#could be a fighting turns to fucking situation

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴

description: in which lucy bronze's younger sister can no longer hide her relationship. And honestly ... she doesn't want to.

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mapi leon x bronze!reader

part one here

part two here

part three of the 'hidden' universe - mapi's version

ona batlle x putellas!reader here

disclaimer: this is all fiction do not take any of this seriously !

warnings: swearing, mentions of previous assault, FLUFF, cuteness, social media frenzies ;)

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As the game came to an end, Lucy didn't even shake hands, the woman instead rushing off to find her sister, Keira apologising to everyone before following also, Ona not far behind.

Keira and Ona hung back for a moment, whispering together that Lucy probably needed to talk to Mapi and y/n alone.

y/n had been checked for a concussion, it turning out she had a minor one and some pretty severe bruising, but other than that, she seemed fine.

y/n was still a little shaken up, finding peace in laying in Mapi's arms and being tucked into her neck and collarbone. She smelt familiar, her arms were safe.

Mapi was running her hand through y/n's hair, whispering calming Spanish as they lied tangled together. The door slowly opened and y/n didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I really don't wanna fucking do this right now Luce." y/n says quietly, eyes still shut and Mapi continued watching her.

"I don't wanna argue." Lucy denies. "I just want to know my baby sister is okay." She continues and y/n sighs, pushing up from Mapi's chest, the blonde's hands falling to her lap, which y/n takes in her own.

"I'm okay, a minor concussion and some bruising, but everything's fine." y/n shrugs and Lucy sighs.

"Okay." She nods. Mapi looks between the two and sighs, sliding off the bed and pressing a kiss to y/n's cheek.

"I will be back." Mapi promises, before she and Lucy share a nod and Mapi walks out.

Lucy then clears her throat, watching as her sister suddenly becomes very interested in the bed sheet she had laid over her lap.

Lucy sighs and moves toward her sister, the girl naturally flinching before reminding herself where she was and who she was with.

Lucy's eyes sadden slightly and she slowly sits down on the side of the bed, her sister still looking away from her out of fear of another argument or more tears.

"Can you look at me?" Lucy asks softly, her sister gulping softly before looking up at her sister, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Oh kiddo." Lucy sighs.

The two seemed to move in sync as Lucy pushed herself to lay against the pillows, y/n instantly cuddling into her and letting out a sad cry.

Lucy held her younger sister, blinking back tears as she pressed kisses to the girl's head. Lucy whispered calming words to her sister who continued to cry in her arms.

"I've got you kid." Lucy promises as y/n calmed herself, tears not stopping but her sobs doing so.

"I don't like fighting with you. I don't like not talking to you. It felt wrong." y/n says, her voice shaky and a little hoarse from all the crying.

She pulled away from Lucy, reaching over to grab a tissue and wipe away any more tears which were on her face.

"I don't like fighting with you either." Lucy promises. "And I am sorry that I lost my temper, I shouldn't have done so." She promises.

"I shouldn't have lied about Mapi." y/n denies.

"Well, with the way I reacted, I can see why you did." Lucy chuckles dryly.

y/n sighs running a hand over her face as she shakes her head. Wanting to explain the entire situation without crying for once.

"I wanted to tell you, I did, but I know how protective you are and I didn't want to throw the team out of balance with something that could have been avoided." y/n begins.

Lucy stops, her eyes watching her younger sister as she tried to explain. Lucy watched with kind eyes, and open ears, something which her sister was relieved for.

"And I was going to tell you sooner, but then it was so blissful, just us two, no one else. And then before I knew it Alexia knew, Keira knew, and the next thing is you knew." y/n says.

"And I flip out and storm off." Lucy sighs.

"But I know why, I understand why. I lied to you for months, I'm dating someone older, and someone I work with. And I didn't once tell you." y/n says.

"It still didn't give me the right to get so angry, and I'm sorry kid, I shouldn't have shouted." Lucy says. "And you're not a kid anymore, and I need to accept that." She adds.

"But I'm still your little sister. And I love you." y/n says and Lucy chuckles, bringing her little sister in for a hug.

