all he has to offer, his hips driving into you with punishing force while he spills hot into your cunt.

Eventually, his pace slows.

His grip on your throat gentles and he pulls out before collapsing next to you, breathless and heaving. He doesn't even bother making it to the bad, arm tucking under his head as you slump against his chest.

“Goddamn,” Joel mutters, the facade fading immediately, heaving through ragged gasps, dragging you into him, “c’mere, baby.”

Your smile is obvious, giddy—Joel can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“I think you enjoyed that a little too much,” Joel tells you, “s’good—we okay?”

“Peachy,” you reply without hesitation, taking note of his insistent touch, much gentler than a few minutes ago, “are you okay?”

“A little worried,” he admits, “didn’t know if I was bein’ too rough with you.”

“I would have told you,” you tell him honestly, pressing a kiss to his stomach from where you rest, before you playfully add, “and if we’re being honest—next time, don’t go so easy on me."

The look Joel gives you is hot—red hot; like a fire.

Joel nods dutifully, beckoning you upwards, “Ain’t nobody gonna touch you but me,” he promises, drawing your face up to his, “and I’m gonna make damn sure you won’t ever want ‘em to.”

As if there was anyone comparable to Joel.

Your soft grin told him all he needed to know.

There wasn’t.

[sitepathos]

OH DEAR AUTHOR!!!!! PLEASE UPDATE FROM GOLD TO MOLD AND I WILL SELL YOU MY SOUL!!!!!!

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 13: The Talk

(A/N: I humbly accept your offer! With your soul in my possession, you feel slightly more empty than normal!)

Warning: this chapter will feature self-mutilation. Read at your own risk.

Alfred suppresses a sigh as he looks upon Master Bruce and his children crowding the Batcomputer, obsessing over the readings of the sample obtained from you that night in the Mojave Desert. When he, Master Dick, and Mistress Cassandra returned, Master Bruce refused to be confined to the infirmary, determined to analyze your blood as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

Then again, given the family’s obsession with you and their desire to bring you back to the manor, that might very well be the case.

When he reviewed the footage of the fight, Alfred was blown away at just how… ferocious you’ve become. Yes, he’s heard how every interaction with your father and siblings has gone, but he’s always excused that as years of unreleased anger and resentment coming out now that you could do so safely.

But taking a chunk out of your father’s arm? That took a rage he thought you incapable of.

However, unlike your family, he doesn’t think this “Megamycete” is controlling you; that night it came to visit them has stuck with him and while it’s a bit bizarre to converse with sentient fungus, Alfred really believes the two of you have formed some sort of symbiotic relationship (although he still wishes you were never put into a situation where you needed such a thing in the first place).

While he never admitted it, he noticed your behavior prior to you departing the manor had changed drastically. For most of your tenure at Wayne Manor, you walked through its halls as if they were a minefield, inching slowly as though the slightest misstep would lead to tragedy, and avoiding any room where Master Bruce and the other children were in. During your final days, however, you walked as though you had nothing to fear, uncaring if Master Bruce or any of your siblings were to discover you.

And then there’s your appearance, starting with the disappearance of the scar Master Damian gave you when the two of you met (oh, how his heart aches at how the events of that day unfolded). At first he just thought you found a way to hide it using some kind of concealer, but now he knows that the Megamycete must’ve healed you.

Of course, you look completely different now compared to four years ago, but he doesn’t think your transformation can be solely attributed to the Megamycete. For years, you suffered in the halls of the manor, forced to rely on an old man for company and learn to move about silently so as not to attract the attention of the rest of its inhabitants, so it would make sense that the toll of that kind of emotional and psychological stress would affect you physically.

Now, after living in Goodsprings and being away from them, you have a far healthier glow to you (although that could also be due to Nevada’s regular exposure to sunlight versus Gotham’s constant gloom) and carry yourself with a kind of pride he never expected of you.

And when he saw your speech at the award ceremony, he knew you were truly happy with your new life.

On one hand, he’s happy for you. You lost your mother at such a young age and it happened so suddenly that you weren’t able to say goodbye; on top of losing the only parent you’ve known, you were dragged to the other side of the country to live in a place you’d most likely never heard of before to live with a father you’ve never met before. And to top it all off, you spent over ten years living in a place that made it clear you weren’t welcome, that you were only here due to a legal obligation and not love.

If there’s anyone in the world that deserves a happy ending, it’s you.

But, on the other hand, he can’t let you go.

Out of everyone in the Wayne Family, you’re the only one who’s had a normal life, thus bringing a much needed balance to the manor; you’re a breath of fresh air to the eccentricity of his charges.

And, like it or not, you are a Wayne, therefore making you a member of the family. You belong here, in Gotham and with them.

With him.

And he thinks he knows how to bring you back home… or, at the very least, get you talking to them.

You glare at the blank notebook on your desk as if it had insulted your good name and debating on stabbing it a mold tendril with enough force to puncture both it and the desk it sits on.

(Doing that will not solve your current dilemma.)

“I know,” you whine before throwing the pen on the notebook and slouching into your chair. “But it’d be the only idea I’ve had and it would make me feel better.”

The problem you’re currently facing is coming up with your next game. Sure, Salvage Rights is still going strong and the Lost Paradise DLC has been received well, but gamers today are always looking for the next big release (you’ve had countless people flooding your business email asking about future games) and if you don’t keep your players satisfied, they’ll go back to CoD or Fortnite.

And while you’re proud beyond words about Salvage Rights and its success, you didn’t get into making video games just to be a one-game designer. Ergo, the brainstorming session that is currently kicking your ass.

Should you keep making visual novels? It’s the type you’re most familiar with and it has a charm no true gamer can deny.

Although, you’re more than capable of designing 3D models and a 3D game would appeal to more people.

But, it all depends on what your new game will be about, hence why you’re angry at the notebook with only the words “New Game Ideas” written at the top of the first page. You’ve been in here for almost three hours and the only thing you’ve done is look up obscure YouTube videos you watched years ago that popped into your head while you attempted to work.

You have an archive full of the ideas, memories, knowledge, and experiences of countless people throughout the ages and you’ve come up with exactly zero ideas.

(You should not force yourself to do this,) the Megamycete says in a calming tone. (If you do, you will continue to have no success and any ideas you do have will not be as well-thought of as and will fall apart the moment you begin to work. The right idea will enter your mind when the time is right.)

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you sigh. “I’m just getting more pissed and it’s not helping me.” You stand up and begin to make your way to the exit. “How ‘bout we binge watch some anime and pig out on junk food?”

(We wish to watch one of those ‘isekai’ anime you watch. We find the concept of being in another world fascinating.)

“Sure thing, buddy,” you say with a chuckle as you make your way to the kitchen and begin grabbing random junk food and bottles of soda and water with your mold tendrils.

While you’re not the biggest anime watcher in the world (you consider yourself more of a casual anime fan more than anything else), you absolutely devour anything isekai; you discovered it during your time and Gotham and the thought of being transported to another world full of magic, fantasy creatures, and adventure and having the most powerful abilities in said world appealed to you almost as much as making Salvage Rights.

Hell, you wished to be transported to a magical world for your birthday for three years in a row before you finally accepted the hellish reality that was life in the Wayne Manor. While being in such a world was great on its own, the thought of being in such a world with a harem of attractive men plagued your daydreams at the manor, at school, and at work.

(It would have been nice to be in such a world,) the Megamycete says as you plop down on the couch and begin pulling up your anime streaming platform on your tablet, your junk food and drinks scattered across the table.

“Guess we’ll have to make do with anime,” you say as you scroll down the list of anime.

(Wait,) it says just as you’re about to select a series. (We are about to have company.)

“Company,” you repeat, confused. “Who is it?”

(It is them,) it responds, its tone full of hatred and resentment.

There’s only one reason the Megamycete would speak like that.

You patch into the roots surrounding your house and sure enough, it’s the Waynes. Specifically, all of them.

“That’s not company, it’s an infestation,” you growl.

You get up and storm over to the door, mold tendrils at the ready and your bloodlust already threatening to boil over.

“Why can’t you assholes leave me the fuck alone,” you growl once you throw open the door just as Bruce stepped onto your porch, hand raised to knock.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice says in response. Your eyes widen when the merry band of misfits parts to allow Alfred through. “Is that any way to greet guests, Master Y/N?”