"You'll always be my little sister. And I love you too." Lucy promises.

y/n could have cried again, which she didn't want, with how relieved she was. Fighting with her sister ripped a part from her and left a hole in it's place.

"I can't say I won't worry about you in this relationship, but you are grown enough to look after yourself." Lucy promises herself.

"I don't have to look after me. Mapi does it for me." y/n admits and Lucy sighs.

"You love her?" Lucy asks, the two sisters not noticing the slowly opening door.

"With all of me." y/n nods. "She makes me feel safe, she makes me feel loved and she sees me." y/n continues and Lucy can't help but feel her shoulders relax at the knowledge her sister was happy.

"And she loves you?" Lucy asks.

"She is everything to me Lucia, and she will continue to be." Mapi says, the Bronze sisters looking over to the dirty blonde who was leaning against the door.

y/n smiled softly as Lucy stood up, walking over to Mapi where she held out her own hand.

"I'm sorry for loosing my shit Maps mate." Lucy says and Mapi rolls her eyes, bringing the woman in for a hug.

"I understand your feeling and the shouting - she is your sister." Mapi says as they pull away.

"You hurt her though Leon, and I will kill you." Lucy threatens despite y/n letting out an annoyed shout.

"Trust me Bronze, if I hurt her, I'll let you." Mapi promises and Lucy nods happily.

"Glad you're feeling better pipsqueak." Lucy tells her sister, leaning over to press a kiss to y/n's forehead. "We will have dinner tomorrow night, all of us." Lucy says and y/n grins and nods.

"Okay." y/n smiles before Lucy shares a smile with Mapi and then leaves the room. Mapi pauses looking at y/n as the girl let out a massive sigh.

"We are okay?" She asks y/n.

"Yeah, we are okay." y/n nods and Mapi smiles, moving over and pressing her lips softly against y/n's lips.

"Oh and the internet is going crazy over us." Mapi says and y/n chuckles.

"Nothing has been confirmed." y/n denies and Mapi shrugs.

"Not yet." She chuckles. y/n can't help but roll her eyes but smiles as she presses her lips against Mapi's.

"Not yet." y/n echoes.

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y/n just posted on her story

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twitter/ X:

username1: SO glad y/n is okay!

username2: I am so relieved y/n is okay - but now can we talk about her and Mapi????

^

username3: Can we talk about the fact y/n was attacked????

^

username4: I agree! There are more important things than if Mapi and y/n are dating?!

username5: y/n's new story holy shit!!!

username6: Mapi and y/n have to be together? And that is so cute!

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lucybronze just posted on her story

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y/n and Mapi both chuckled at the way twitter was going crazy of the two of them. Lucy's story basically confirming everything which had sent them all into a frenzy.

The two footballers were curled up on the sofa, y/n's head tucked into Mapi's neck as Bagheera stretched out over their laps, purring happily at the pets she was receiving.

y/n looked over at the TV, watching Strictly with a small smile, the Spaniard letting her watch whatever she wanted to keep her happy after her eventful day.

"Are you okay Amor?" Mapi asks y/n softly, the woman nodding.

"Yeah, just, I was scared today, his grip was so strong and I just didn't think I would get away." y/n admits softly, Mapi's arms tightening around her lover as she presses a kiss to her forehead.

"The guards were ridiculous! They should have acted quicker." Mapi hisses. "Todos deberían perder sus trabajos." She adds and y/n sighs.

They should all lose their jobs.

y/n presses a kiss to Mapi's cheek, closing her eyes briefly in relief of being home and warm with her love, not out on the cold pitch, hands in her hair, fear not the only thing gripping her to immobility.

"Se acabó mi amor, estoy contigo, eso es lo único que importa." y/n says softly

It is over my love, I'm with you, that is all that matters.

Mapi looks down at y/n, pressing her lips against her lover's and putting the love into her kiss, keeping it gentle as Bagheera huffs and jumps from the two, sitting on the other sofa.

"I love you." Mapi says as they pull away.

"I love you too." y/n smiles, snuggling back into Mapi's shoulder as she watches Diane spin.

"So, shall we go insta viral?" Mapi asks and y/n laughs as she leans over and grabs their phones.

"Lets just remember to put them on do not disturb." y/n giggles, texting her sister quickly to do the same. Because if they couldn't get through to her they would get through to Lucy.

Lucy thanked her and wished the two luck with the crazy fans sure to flood their comments as Mapi and y/n flicked through their potential photos, giggling at the phones they wouldn't use.

Once they had picked the photos, the two posted to Instagram, trying to control the answer with disabling comments, though it didn't work as twitter quickly set alight.

The two quickly switched their phones off, shrieking as they slid their phones away from them, sharing amused looks as they settled back to continue watching.

"Well, at least your sister didn't find out this way!" Mapi says and y/n bursts out laughing, making the Spanish woman grin.

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marialeonn16 just posted

Liked by keirawalsh, lucybronze and 268, 111 others

tagged: y/n

marialeonn16: Mi Amor <3

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y/n just posted

Liked by marialeonn16, lucybronze, and 389, 888 others

tagged: marialeonn16

y/n: MY love :) Thank you for all your well wishes.

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END OF PART THREE

thank you for all the love on these, enjoyed them so much! xx

[audliminal]

It's just a game, right?

pt 2

"I just don't see how sitting around is gonna do anything!" Dash argues, face to face with Sam.

"Well, if you have other ideas you're more than welcome to offer them, but we can't just take out the giw. They have more manpower than us, more equipment, and the new agents actually seem to be competent in fights! And we are a bunch of high school students!"

They are all, ostensibly in English Class right now, but even Mr. lancer has forgone the illusion of normal classwork. He assigns books and hands out reading assignments every week, but nobody really cares whether they get turned in or not. The city, after all, has a much bigger problem.

"I don't know! But sitting here-"

"He's not entirely wrong, the longer we wait the more likely they figure it out, just like we all did." As Valerie finishes speaking, the room temperature drops noticeably, and the kids all glance nervously over at Danny who's head hasn't moved from it's spot on his desk. He almost seems dead with how still he is. Beside him Tucker stares at his PDA, the only one who hasn't reacted to the temperature change.

"Should I even ask what you're messing with?" Sam asks, walking over while the others stare nervously at Danny.

"Actually, yeah." Tucker easily shifts so they can both see the webpage displayed on the handmade tech. "I got something through."

"I thought getting stuff through wasn't really the problem?"

"I mean, yeah, they're letting Everything Is Normal posts through, but this wasn't. That. I was, um, kind of fucking around with ciphers and shit? Not saying anything relevant, but just seeing whether they'd flag any old weird shit, you know? And um. I got a video out."

"Okay, but how does that help us?" Valerie asks.

"It helps because if they let a cipher through then means if I encode shit well enough, then it'll also get through."

"But if it's, like, that hard to figure out what it says, then won't it be useless on the outside?"

"The chances of it getting into the hands of someone who could crack it do seem, uh, improbable."

"Not if we stack the deck."

"Wes-"

"No, listen, I know you're all still mad at me, but like. If you can attract a community of codebreakers? Then eventually someone will crack the code on what you need them to!"

"If you have an idea then just fucking say it, Wes," Sam snaps.

"Make an ARG. We can even have like, the base level be completely United to anything real, just make up a story about, i dunno, space travel? And then bury the actual info beneath that. Eventually somebody will crack into the real stuff, and if it's popular enough by then, and the GIW tries to suppress it? That'll be even more suspicious-looking, and just make them dig harder."

"What the fuck is a ARG?" Dash asks, pulling his gaze away from their definitely-just-sleeping classmate.

"Augmented reality game. It's like an unfiction thing. Make a story but the story is interactive and people have to decode shit to figure out what's going on." Tucker glances over to Wes. "And actually not a bad idea. If we all work together, we could probably make something cool."

"You could treat it as a class-wide project." Mr. Lancer says, making everyone jump. "That way I can back you up if anyone starts asking questions."