Your breath hitches and eyes mist up at the sight of the man you consider a grandfather. While you have no regrets leaving Gotham and returning to your home in Goodsprings, you’ve missed Alfred since your graduation night and have thought about inviting him for a weekend visit on more than one occasion.

“Alfie,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper and not caring that the people you hate more in the world know about your nickname for the butler that you came up when you were six.

You move a little so you could hug the man, but quickly remember the “audience” around you.

“Please, come in, Alfred,” you say once you recover, stepping aside to allow the man entry, mold tendrils emerging from your body.

Alfred begins to move, but the instant you notice Bruce trying to enter, you quickly move to block his entry. “Not you. No one but Alfred is allowed in my house.”

“You call this hovel a house,” Damian asks, looking up at your home with visible disgust in his eyes.

“Get the fuck off my property,” you growl, your tone leaving no room for argument. Damian looks to his father, as if he had commanded him and not you. “Don’t look at him, I’m telling you to leave.”

Bruce gives him a nod and the little demon relents, returning to the luxury car parking in front of your house.

“Master Y/N,” Alfred says, returning your attention to him. “There’s no need to be rude. I’m confident I raised you better than that. Surely there’s room in your home for all of us.”

You do your best to suppress the flinch at the butler’s words. Yes, Alfred was the one to raise your during your time at the manor, reinforcing your Momma’s lessons on being polite and courteous, but the thought of these people being anywhere near your house makes you want to puke up your guts and use them to strangle all of them.

“I’ve missed you ever since I left Gotham, Alfred, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting them in the house my Momma raised me in and that I thought about for years. Don’t make me choose between my love for you and my hatred for them. I promise you won’t like the outcome.”

He looks at you and you return his look, the butler clearly mulling over your words before saying, “Alright, if that’s what it takes for us to talk.” He turns to the others crowding around your porch. “The lot of you will wait out here and behave yourselves.”

“Alfred,” Bruce starts to say as Alfred moves towards your door.

“That warning applies to you, too, Master Bruce,” the butler says in a tone akin to that of a parent scolding a kid, which almost makes you laugh, but you suppress the urge, determined not to laugh in front of the people you hate most in this world. “Shall we go, Master Y/N?”

You stand aside to allow Alfred in and throw one last dirty look at the pests on your lawn before slamming the door shut and commanding mold tendrils to emerge from the ground and cover your front door before countless spike-like thorns extend from them, making the message very clear: stay out.

“Your house is quite lovely, Master Y/N,” Alfred complements as he takes a look around, making you swell your chest out in pride. “I can see you take care of it.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” you say as you motion to the living room. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”

“A cup of tea, would be lovely if you have it.” He makes his way to the living room before sitting on the sofa, but not before he glances at your supply of junk food and soda. “Honestly, Master Y/N, I know I raised you better than this. Please tell me you haven’t been subsisting off this garbage since you left the manor.”

“No, I eat lots of things,” you retort as you prepare a kettle with earl grey, thankful you keep a box of the butler’s favorite tea just in case he ever dropped by for a visit. “All that is for an anime binge watching marathon I was about to do before you surprised me.”

“So you’ve been eating healthy and nutritious home cooked meals since you left the manor?”

You freeze up at the thought of the all the take-out and fast food you’ve gorged on since coming back to Goodsprings; sure, you’ve cooked at home many times… if you count frozen pizza, instant ramen, and microwave meals as cooking.

“I thought as much,” the butler says after a moment of silence. “Honestly, Master Y/N, you’re as bad as your father and siblings. Lord knows what they’d consume if I left them alone for a month.”

The comparison makes your blood boil and it takes every last ounce of willpower you have not to command the mold underneath your house to lash out at the pests outside in anger.

“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, Alfred,” you say, some of your anger leaking into your tone. “The Megamycete has the knowledge and experience of countless people, many of them skilled in the kitchen. If I wanted to, I could prepare a five course meal that would make even Gordon Ramsey look incompetent.” The kettle whistles and you quickly take it off the stove, pour some into a mug, and make your way to the living room. “Plus, the Megamycete provides everything I need; I could eat nothing but fast food for a month and I’d never gain any weight or get sick.”

It’s true, the Megamycete sustains your body, making food and water completely unnecessary, so you can go the next hundred years without any kind of sustenance. Although, could you really call life without a burger and milkshake “living?”

“Besides,” you add, placing the mug on the table in front of Alfred before sitting in your favorite chair. “I’m nothing like them. They may be able to go toe-to-toe with people like Bane and Killer Croc on a nightly basis, but they’re complete disasters in the normal world. Hell, I saw Bruce treating tying his tie like defusing a bomb, sweat and all!”

It’s true, your status as the Ghost of Wayne Manor gave you plenty of opportunities to witness such embarrassing moments, your favorite one being watching Bruce struggling with his tie for ten whole minutes before he finally admitted defeat and called for Alfred to help him with it. To see the “mighty” Bruce Wayne be defeated by a mere tie… it put a smile on your face for the rest of the day.

“I didn’t mean any offense, Master Y/N. I have every confidence that you can successfully manage a household and the proof is all around us.” He looks around the living room to emphasize his point before looking at a framed picture on the table next to the sofa. “I take it this is you and your mother?”

The picture is you and Momma at the fall festival the town holds every October. Specifically, it was the last festival you to went to before she…

“Yes,” you answer, breaking out of your depressing line of thinking. “That’s us at the fall festival Goodsprings have every year. It has a pumpkin patch, hayrides, games, and tons of food.”

“It sounds lovely,” he says, gently placing the picture back down. “She looked like a lovely woman. I can tell she loved you and you her.”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes falling to the carpet as you start to think about what little memories you had of her. You lost her when you were so young, so there’s very little actual memories you’re able to recall, making even the smallest recollection more valuable than gold.

“Master Y/N,” the man says, his tone making you look up at him. “I’m so sorry. For your mother’s passing. Losing a parent is never easy, but losing one at such a young age is nothing short of horrific.”

“It’s fine, Alfred,” you answer, trying your best to dam up the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, you weren’t the bastard that decided to drive drunk and slammed into her car. She’s been gone for years and I made peace with the fact that she’s never coming back.”

“But I’m also sorry about how you were treated during your time at the manor. You’re Master Bruce’s firstborn son and you had every right to be there as the rest of them did. No matter what the reasoning, there’s no excuse for their behavior. I should’ve put an end to it when you first arrived.”

(His words ring of sincerity, but they come too late.)

As much as you hate to admit it, the Megamycete’s right, he should’ve said all this years ago when you could still be convinced they were capable of love. After several years and many scorned attempts to reach out to them, you’ve realized the Wayne Family is full of sick and broken misfits who should be locked up in Arkham.

You open your mouth to say something to reassure the poor man, but you quickly realize that you have an eavesdropper. You connect to the roots to see Tim hanging just by your living room window, which faces the front of your house.

With a mere thought, a tendril emerges from beneath the soil and behind the little creep and whips him away from the window before he can even react, Tim letting out a yelp as he flies through the air and lands near the parked car. As the rest of them gather around Tim to help him up and provide whatever protection they think they’re capable of, you decide to add insult to injury and flex the tendril in a way that it looks like an upraised middle finger, telling each of them to fuck off before you command the tendril to return to the soil, holding in your laughter as each of them have a slack jawed expression on their faces.

“But most of all,” Alfred says, bringing you back to the room you’re physically in. “I’m sorry for what happened that night. You were put into a situation you never should’ve been in and we… I almost lost you. Ever since the Megamycete told us what happened, not a day goes by that I curse myself for being away. I assure you had I been at the manor and learned of your abduction, I would’ve tore all of Gotham apart until I found you and brought you back to the manor. And rest assured, those thugs would’ve never hurt anyone else after I was finished with them.”

“I know, Alfred,” you say.

And you do, knowing the man is like Jason Borne, James Bond, a Lara Croft had a baby together and said baby was trained by John Wicke. You can remember seeing the frankly shocking amount of weapons in the butler’s room many years ago and when asked, he said: “Those are to protect the manor and all of you should anyone be foolish enough to break in.”