"Make it about black holes," Danny says, finally pulling himself up from his desk. "We can base it in wormhole theory, and distract the GIW with all the theoretical science."

"What, so like we make videos that seem like they're being sent through a black hole?"

"Fuckin. Sure, why not? As if shit couldn't get any weirder around here."

"Star, please try to refrain from swearing in front of me. I know the situation is - difficult - but I am officially still your teacher."

"Sorry, Lancer."

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

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Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

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It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 2✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 6472

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

But as soon as Dean stepped into the hallway, he collided with you.

You were walking toward the bathroom, eyes glued to your phone, completely unaware of your surroundings. The sudden impact made you stumble back, and you looked up in surprise, your gaze locking with Dean’s.

The world seemed to freeze in that moment.

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat as he stood there, half-naked and dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The shock in your eyes quickly gave way to something else—a flicker of something unreadable that made his heart stutter in his chest. He could see the way your gaze flicked over him, taking in the sight of him standing there, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t intended.

And fuck, the way you looked at him—it sent a jolt of heat through him that he didn’t know how to handle.

“Dean—”, you started, but whatever you were going to say was lost as you took in the situation fully, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

Dean’s mind scrambled for something to say, something to do that wouldn’t make this moment even more awkward than it already was. But he was caught off guard, still reeling from everything he’d been trying to push down in the shower, and now here you were, standing right in front of him, too close and too far all at once.

“Sorry”, you mumbled, stepping back, your eyes darting away from his as you tried to give him space. “I wasn’t paying attention. I—um—I didn’t mean to…”.

Dean shook his head, finding his voice, though it came out rougher than he intended. “It’s fine. My fault. Should’ve looked where I was going”.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe just a quick remark to break the tension, but the words never came. Dean’s eyes flicked down briefly, just for a split second, but it was enough for him to realize with a jolt of panic that the unwelcome reaction he’d been fighting off in the shower was back with a vengeance. His body betrayed him again, and this time there was no cold water to douse the flames.

Without another word, he abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, your unspoken words hanging in the air. The speed of his retreat, the way he couldn’t even look at you as he left, made your stomach twist with a confusing mix of emotions. You watched him go, feeling a wave of something that wasn’t quite anger, but close—a hurt that sat heavy in your chest.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still mad at you, that the argument from earlier was somehow still hanging over both of you, unresolved and festering. But this felt different too, more personal, like there was something else going on that you couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t just the remnants of your disagreement; it was something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the space between you.

As Dean disappeared down the hallway, you were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The awkwardness of the encounter had left you flustered, but it was the way he had walked away that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Dean had seemed off balance, as if he was barely holding himself together. And the way he had avoided your gaze, the quickness with which he’d retreated, it all added up to something that made you uneasy.

With a sigh, you shook your head and continued into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You needed to clear your head, to figure out how to handle whatever was happening between you and Dean before it spiraled even further out of control.

But as you stood there, staring at yourself in the mirror, the image of Dean—half-naked, dripping wet, and looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him—kept playing in your mind.

The weight of your feelings pressed down on you like a heavy blanket. You’d been in love with Dean for years now—ever since the moment he’d first saved you, stepping into your life like a guardian angel with rough edges and a heart that you’d seen was softer than he let on. You could still remember how your heart had fluttered in that first moment, how the fear you’d felt had been replaced by something warmer, something you hadn’t understood then but had come to know all too well.

But to Dean, you were just the helpless kid he’d saved. The one he had taken under his wing, brought into the fold of his makeshift family, and protected with a fierceness that both comforted and frustrated you. He saw you as a little sister, someone to look after, to shield from the horrors of the world. And that was the problem. No matter how much you’d grown, no matter how strong you’d become, he still looked at you and saw that frightened kid who needed saving.

That was why it hurt so much every time he treated you like a child, why it triggered something deep inside you. Because you weren’t that kid anymore. You were a woman now, with feelings and desires and a heart that ached every time you looked at him, knowing he’d never see you the way you wanted him to. Knowing that, in his eyes, you’d always be someone to protect, not someone to love.

And that was the real pain of it—the knowledge that no matter how much you cared for him, no matter how deeply you felt, he would never see you as anything more than his responsibility. Someone to keep safe, not someone to hold close.

The image of him standing there in that hallway, half-naked, had shaken you more than you cared to admit. Because for a split second, you thought you saw something different in his eyes—a flicker of something that mirrored the way you felt. But then he had turned away, retreating so quickly that it left you reeling, unsure if you’d imagined the whole thing.

You let out a frustrated sigh, running your hands through your hair as you tried to shake off the lingering tension from the encounter. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, couldn’t keep hoping for something that would never happen. Dean had made it clear, time and time again, that he was there to protect you, to keep you safe. And that was all it would ever be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the way your heart clenched at the thought. The love you felt for him was something that had grown over the years, something that had taken root so deeply inside you that you didn’t know how to untangle it from who you were. And no matter how much you tried to push it down, to bury it under layers of practicality and logic, it always found a way to rise to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, you splashed some water on your face, trying to clear your head. You needed to stop dwelling on this, stop letting it consume you. Dean wasn’t yours, and he never would be. You had to accept that, had to find a way to move on, even if it meant dealing with the pain of unrequited love.

Back in Dean’s room, he shut the door behind him with a little too much force, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet space. His heart was still pounding, his mind a chaotic mess of conflicting thoughts. But as much as he wanted to push everything down and ignore it, his body had other plans.

He glanced down at the towel wrapped around his waist, cursing under his breath as he saw the telltale sign of his arousal, the strain of his erection against the fabric. His fists clenched at his sides, frustration and shame warring within him. This was wrong—so wrong—and he knew it. He kept repeating it to himself like a mantra, hoping that if he said it enough times, it would sink in, that it would somehow make the feelings go away.

But no matter how hard he tried to will it down, his body wouldn’t listen. The memory of you standing so close, the way your eyes had looked up at him with something that felt dangerously like longing, was burned into his mind. And it wasn’t just that—your scent, the warmth of your presence, the way your voice had softened when you’d said his name—it was all too much, too overwhelming. It was a storm inside him that he couldn’t control.

Dean’s jaw tightened as he turned away from the door, pacing the length of his room in an attempt to clear his head. He tried to focus on anything else—the hunt, the research that needed to be done, anything that would distract him from the unbearable ache in his chest and the unwelcome desire pooling in his gut. But every time he tried to shift his thoughts, they circled back to you, pulling him into the same torturous loop.

“This is wrong”, he muttered to himself, the words a growl of frustration. “She’s too young. She’s like a sister. You can’t… you can’t do this”.

But even as he said it, the logic of it felt hollow, powerless against the tide of emotions he was barely holding back. He was supposed to be stronger than this, supposed to be able to keep these feelings in check, but here he was, barely able to keep himself together after one accidental encounter.

Dean sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands as he fought to regain control. This wasn’t just about desire—if it were, he might have been able to push it aside. No, this was something deeper, something that had been growing for years, something that terrified him because of how strong it had become.

He cared about you—more than he’d ever let on, even to himself. And that was the crux of it, the thing he couldn’t ignore. This wasn’t just a passing attraction; it was rooted in something real, something that had been building from the moment he’d saved you all those years ago. But he couldn’t let himself feel it, couldn’t let himself want you like that. Because if he did, it would ruin everything.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to stand and move toward the dresser. He needed to get dressed, needed to do something normal, something to ground himself before he lost whatever grip he had left. But as he reached for his clothes, his hands were trembling, and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess.

Eventually, Dean managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed. His hands were still shaking slightly as he yanked on a pair of boxers, grimacing as he adjusted himself to hide his persistent erection by tucking it under the waistband. The discomfort was a reminder of the situation he was trying so desperately to avoid, but he pushed through it, forcing himself to focus on the mundane task of pulling on his jeans and a flannel shirt.