To be honest, you were surprised that Bruce allowed Alfred to have such an armory given the man’s no-gun rule, but everyone knows that Alfred is the one who really runs Wayne Manor and if the butler wishes to stockpile guns for a zombie apocalypse, then there’s nothing the “World’s Greatest Detective” can do about it.

“And you don’t have to be sorry about that. It wasn’t your fault those three dicks decided to kidnap me and it sure as hell wasn’t your fault that they didn’t save me.” You can feel your anger beginning to rise again. “They didn’t care about me in the first place and left me at the hands of those thugs!”

The memories of that night rush your mind all at once, from the mocking tones of Bruce and the others to the pain the leader inflicted on you.

(And how can you forget being thrown into a cavern in the middle of the woods,) the Megamycete hisses. (You were discarded like trash into a grave no one would ever find, your body left to rot while they would be allowed to live!)

You can feel as numerous tendrils emerge all around your house and the point their massive thorns at Bruce and his bastards, threatening to turn them into Swiss cheese, and despite their defensive postures and reaching for weapons hidden in their clothes, you know you have a high probability of killing them all.

“Master Y/N,” Alfred says, bringing you out of your hate-fueled trance and back to the living room.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, you recall the tendrils back into the ground. As long as Alfred’s here, you’ll set aside your plans to tear them to shreds and paint Wayne Manor with their blood… for now.

“You have every right to be angry, Master Y/N. You never asked anything of them in the years you lived with us and the one time you reached out, you nearly died. Such behavior is inexcusable.”

“Alfred,” you say with a sigh. “Why are you really here? I appreciate the apologies, but I know you didn’t come here just for that. If it was, you would’ve come alone, or at least told them to stay away while you visited.”

“I had hoped you would allow them to make their apologies in my presence. I know they all came here, one after the other, but they were more determined to bring you back home.”

“But I am home, Alfred,” you respond with a sigh, dredging where this conversation is going. “This was my home before I lost Momma, it was the place I called home when I was in Gotham, and it’s my home for the past four years ever since I graduated. Gotham was never my home, Alfred, and that damn manor sure as hell wasn’t a home, let alone my home!”

“I know how you feel, Master Y/N, I truly do! But—“

“‘But’ what, Alfred? There is no ‘but!’ You know how they treated me! For years, I was either invisible or a nuisance, but I was never family to them! Hell, I wasn’t even someone they tolerated! To them, I was a stain that they couldn’t get rid of, so they just ignored me until I was wiped from their collective memory!”

“But they know they wronged you and wish to make amends.”

“I don’t fucking care what they want! I’m finally back home and doing what I’ve dreamed of doing and just when everything’s going my way, they come in and try to take it all away!”

“But Gotham is your home, Master Y/N,” the butler responds, making you go silent. “I know you only wish to acknowledge your mother’s side, but you are a Wayne as much as you are a Gould! Gotham is the city of the Waynes and it’s where you belong.”

“No, it’s not,” you shout, your voice making the room shake and you feel as multiple mold tendrils burst out from your back as you struggle to contain your anger. “I never belonged there and if it wasn’t for that drunk fucker, I never would’ve been dragged there! It’s the City of the Damned that no decent person with even half a working brain would live in!”

The two of you stare at one another, the only noise in the room being the sound of your taking short, rapid breaths to replenish the breath you lost from your angry rant.

“Am I decent person,” he asks after a while. “Do I belong in that ‘City of the Damned?’”

At first, you wanted to say no, that he’s a kind man who doesn’t belong in a place as terrible as Gotham.

But, there’s a part of you, composed entirely of anger, hatred, and pain, that wants to say yes.

For all the help Alfred gave you, he also enabled Bruce and the others to ignore you and treat you like shit; at any point, he could’ve put his foot down and forced them to give you the bare minimum of attention most children need, but it never happened.

Hell, he was often in the living room watching movies and eating delicious food while you were left in an abandoned part of the manor upstairs, the only thing keeping you company was the sound of your muffled cries and vague memories of a better time, where Momma was still alive.

“I think,” you finally say as you retract the tendrils into your body, your breathing returning to a semi-normal level. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“What,” he asks, his eyes wide like saucers.

“It’s time for you to go, Alfred,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

You stand up and he does as well, but when he makes no move to walk to the door, you gently but firmly grab his arm and walk him to the door.

You’re not surprised to see the peanut gallery when you open the door, knowing they were all listening in the entire time, even though Tim was the only one who made it obvious and you’re even less surprised to see Damian standing on your property again, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

The only thing that matters is putting an end to this.

“Master Y/N,” Alfred says as you move him outside the door and begin to close it. “Please, come home! I waited since the day you left for Master Bruce and the children to notice you were missing! When they didn’t, I had to take matters into my hands.”

You freeze, the door half closed, as the words sink in.

Take matters into my own hands.

What did he mean by that?

No…

It can’t be…

There’s no way…

He wouldn’t…

Right?

“What,” you respond as you open the door, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Master Bruce and the children learned of your departure when they discovered my laptop in the kitchen, your game running and the title music blaring for all to hear. I engineered that so they would eventually learn of your career as a game developer; from there, they would realize you had left the manor after graduating high school. I knew their sense of justice would do the rest.”

His words hit you harder than that thug and based off the looks Bruce and the peanut gallery have on their faces, they’re just as shocked as you.

Bruce looks especially shocked, which makes sense as no one ever thought Alfred could be capable of such manipulation.

“So it’s your fault I have to deal with these assholes again,” you say after finding your voice. “If it wasn’t for you, they would’ve still forgotten me and I’d be living my life in peace!” You feel tears streaming down your face, which is now molten hot. “Why, Alfred? Why do that when you know how I felt about them? Don’t you remember all the times you held me in your arms while I cried my eyes out about how they treated me?”

“Of course I do,” he responds, his eyes visibly glossy. “I remember every last tear you shed because of something they did or something they said. But I set all this in motion so you’d eventually be brought home. You’ve belonged at the manor since the moment you were born and I’ll be damned if all members of the Wayne Family aren’t together.”

“You did all this because you’re selfish and want me to live somewhere that made me miserable for years just because I happen to share DNA with this bastard?” You gesture to Bruce, who gawks like an absolute idiot. “I… I hate you.”

All of them, Alfred especially, gasp and their eyes go so wide they look like they’ll pop out of their sockets. Hell, you’re even surprised by your own words; saying that you hate Alfred left an extremely bitter taste in your mouth and you’re actually wanting to take it back.

(Do not,) the Megamycete hisses, clearly pissed beyond words. (He knows the transgressions they have wrought against you and he still orchestrated the reunion of the people who have brought you nothing but misery ever since you were a child. He has betrayed your trust and should never be forgiven for this!)

“Master Y/N,” Alfred says, clearly upset by what you said. “I—“

“I hate you,” you say again, louder. “I hate you ! I hate you! I hate you!”

At this point, all your control and restraint has been destroyed and you don’t attempt to fight it when a tendril emerges from your back and whips the lot of them away from your porch, sending them tumbling onto your lawn.

Your chest is heaving as your anger and sadness fill your entire body until there’s nothing left but those two emotions.

You thought there was nothing worse than losing your Momma, but being betrayed by the man you’ve trusted and depended on for years is a close second and for a moment, you’re six-year-old again, completely helpless as your world crumbles beneath your feet and you’re once again completely alone.

Alone. That sounds like the perfect solution to this problem; if you’re alone, you can’t be hurt anymore and you can completely fall apart and not give these heartless bastards any satisfaction.

Plus, you spent the first part of your life all alone. You’ve been alone since your sixth birthday, so it’s nothing new to you. In fact, you’ve come to appreciate solitude.

You command countless mold tendrils to sprout from the ground and surround your house, covering it to the point where you can’t see the paint.

“Stay away from me, all of you,” you say, your voice cracking while you fight with the last of your mental strength to keep from completely falling apart in front of them. “This is your last warning. Next time I see any of you, I’ll rip you apart, and I won’t give a shit where we are. Do you hear me? I’ll fucking murder you!”

And with that, you turn around and step back in your house, a tendril shutting your door and covering it so no one can enter.

Once you know your house is completely covered in tendrils to the point even a chainsaw won’t be able to cut through, you head up to your room as fast as you can manage in your current state. Thanks to the tendrils covering the windows, it’s pitch black in your room, but you’re more than capable of seeing thanks to the Megamycete.