Once he was dressed, he stood in the middle of his room for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. He needed something to distract himself, something to take the edge off before he had to face you or Sam again. His gaze flicked toward the door, and he knew where he needed to go—the kitchen. A cold beer wouldn’t solve his problems, but it might help him get a handle on them, at least for a little while.

Dean took one last deep breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair before he made his way out of his room and down the hall. The bunker was quiet, and he was grateful for the silence; it gave him a chance to pull himself together, to try to push down the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him.

As he reached the kitchen, he pulled open the fridge with more force than necessary, grabbing a cold bottle of beer from the shelf. He popped the cap off with practiced ease and took a long swig, the cool liquid sliding down his throat and easing some of the tension in his chest.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the counter with the bottle in hand, staring blankly at the far wall.

It took Dean four beers before he finally felt even remotely ready to face Sam in the library. Each bottle had gone down quicker than the last, the cold liquid doing its best to numb the edges of his thoughts, to push the swirling storm of emotions back to a manageable level.

He set the empty bottle down on the counter with a soft clink, letting out a long, slow breath as he ran a hand through his hair again, trying to shake off the lingering haze of frustration and confusion. It wasn’t much, but the alcohol had taken the edge off, had given him a little more control over the chaos inside him.

Dean knew he couldn’t put off talking to Sam any longer. His brother had a way of sensing when something was off, and the last thing Dean needed was for Sam to start asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He needed to act normal, needed to push everything else aside and focus on what mattered—keeping things from spiraling any further out of control.

With a final, resolute nod to himself, Dean pushed away from the counter and made his way out of the kitchen, heading toward the library. The familiar hum of the bunker filled the silence as he walked, the steady sound a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil he was trying to keep at bay.

As he approached the library, he could see Sam already sitting at one of the long wooden tables, a stack of books in front of him, the glow of his laptop casting a soft light on his face. Sam looked up as Dean entered, his expression shifting from concentration to something more guarded—like he was trying to gauge Dean’s mood before saying anything.

“Hey”, Sam greeted, his tone cautious as he closed the book he’d been reading. “Everything okay?”.

Dean forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, just needed to cool off a bit. You know how it is”.

Sam nodded slowly, clearly not entirely convinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Yeah, I get it. You want to go over what we found earlier? Might help take your mind off things”.

Dean knew what Sam was doing—offering him a distraction, a way to focus on something other than whatever had been eating at him since the argument with you. It was the kind of thing Sam was good at, knowing when to push and when to give space. And right now, Dean appreciated the latter.

“Sure”, Dean said, crossing the room to sit down across from Sam. “Let’s get to it”.

Sam gave him a small, understanding nod before opening one of the books, flipping to a marked page. “So, I was looking into that case in Ohio, and I found something that might tie into it. There’s a pattern here with the disappearances, something that lines up with an old legend about…”.

As Sam started to explain his findings, Dean tried to focus on the words, on the research and the hunt ahead of them. It was familiar territory, something he could sink his teeth into, something that didn’t involve the confusing mess of emotions he was desperately trying to bury.

But even as he listened, even as he nodded along and offered his own thoughts on the case, a part of his mind was still back in that hallway with you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t completely push it away, couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that something between you had changed—and that there was no going back.

For now, though, he would focus on the hunt. On the work that needed to be done. And maybe, just maybe, he could keep everything else locked away where it couldn’t hurt anyone. At least until he figured out how to deal with it without destroying the fragile balance that had been holding everything together for so long.

It wasn’t until late that evening, when Sam came back with a bag full of Chinese takeout, that Dean had to face you again. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at the map table, nursing his tenth beer, trying to lose himself in the work and the alcohol. But neither had done much to ease the tension coiled in his chest or the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

The bunker had been quiet, with only the soft rustling of pages and the occasional click of Sam’s keyboard to break the silence. It had been a welcome reprieve, a chance for Dean to keep his distance from you, to avoid any more awkward encounters or the dangerous feelings that came with them.

But now, as the smell of fried rice and sesame chicken wafted through the air, Dean knew he couldn’t avoid you any longer.