You shut your door, knowing you most likely cracked the frame from the force of it, and fall to the floor and put all your weight against the door, all your strength gone and your willpower extinguished. You still in the dark, the only noise being your choked sobs.

All you can think about is how betrayed you feel in this moment by the one person on this planet you thought would always have your back.

Alfred was the only thing that kept you going after losing Momma and living in that fucking manor surrounded by the most distant, paranoid, and emotionally-stunted people on the planet.

Once again, you’ve lost the one person who was closest to your heart and you feel like it’s you against the world.

(It is ok,) it says to you in a calming manner. (It is just us. You can fall apart.)

And with that, you allow the soul-piercing sobs to emerge from mouth at maximum volume and tears the size of pearls fall from your eyes.

But this isn’t enough. The sobs and tears aren’t enough to vent the frustrations and sadness you feel in this moment and you look down at your Star Wars shirt, which is barely a step above rags due to the tendrils you’ve created in the last half hour, which has completely destroyed the back of it.

Deciding to write it off so you can properly express the deep sense of helplessness you feel in this moment, you create talons on both your hands and dig into your torso, ripping both the shirt and your flesh, sending scraps of cloth, bits of flesh, and splashes of blood onto your carpet. What remains of your rational mind tells you that you’ll have to replace the carpet and destroy the old one to prevent anyone from finding out what’s happened, but you don’t care.

Right now, you’re hurting and all you want to do is express that hurt in the only way you can think of. Sure, it’s not healthy in any definition of the word, but you’re able to heal from the injuries, so it’s not like you’ll have to deal with any consequences of what you’re doing.

You pierce your talons into the center of your chest and rip it open, blood cascading down your body and pooling around where you’re sitting, and reach into your chest cavity, past your rib cage, until you find what you’re looking for: your heart.

With another sob, you rip the organ out and hold it out in front of you, the little thing still beating despite there being nothing to pump blood into.

One would think ripping out one’s own heart would be a pain unlike any other and seeing it before one’s very eyes would be an extremely frightening sight, but in this moment, you feel nothing. After all sadness, loneliness, and disappointments you experienced for the majority of the last fourteen years, you barely registered the sensation of your heart being ripped out of your chest by your own hand.

Am I incapable of feeling anything but sadness and anger, you think as you look at the organ in your hand, perfectly fine without it being in your body. No matter how fast or how far I run, I’ll never be able to escape the hold those people have on me?

And with that depressing thought, you squeeze the organ until you hear a sickeningly wet splat! and it burst like a balloon, coating your hand in blood and dripping onto the carpet. You allow your hand to fall to the floor and what remains of your heart reassimilating into your hand as your torso begins to stitch itself back together with a new heart eventually emerging and beating as soon as it was complete.

Ever since you became the host of the Megamycete, you’ve noticed that you don’t have the same bodily requirements you once did; you eat despite not feeling any sort of hunger, drink despite not feeling any sort of thirst, and sleep despite never feeling any sort of fatigue. It didn’t take long to realize that the Megamycete provides everything you need, eliminating the need for food, water, and rest and despite its wishes, you often took advantage of this, forgoing eating and sleep for weeks at a time so you could finish the goal you set for the development of your game.

Now, however? You feel like you have no energy left in your body that even lifting your head feels like a Herculean task right now. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, you have nothing left in the tank.

(Rest. Today has been an extremely draining day for you. You need to regain your strength. We will keep watch over you.)

You lean your head against the door and close your eyes, falling asleep immediately.

Bruce looks over to Alfred, who’s sitting in the seat next to him.

Ever since leaving your house after the… incident, he’s been completely quiet and emotionless, despite his and his children’s attempts to get through to him.

Even now, on the jet, he remains silent, but it doesn’t take a world class detective to figure out he’s completely devastated by what just happened. He can tell that he cares about you very much, which isn’t that hard to see why since you weren’t trained in crime fighting and detective work like them, so hearing that you hate him would be similar to a death sentence for Alfred.

“Alfred,” he says, holding the man’s hand in his own. “Y/N didn’t mean that, he was just angry at us for what we’ve done to him and he was taking his anger out on you.”

“He has every right to hate me,” the man says, his voice hoarse from tears not shed. “I should have done better while he was growing up, but I didn’t and now I have to bare the consequences of my failures.”

“We’re gonna bring him back, Alfred. We’ll find a way to beat that damn mushroom in his body and bring him back home. And when we do, we’ll show him the love we should’ve when he was growing up. We’ll make things right… I’ll make things right. And then we can be a family.”

Alfred say nothing and Bruce can feel the weight of this failures quadruple.

I’ll find a way to fix this. I have to. I’m his father. I need to make this family whole again.

And come hell or high water, he’ll bring you back home or die trying.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy @im-so-goddamn-tired @twismare

[snoopychris]

dbf!chris is okay with tying his soul with yours

warnings: period sex. this is your warning.

chris felt frantic while running around his house. his wrist swung back and forth while he consistently checked the time, groaning quietly to himself. he glances at owen, playing happily with some of his cars, smiling slightly as he shoves a bite of cereal in his mouth. the sitter was nearly 20 minutes late. his shift started in 30 minutes and he still had the commute to keep in mind. he was freaking out more than he ever had before. the toddler slowly stands up, tumbling over to his dad. chris smiles as he ruffles the kids hair, pressing a small kiss to his head. “what’s up, bud? hm? you hungry or something?” chris whispers, pulling his phone out of his pocket to solve the problem the only way he knew how.

the phone rang a few times before you answered, your voice sweet and full of cheer as you picked up. “hey chris what’s up? everything ok?” you ask, your smile evident through the screen. chris sighs for a moment before running a hand through his hair, hesitant to ask. “i need a sitter. i had one but she’s late and my shift starts soon and i can’t exactly take owen to a bar. i’ll pay you i promise i just… please.” your eyes widen slightly at the suddenness of the question, but it’s not like you’re doing anything anyway. “i’ll be there in 5.” you reply, climbing off your bed as you begin to walk towards chris’ house. it’s not far by any means, but it’s a tedious walk with all of the sticks and other terrains that separate you. your knocks are gentle on the door, quickly being met with chris’ blue eyes staring into your own. his stubble is longer than it usually is, making him look more his age than usual. 

“i owe you. i promise ill actually pay you eventually. i’m sorry i won’t be able to today.” chris words are fast. you can tell he’s in a rush by the way the house is a mess. it looks like he was scattering through all of his things to find what he was looking for. “it’s okay chris really i don’t need any-“ your words are cut off by a brisk kiss from chris as he walks out the door, car keys in hand as he waves goodbye to you and owen. “there’s pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry! i’ll see you later i love you!” he yells, climbing into the prius he’s had for ages. you chuckle as you shut the door gently, looking down at owen on the carpet. “your dad… is a mess sometimes.” you giggle, sitting down next to him on the carpet. “but he’s cool i guess.”

the day passes by faster than you had ever imagined it could’ve. it felt like just a few minutes had past when chris got home, but really it had been hours. he walks into the house to the smell of something more delicious than he could’ve ever made. the trail of the scent drags him to the kitchen where you’re making some sort of pasta and brownies. he smiles widely at the sight of you, watching his son as he eats his buttered noodles. “hey you two… what you up to?” he raises an eyebrow, kissing owen’s head as he lifts him up gently and sits the toddler on his knee. “you look good with that apron on. smells great in here too. y’got enough for me?” he chuckles, bouncing his knee gently. you nod as you smile, biting your lip as you turn to look at him. 

“vodka pasta and brownies for dessert.” the plate that gets placed in front of chris looks more delectable than anything he’s eaten in weeks, causing him to quickly grab a fork and place a noodle in his mouth. he borderline moans at the taste, gripping onto your wrist and pulling you in for another kiss. “this is incredible. you’re incredible. thank you.” he whispers, his voice full of nothing but genuine emotion as he speaks. you smile as you steal a bite of his pasta, sitting on the stool besides him. he laughs as you eat his food, his free hand sitting on your knee. “you goin home? or you gonna stay here tonight?” his chin moves to rest on owen’s head, batting his eyes at you like a puppy. you shrug for a moment as you grab the toddler from his lap, setting him on your hip.

“guess i’ll see. he’s fallin asleep on your lap… gonna put him to bed.” you whisper, running your fingers through the brown head of hair as a way to rock him to sleep. “i’ll be right back. save me some pasta.” chris smiles at your words as you walk away, holding his arms out for you when you finally come back. you settle in his lap and in his arms, kissing his cheek and neck gently. “you don’t have to pay me chris. i mean it. i’m okay.” you giggle, taking a bite from the plate once more. chris shrugs as he gently twists your hair between his fingers as if it’s the worlds most expensive silk. he wants to hold you just like this at every given moment of the day. everyday.

“you’re really pretty. would make a really good mama. when i left the house was a mess. all i had was pizza. came back and suddenly i can see my floor and there’s a god damn pasta on the stove. and you made it from scratch ‘cause i didn’t have any spaghetti noodles, only rigatoni.” your mouth drops slightly open at his words, gasping when he pulls you in for a long, passionate kiss. your arms wrap around his neck as he continues to work his way down your neck with his lips. 

“lemme… lemme just put it in while we eat. won’t even move. please baby please.” he whines, nipping down on your neck. you moan quietly but shake your head regardless, pushing chris away gently. “you can’t. i’m on my period it’s gonna be gross and messy and it’s a soul tie.” chris groans at your words, toying with the hem of your sweatpants, which you had taken from his closet, biting his lip as he bats his eyes. 

“oh i don’t give a fuck. gods giving you a natural lubricant and you’re stopping me from using it?” you laugh in shock at his words, standing up from his lap as you make your way to his bedroom. “you’re a freak.” you whisper, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and tossing it onto the bed.  “you literally swallowed my cum last night and the night before that but blood is what’s getting in your way?” you widen your eyes at his words, jumping onto the bed as you reach out to him. “you’re such a romantic you know that?” chris laughs at your words, caging you on his mattress with his arms. he begins to kiss down your neck again, hand slipping between your thighs as he taps on your clit gently. it’s a little too slow for your liking. “chris.” you whine, pushing your sweats out of the way to give him more access. he groans at the sight, freeing himself from his own clothes and rubbing himself against your clothed heat. 

“you’re gonna be so good for me right baby? g’nna let me stuff you full of my babies? gonna let me make you a mama right?” he grunts, pushing your panties to the side and slipping in carefully as you squirm on the bed gently. your gummy walls engulf him instantly, a layer of warmth added with your current state. his head buries into your neck as he begins sliding in and out, the motion coming with lots more ease than usual. “fuck you feel amazing.” chris licks his lips as he begins speeding up his movements, his ego being boosted by your inability to speak and hardly make any noise. your eyes squeeze shut as you grip onto his hair, drool slipping from the side of your mouth. you can’t imagine the mess that you’re making as chris moves, the hormones coursing through you making the experience far more enjoyable. the self control that chris was trying his best to keep goes out the window when he thrusts against a specific spot, the moan leaving your mouth making a switch flip in chris’ head. 

his movements speed up more than you thought was possible, one of your legs being hoisted up to his shoulder for him to continuously rub against the spot that had made you so loud just moments ago. his free hand comes down to rub circles on your clit, the mess between your legs only spreading to his hands. “fuck. fuck you feel so fucking good. gonna need to do this more often. oh look at you doll, so fucked out on my cock. cmon baby… can feel you clenching around me.” chris speaks, his speed on your clit increasing. you nod rapidly as you let the wave of pleasure rush over you, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “attagirl.” chris groans as he releases inside of you, a shaky moan leaving the depths of his throat.  your pants are in tandem as you ride out your orgasms, chris being reluctant to pull out. 

he does eventually, pushing your panties back over your pussy. he chuckles slightly as he stands up, walking to the bathroom to wash his hands before turning towards you. “you want me to run you a bath?” he whispers, looking towards the bathtub as he steps over to his bed, swiftly picking you up and walking into the bathroom once more. “it’s up to you doll. i’d gladly shower with you again and again till you felt clean enough.” you smile at his words, head gesturing towards the bath. “only if you join me.” you whisper, climbing into the plastic tub as chris turns the water on. he slips in with you, hands wrapping around your frame gently. he kisses the top of your head, his thumbs moving to rub your thighs gently. “you make me feel complete y’know.” he whispers, the blush on his face becoming more apparent as you squeeze onto his bicep gently, letting out a small giggle. “yeah that’s the soul tie talking.”

a/n: i had no ideas and thought all my smut sounded the same and somehow THIS is where we ended up. my bad guys.

tags(reply/message to be added!): @oopsiedaisydeer @marrykisskilled @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @cykss @throatgoat4u @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @riasturns @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @jetaimevous @muwapsturniolo @sturnsrecord @13hoax @whore4mattsturniolo @ribbonlovergirl @tezzzzzzzzzzz @chrattho1 @submattenthusiast @mattscoquette @sosasturns

DIVIDERS BY @bernardsbendystraws !

[bugflies00]

i have so many thoughts about the tommy song/video and theyre a jumbled mess. i wouldnt call this an analysis this is just. most of my thoughts surrounding the video and what it shows about tommy

one of the things that stuck out to me (outside of how depressing and just like. is this guy okay) is something that ive always respected tommy for because he's always stuck with it and its his like. fervent conviction in people doing things theyre passionate about. thats always been one of the things he talks about all the time!!!

when AI started appearing he was talking about death of creativity, with the internet he's always talking about how the real tragedy is the algorithm killing people's passion by driving them with views and money, and even when he talks about youtube itself, and nowadays standup, its so full of passion.

and i think thats really important because it would be extremely easy for someone like tommy, who's in the process of maturing his online image from a very loud, immature and PASSIONATE persona, to make fun of it. it would be so easy to do like so many other creators and laugh at how "cringe" it was and make a quick cash/attention grab with a funny clip of him laughing at himself. but he never has. well don't get me wrong he's laughed at himself or old videos but it's always just. good natured taking the piss out of himself, it's never this like. mocking your younger self who was so excited to do what they did only because now its "cringe".

not only is he constantly giving that advice to other people (its been years of him replying, to any kid in his chat or donations asking advice on how to be a creator etc, "just go and do it if you love it!!"), he's coherent with how he applies it to himself. he realised he was making cash grab tiktok react vids and hated it so much he just stopped uploading for a while.

i dont know i just think there's something admirable about being able to still be sincere in a time where everything especially online has to be processed through a layer of irony. and its even funnier because he's more sincere THROUGH the irony i mean he's literally going into standup.

letting yourself create something that "means" something is fucking hard especially when half the internet still sees you as a kid who screams around. except the thing is that kid DID make stuff that mattered and that meant something because he was, in his own words, having fun.

i think thats what the format of the video was about too. i mean i think it was pretty clearly not a song thats meant to be streamed, its not purely music, its also a video because tommy is also first and foremost an editor who went to film college. its also not a "comedy" song like he's made some before, because those were all intentionally created to land as many jokes and make a big buzz— which doesnt mean they were bad! im philza is a contemporary lyrical masterpiece. but they had a specific purpose and it was to make people laugh and i think this video was completely like. opposite of what peoples expectations are of tommy. the "wow hes not a child anymore hes being mature🤓" reactions are the most obvious aspect of this (which, like, its been a while, get with the program).

i think the point of this was to make something that genuinely meant something but that was also like. as unpalatable to the algorithm and to the TommyInnit Viewer as possible. even now that he's gone into making quieter, more reflective videos, we've never had the flashing texts and the projector images and just all of that. hes always talking about how he hates the way the "youtube formula" has dictated the course of content and stolen all creativity for youtubers. its not meant to be a YouTube Video tm. its just meant to mean something to someone, and obviously process some sort of personal emotions, and i just think thats. yeah. yeah

i mean he even says so outright. "this needless, self indulgent spiral of self gratification" is pretty damn explicit. its not meant to be funny content its really a cry for help or for just. anything at all really

it was also a lot about perception, yknow the "entertainer" dilemma, "its all attention porn"... theres a layer of this point thats universal, everyone struggles with how they're perceived and i think any "artist" or "entertainer" figure can see themselves in it, but there's also a layer thats completely impermeable to most of us because it touches upon the sheer absurdity of a "youtuber". especially one of tommy's popularity. especially one who blew up so so fast so young. i honestly think its IMPOSSIBLE to process that. its about the ethics of having millions of people's time so readily available to you if you just press the right buttons to make the algorithm happy and then you've got them. im like 75% sure i remember him saying this on stream once, something like "your time is valuable" and if a fan didnt value him as an entertainer they should drop him.

and even here^ thats the saddest "lmao" ive seen in my life SORRY LOL but its really just. yeah im not gonna repeat myself it speaks for itself. perception and internet expectations and all that

one of the other images that stuck out to me was also this:

"yeah i know its too much like bo burnham but it wont be in a year though. in a year it will be like tom simons. just let me figure out what that means, ok?"

a lot of the video is about. influences and inspirations. the bo burnham references are so obvious he's poking at them, but i think he's raising a good point about the creativity that he's constantly praising. its never something that springs up on its own, its all about looking at others work and making it your own and feeding yourself with all those experiences and slowly, surely building your own way of doing things (tommyinnit "minecraft talent show" and "a tribute to dream smp" serial quackity + schlatt impersonator would know all about that) ->

and its daunting! its fucking scary to move away from that! which is also the main vibe i got from the video which, outside of his own issues with how he's perceived online, was the sort of existential dread that comes with actually creating. its one thing to preach you need to be passionate and create, its another to sit down and create something thats BY you. its a part of growing up! and we're literally seeing him do it live (well the bits that he chooses to show obviously)! thats also part of why i think tommy's so relatable to so many people is that he's so like. honest and real about what it's like to grow up, simple as that, and growing into yourself.

"this was everything to me" and using the picture of his younger self... man. theres obviously so much sadness underlying the whole thing but i think the nostalgia and melancholy in mourning being someone who was only inspired/excited by your interests and role models is universal. and obviously for tommy a lot of those influences turned out. well i think it was pretty damn clear who/what he was referring to here. ->

i don't think i need to go too in detail about that, especially cause a lot of the video was clearly a way to process his own personal emotions. especially with those next few images. i just hope he's okay and that god doubles his pain and gives it to mr beast to quote my friend bronzetomatoes. man.

of course he had to end with a funny clip about a hot anime girl and i think that kinda. sums it all up in a way. if that makes sense. at the end of the day its about the fact that he has to use humour to make the thing work when its out in the open, even when he tries not to and to be actually honest, but theres also the fact that hes literally a comedian and creating something "honest" IS through humor. its kindof a double edged sword

right well that was my jumbled mess of psychoanalysing tommyinnit i hope he is alright and all that because well that was. something

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. PLEASE READ AND LOOK UP DEFINITIONS OF WARNINGS FOR FURTHER CLARIFICATION. HUGE TW FOR THIS CHAPTER. CSA (only mentioned, not described), angst, fluff, fighting, physical altercation, lying, and more.

A/N: This is long as fuck and have fun on this emotional rollercoaster lol this is barely proofread btw

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P25: Too Soon?

A week. My mom would be gone on some work trip for an entire seven days.

I really don’t believe it. Part of me always thought she would lie about them being ‘work trips,’ but now I was sure. What kind of work trip didn’t have cell service?

She’s lying. I know she’s hiding something, I know deep down this probably isn’t the first time she’s done this before. But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part is that she that she left Byalen in charge to ‘watch’ me—like a fucking babysitter, since I couldn’t be trusted anymore because of the time she caught me coming home with Chris early in the morning.

Fucking hypocrite. 

Sure, I wasn’t telling the truth—but neither was she. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. 

Currently, I’m on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as my phone rests on my stomach. Chris’ voice echoes through the device. We’ve been talking for hours. I really want to just go over and see him—see my boyfriend, but I can’t. Not while I’m being fucking babysat. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep over? You need to sleep.” Chris says.

God, the offer is tempting. All of me wants to say yes, walk over to his house, and cuddle up in his arms. But I can’t. I’ve slept like shit for the past three days and it keeps getting worse. I need him to hold me in order to feel okay, I wanna sleep in a house that feels like a home too. 

It’s not even just him. It’s Jimmy, it’s Matt, and hell—even Trevor. I love being around them, it makes everything feel so much easier. 

I huff, shaking my head against my pillow as I roll my eyes. “I can’t, I’m being fuckin babysat at 18 years old.” I remark. 

A wave of silence washes over for a minute. I can practically hear Chris thinking, the slight vibration of a curious hum sounding through the phone. My fingers callus over my lip, the slight graze of my nails making the muscle tingle in a way that mimics how Chris’ lips feel against my own.

Fuck. I miss that. 

It’s like he has something that I need and crave all the damn time, like he possesses some sort of energy that makes my body feel better—lighter, even. 

“Well…what if I came over there?” He offers. 

My eyebrows twist together. I lick over my lip, gnawing on the muscle as I think of his statement. 

“But…but what if we get caught?” I question. 

I could imagine it. Baylen would see Chris and all hell would break loose. 

I doubt he’d cover for me, he’d probably enthusiastically go telling my mom the second she walks back into the house. 

Chris lets out a dry laugh. “Has he really ever bothered to check in your room? I mean, even if he does, I’ll just hide in your closet or something.”

“That’s kinda gay, bro,” I joke, gnawing on my lip as I hear Chris let out a fit of chuckles that make my heart echo in my ears. 

I love being able to do that. Hearing him laugh—making him laugh, it all feels so pure. It honestly feels as intimate as him in between my legs, just in a different type of way. 

Either are addicting. It was hard to miss only one or the other, I craved both. 

I wanted to feel the euphoric relief from his touch. I wanted to laugh with him to the point where I couldn’t think of anything except how bad my stomach cramped from giggling. 

I wanted everything and all of it—I just want him. 

It’s only been a bit over a week since we made things official, but god—I could feel emotions building so rapidly, so much that they felt like they were consuming every corner of my mind.

Some of it made me sick. 

I never felt this way with Ryan, my ex. The butterflies were there, but not to this extent—not to the point where I caught myself trying to imagine he was holding me in order to fall asleep. 

“Do you want me to come over and not?” Chris remarks, pulling me back to reality as his voice echoes through my phone. 

I bite back a sore smile, humming in approval, “Yes please.” 

___

It feels good like this. Every inch of my body is content, my limbs melted in his hold as I let myself breathe in the fresh air from the cracked window in my bedroom.

His hand is combing through my hair. I hear him clear his throat, his chest rumbling as he begins to speak, “So, um…I…I’ve really missed you.” he says—again.

My lips tug into an unrelenting smile. We’ve been cuddling for hours and he’s repeated the same statement at least ten times. 

It should be annoying, but it’s not. It makes me feel warm—it makes me feel a part of the moment, like every wave of the breeze is infiltrating the pores on my skin to ground me with a profound amount of peace. 

“I missed you too.” I reply, scratching my nails over his chest as I let out another hum of contentment. His lips press against the crown of my head, a lingering kiss placed on my scalp as I feel his warm breath tickle into my hair. 

It’s dark now. We should be tired, but we’re not. A short nap had rendered us a bit sad since we wanted to watch the sunset together, but it was okay since now we got to watch the night sky illuminate with a crescent moon and thousands of stars varying in vibrance. 

I wonder who’s watching. Maybe my dad is one of those stars, maybe he gets to see me finally living after all these years without him. 

The gap of his presence still aches in my heart, but it’s not as exhausting. A tiny splinter of a gap still remains in the pumping muscle, but it seems to be soothed by the added layers of security from Chris’ arms around me. 

“What’re you thinking about, pretty girl?” Chris asks, combing through my hair. 

I crane my head to stare up at him, sparing a soft smile as I give a slight shrug of my shoulders. “I just…” my words float into the air, unfinished as I gulp the lump in my throat that seems to build with how his eyes are piercing into me. “-I really like this. I…really like you…being here with me. It’s just–” 

Chris leans down, pressing the tip of his nose against my own as he blinks, his eyes lashes fluttering against my own with a ticklish sensation that makes a soft sigh fall from my lips. 

“-good. I’m glad you like it because I love it. You don’t understand how much I missed holding you, really,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my lips in a way that makes my stomach swarm with warm butterflies. “-this makes me so, so, so fuckin’ happy—holding my girl, in my arms—”

“You’re never gonna stop saying that, huh?” I tease, biting on my lip as his eyes open and gleam into my own.              

Chris purses his lips, shrugging. “Nah. Getting to call you my girl?” he puffs, his eyes going with before he offers a playful smile, “-could never get old to me. Makes me feel all….” he wraps his arms tighter around me, pulling a gasp from my mouth as he pulls my chest plush against his, “-warm.” 

Ugh. He feels the same way I do—maybe even more so. 

I let myself bathe in his stare, the reassurance of his gaze making me feel like moonlight—calm, radiate, and important. Part of me doesn’t wanna speak at all, the fear of this exact moment ending making my heart pulse in my chest with a sharp sting. 

But it’s okay. 

It’s okay because I know there will always be more moments like this with him. It’s okay because there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll ever let me feel anything less than cared for. 

Words linger on the tip of my tongue, words I know I shouldn’t say—not yet, at least.

But it’s true. I love him, I really, really do. I don’t know when the realization happened. Honestly, I think it might’ve been when we first met, like some sort of cautious feeling that was warning me of destiny. 

Chris licks over his lips, his smile fading into a serious look as he swallows thickly. “I…I know we haven’t been official for very long, but—I…I feel things for you, I feel so much it hurts,” he breaths. 

My breath halts in my chest, my ears ringing as my bones seem to vibrate inside my body. He feels it too. It’s like everything about us is connected, like everything is falling into place so effortlessly it feels like magic. 

“I…” The words fall flat on the tip of my tongue, my eyes glazing over with pure emotion as I let my eyes wander over his face.

It’s so comfortable. All I can hear is our hearts beating in sync, the way my entire soul is burning for me to say it—say everything. 

“I love you.”

My eyes widened in shock. The words had rambled off my tongue so rushed, the devotion hanging in the air with an accompanied echo of his own voice. 

“Oh.” 

Our words are still in sync. We both let out a small laugh, the giggles falling quiet as we just breath in each other’s presence. 

“I guess that wasn’t as scary as I was making it out to seem, huh?” he tuts. 

I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I shrug, “-I guess so.” 

___

Chris’ POV

I keep waking up. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s like my body doesn’t want to sleep, even though I’m very comfortable, I just wanna look at her in my arms. 

The slight sound of crickets echoing with the cool night air makes me sigh. My eyes drift over to her nightstand, her empty water bottle catching my attention. She had jugged all of it and fell back asleep within an instant a while ago, waking up a bit later, disappointed to find the bottle empty. 

Maybe I should fill it for her.

Yeah.

Slowly sliding away, I wince hearing her let out a small whimper, reaching out for me as I stand up fully. Her eyes peek open. I pet over her shoulder, cooing, “-hey, go back to sleep—’m just gonna fill your water, okay?” 

She nods hazily, her eyes falling shut with a slight scowl printed on her face. 

God, she’s pretty.

My stomach flutters with warmth as I watch her bottom lip pout slightly, her arms reaching out and tugging the pillow that was beneath my head into her hold as she greedily takes a large breath.

Fuck.

She’s barely awake and she still wants me. 

With light steps, I carefully make my way out of her room, venturing through the halls in hopes of finding the kitchen. It doesn’t take long. I walk into the tiled room, the cold flooring against my feet making me miss the warmth of her touch. 

“Ugh,” I sigh, walking over to the sink and filling the bottle, trying to tilt the object to create as little noise as possible. 

My lips roll together, my mind racing with thoughts as I reminisce on earlier. I was so scared to tell her that I loved her, I was scared it was too soon, too much, or purely insane to feel so strongly when we only made things official a bit ago. 

But she said it at the same time, and somehow that was better than her saying it back. 

“Who the fuck?” 

My eyes go wide as I screw on the cap to the water bottle. I turn around, finding her brother with messy hair and sunken eyes staring at me with a scowl. 

Fuck. 

“Shit.” I mutter, squinting my eyes shut in hopes I’m just having a nightmare. 

But no. 

I open my eyes, he’s still there—closer. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he interrogates, his shoulders broadening as his nostrils flare with an angry huff. 

“I, uh,” I look towards the hallway, mentally cursing myself as I think of her getting in trouble because of me, “-I’m Chris. I’m…uh—”

I don’t get the chance to finish. Baylen’s eyes shift to the bottle in my hand, his tongue prodding on the side of his cheek as he shakes his head disappointedly. 

“What? Are you her boyfriend or something?” he asks, lips tugged into a straight line. 

Gulping, I nod. Surely me being her boyfriend is better than being a stranger breaking in, right?

“No.”

The fuck?

My brows furrow together at his statement. Baylen seems to analyze the confusion on my face, shrugging as he repeats the words with a more tense voice, “-I said no.” 

“What? No? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not really your decision.” I point. 

No wonder she can’t get along with him, he’s a prick. He barely acts like a brother, yet he’s trying to dictate our relationship? 

Fuck that. I’ve done more for her than he has with a fraction of the time. 

I mean, how hard is it to be there for his sister? 

After losing my mom and Nick, no matter how distant or hurt I was, I still hugged Matt when he needed it. I might’ve grown distant, but I never grew heartless.

Baylen couldn’t even suck it up to play video games with her. 

His face contorts with distaste. I let out an angry sigh, my eyes rolling while he let out a scoff. 

“She’s my sister. I’m the one who gets to look out for her, not some guy she’s known for what, a couple months?” he remarks, a slight snort echoing at the end of his sentence. 

His words seem to make my heart pummel against my chest with rage, the statement making my blood boil as I lick over my teeth. “Look out for her? You can’t even sit down and play a video game with her for more than five minutes. Just…” I shake my head, watching as his face shifts into shock before the fury in his eyes starts to become more intense, “-it’s whatever.” 

Baylen clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, shaking his head, “Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

My nose twitches, my eyes squint as my jaw becomes tight. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? 

“Oh, I have no idea what I’m talking about?” I huff, my brows lifting as I let out a dry laugh, “-no, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re an awful fucking brother, you have no say in anything when you’re treating her like…like a fucking dick.” 

His jaw clicks. Baylen stalks forward, his hands twisting in the collar of my shirt as he yanks me to the side, pushing me against the wall as his eyes glare into me, the anger radiating off of him making the ache in my head from the impact seem less apparent as I drop the water bottle and clutch onto his wrists, trying to yank him off of me. The loud clunk of the bottle hitting the ground makes me wince. I huff at his unrelenting grip, taking a heavy sigh as I try to calm the pulsing anger in my body. 

I can’t hit him. She cares about him—even if he hurts her, I know that would make her upset.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeats, his voice dangerously low as he pushes me harder against the wall.  

“You abandoned her when she needed you most. What kind of brother does that?” I spit, the emotions in my voice leaking with a bit of hypocrisy. 

I wasn’t always the best when it came to comforting Matt after my mom and Nick had died, but at least I came around. Someone had to knock some sense into me—that someone being my dad, but it didn’t seem like anyone was ever gonna set Baylen straight. 

“You—you don’t get it. Stop. Just—just shut up,” he yells, shoving me even harder as I feel the back of my head pulse. 

“I do. Just…ow, fuck—” I hiss, the pain becoming evidentally apparent as my skull aches, “-I lost some of my family. Someone had to knock some sense into me. She—she’s your sister, you both lost your dad, she’s hurting and—shit.” 

It fucking hurts. The back of my head is pulsing, an echoing pain bursting through my forehead as I try to move, only to have him shove me harder. 

“I didn’t lose anyone. You…you don’t understand.” 

My eyes peak open, curiosity accompanied by pain as I hear a slight crack in his voice. His face drops with sadness, the anger fleeting into some sort of sullen emotion as he swallows thickly. 

“You…you don’t understand. That man—he’s not my father. He’s a sick excuse of a man that traumatized her and she doesn’t even fucking remember,” he spits. 

“I…what?” I breathe, my chest tightening as Baylen loosens his grip around the collar of my shirt, his lower lip wobbling. 

“I’m never supposed to tell her. I…I have to hear her mourn a man who would…who’s the reason she’d have to sneak into my room—he’s the reason she could never make it through the night without having an accident. Something was wrong—everything was wrong.” 

“What—what’re you saying?” I ask, my mouth falling open as I let my hands fall from his wrists. 

Baylen’s eyes sink with sadness, his cheek hollowing as he gulps. “She wasn’t potty trained for a long time. At first, I didn’t get it. But…but…he was touching her, her body was showing all the signs of sexual assault, but I was just a kid, I didn’t…I—by the time I understood what had happened, it—it was too late. Now I have to hear her mourn a man who is the reason I feel—he’s…he’s the reason I can’t comfort her, he’s the reason I can’t look at her,” he says, his head tilting as his face scrunches with pain;

“He’s the reason I hate myself—the reason I can’t let myself get close to her without seeing how much of a failure I am.” 

Oh.

[sqgeism]

love mail — some small little headcanons of the dynamic between the reader x anaxagoras 😽 this is for the people who fw stuff like this (* ´ ▽ ` *) if ppl like this i'd love to do phainon and mydei,, and if u wanna know other stuff feel free to ask!! also hi airi if u see this were u srs ab the hsr tag im too shy to clarify ( *´・ω)/(；д； )

more often than not, i tend to portray anaxagoras and the reader as married. that is intentional as i feel like anaxa would struggle to be affectionate with someone who he isn't sure is his forever, so him being married to them gives him great comfort and lets him feel more open to genuine romance.

this is random and it has always depended how you all insert yourselves into the story... how anaxagoras and reader fell inlove, but i always stood firm on the idea that they were professors who fell in love with each other and their respective fields <3 so cute..

the nickname anaxagoras gives them, "dove", is based off the idea that those very birds can represent new beginnings. when he met them, he genuinely thought that he had been given a second chance in life. that in the short time he had left, he was able to see a new perspective on the world just through looking at it through the readers eyes, hence the nickname.

i think in one of my veeery first works of anaxa, he was pretty closed off but still made efforts to be there for his dove, which was a very big jump to suddenly being married! so i want to emphasize that it likely took about 3 years before anaxa would propose to reader. you can take the stuff i've written as their sort of build up but i wanna write a genuinely like.. establishing up to their marriage fic soon! + if anaxa knew just how much reader would mean to him, he would've proposed earlier. since he dies and allat Σ(´□｀ )

i do want to explore more into the more complex and 'darker' themes of a relationship with anaxagoras (this section is for you ri, ily <3) and i do think that before marriage, he was relatively distant but oddly possessive. didn't spend too much time around (chrysos heir things.. research.. all of that took time) and yet he'd get moody when he wouldn't see you during the day. he wasn't as sweet as he is now, either. he was as sharp as his aim—precise and knew where to hit. so arguments, though rare, were still intense to some degree. while you were just trying to communicate, anaxagoras saw it as some sort of debate, a battle of intelligence. he would need to be alone and clear his mind to realize his mistakes.. but be too proud to admit to them until a week or so later, where he musters up the courage to apologize.

thank goodness it wasn't for too long, 8 months of that back and fourth.. anaxagoras is convinced that any sane person would've packed their bags and gone home. however you stayed, despite his indifferent attitude to life. broke down walls he but with bloodied hands from the hardships thrown at him, and loved every ugly part of him before ever seeing the good. he always reminds you that he's eternally grateful that you were tenacious, and avowed that he couldn't ever forgive himself, had you rightfully turned your back on him and found someone else.

porcelain!dove was a really interesting concept that i want to bring back, since i feel like their development tg would be really sweet,, them being parallels of each other and learning how to go through the complexities of human emotions with each other

if i had to describe the way i write anaxagoras, i think of a man who loves his partner dearly—a yearner, even. but there will be more times where he slips up than when he doesn't, as the fact of the matter is; anaxagoras would struggle to be a good husband. he's undoubtedly good to dove, but he fails in romance and especially vulnerability. he's open for you to be vulnerable and will (try) to comfort you.. but never himself, he doesn't feel ready for it even with reader.

reader and anaxagoras live seperately. though you could say that they practically live with him since they're probably at his place more than his own home. i like to think there's an established need for personal spaces, but don't mind sharing in healthy hours. if you did ask to move in with him he wouldn't mind but would make you a seperate lab/office/area for your own work or interests.

anaxa prefers holding readers waist/hip because it lets him be closer rather than holding hands. will do it if you ask though, but that's his default when you two are side by side

the reason he urges you on having you call him anaxa because i hc he sometimes struggles to recognize your voice from other people, or just generally having a hard time to differentiate voices. so letting you call him something special makes sure he knows that whose calling him is important.

if you made a joke about the whole him being tied up in chains thing, he'd say he's not against it. you want to think he's joking but it's in a deadpan voice and you don't know how to feel.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[etherealeowyn]

"You've Destroyed Me" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Angst & Fluff

Word Count: 889

When Joel and Y/n experienced a glimpse of normalcy while staying in Wyoming, they learn just how much they mean to each other.

It was odd finally being able to lay in bed that had been taken care of, not like the countless other dilapidated mattresses that Joel and Y/n had been forced to sleep on during their trek to Wyoming. That small town was the closest glimpse of normalcy Y/n had experienced since the outbreak first happened, and it was both comforting and saddening. Obviously, it felt good to be able to relax and step away from the horrors of the world, but at the same time, it made her wonder how much different her life would’ve been if none of this happened in the first place.

Joel’s arms were wrapped around her body, and Y/n’s head gently rested on his chest as she breathed in the scent of the cologne that had been left in the bathroom of the house they were staying at. Her body was relaxed, but her mind was still racing, and she could tell by the expression on his face that he was going through something similar.

“You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Joel spoke, breaking through the silence that had overtaken the room.

Y/n jumped up from his chest, hurt washing over her face, confused as to why he’d say something so hurtful to her out of the blue.

“Excuse me why would you say that?” she quipped back, looking at the man with tears forming in her eyes.

“No listen, you’ve destroyed me. Before you came into my life, nothing mattered to me in this fucked up apocalyptic world, but once I met you, I became scared of everything again. I’m terrified of living in this place without you, and though I want desperately to be the guy who doesn’t care, I can’t be him anymore. Because being him means that I couldn’t be with you, and the thought of that kills me,” Joel finished, and it was evident by the shakiness of his voice that he was holding back tears.

There hadn’t been a single instance when Y/n had seen Joel cry, and I think being in a place that provided a sort of normalcy was getting to him. Making him recognize a level of humanity within himself that he hadn’t been in touch with since before the outbreak.

“Joel, there’s nothing wrong with that, trust me I understand how much easier it is going through life not caring, but you’re not going to be happy that way. Everything is going to be monotonous and worthless, it’s scary finally feeling a sense of happiness again because I know how quickly it could be stripped from you. But at the same time, it makes life so much more precious, because you grow to appreciate the people around you even more. It’s bold of you to think you could get rid of me though, as if I’d let go of the one person in my life that I truly love,” Y/n replied, laughing away the couple of hot tears that had rolled down her cheeks.

“Do you really love me?” Joel asked, furrowing his eyebrows and looking down as Y/n’s hand that was resting tenderly on his thigh.

“More than anything else in this fucked up world,” she replied, but this time much more seriously.

He sat there for a moment, in some sort of shock, unable to comprehend that something this good could happen to him.

“I love you too,” he responded, and as the word slipped out of his mouth, it was the first time in a long time that he felt drops of water fall from his eyes.

Y/n’s hand reached towards his face, and ever so carefully, she wiped away his tears with the pad of her thumb. There was a soft smile playing on her lips, and the feeling of her skin touching him made the corners of his mouth pull up into a smile.

Joel began to lead towards the woman, and she followed suit, the pair stopping when his lips met hers. When their mouths connected, it didn’t feel like any of the other times they had kissed, this time there was an overwhelming emotional presence enveloped within it. Something that was there before but never reached this extreme.

When the two pulled apart for air, the atmosphere of the room felt different. The silence didn’t feel so strange anymore, it was comfortable, and for the first time in a long time the pair didn’t want to keep moving from place to place.

“Once we’re done delivering Ellie to the Fireflies, maybe we could come back and stay here. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m at home. Not just staying at a place, but truly at home,” Y/n spoke, and Joel nodded feeling his heart pound fast in his chest.

“I’d like that too, it would be nice to stay put, especially if I get to be with you and not worry all the time,” he responded pulling the woman back down on his chest and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Maybe you could have your sheep too, and if I’m lucky you could sing to me,” Y/n spoke with a smile unable to leave her face. “Now that would be like heaven to me.”

“I’m sure I could arrange something baby,” Joel laughed.