“(Y/N), I brought some Chinese!”, Sam’s voice echoed through the bunker, the sound casual and warm.

Dean didn’t move right away, staying seated at the map table, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood as he stared at the bottle in front of him. The thought of seeing you again, of facing whatever tension still hung between you, made his chest tighten. But he had to pull it together, had to act like everything was fine, like nothing had changed.

A few moments later, you appeared in the doorway, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he looked up to see you. To his displeasure—and to the immediate dismay of his already frayed self-control—you were wearing a pair of shorts that were far too short for his peace of mind, paired with a tight top that left a good portion of your stomach exposed. The sight of you like that sent a jolt of heat through him, and he had to force himself to look away, to focus on anything other than the way your body moved as you shyly approached.

You hesitated in the doorway, clearly unsure of how he’d react, your eyes flicking to the beer in front of him and the tension in his posture. “Hey”, you said softly, your voice tentative.

Dean grunted in response, not trusting himself to say more. He took a long swig of his beer instead, trying to ignore the way his pulse had quickened, the way his mind was betraying him with images he had no business thinking about. He knew he needed to keep it together, but the sight of you like this, so close and so… exposed, was making it nearly impossible.

Sam, ever the oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension in the room, smiled at you. “Come on, grab some food before it gets cold”.

Sam spread the food over the map table, setting out containers of fried rice, sesame chicken, egg rolls, and a few other dishes. He was all smiles, clearly trying to keep things light, urging you to take a seat. “Come on, dig in”, he said, gesturing to the open containers as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks for himself. “I got all your favorites”.

You offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. There was still a lingering uncertainty in your movements as you took a seat across from Dean, your eyes flickering to him for a brief moment before quickly darting away. The tension between you was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to weigh down the air around you.

Dean watched you out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to keep his expression neutral as he reached for another beer. His fingers brushed against the cold glass of the bottle, but he hesitated before taking another drink. The alcohol had dulled the edges of his thoughts earlier, but now, with you sitting so close, he wasn’t sure it was doing him any favors.

Sam tore open a packet of soy sauce and drizzled it over his rice, taking a big bite before looking at you with a grin. “You okay, (Y/N)?”, he asked casually, though there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “You’ve been kind of quiet”.

You nodded, reaching for a container of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks, though your movements were slower than usual. “Yeah, I’m fine”, you replied, though the words felt forced. You stole another quick glance at Dean, who was still staring at the beer in his hand, as if it held all the answers he needed.

Dean could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything in him not to look up, not to let his gaze travel down to the way your shorts hugged your thighs or the sliver of skin exposed by your top. He knew he should say something, should try to bridge the gap that had grown between you, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he focused on the beer in front of him, taking another long swig in the hopes that it might help settle the restless energy coiled in his chest.

But it didn’t. If anything, the alcohol only heightened his awareness of you, made him more acutely aware of the scent of your shampoo, the soft sound of your breathing, the way your legs crossed under the table.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dean reached for some food, trying to focus on anything other than the knot of tension tightening in his chest. He grabbed a container of fried rice and scooped some onto his plate, doing his best to keep his movements casual, as if he wasn’t hyper-aware of your every glance.

But he could feel it—the way you kept looking at him, your eyes flicking up to meet his before quickly darting away. It was like a constant pressure, a silent question that hung in the air between you. Every time he caught you looking at him, it only made his heart beat faster, his thoughts more jumbled.

For nearly twenty minutes, the silence stretched on, punctuated only by the occasional clatter of chopsticks against plastic and Sam’s attempts at casual conversation. But even Sam seemed to sense the strain, his usual chatter subdued as he alternated between talking about the hunt and filling the awkward gaps in conversation.

Dean kept his head down, focusing on his food, but the weight of your gaze was impossible to ignore. The more you watched him, the more he felt the walls he’d built up start to crumble.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Sam stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna grab a beer”, he said, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the table. He glanced at you, then at Dean, before heading toward the kitchen. “You guys want anything?”.

Dean shook his head, his voice tight. “I’m good”.

You shook your head as well, offering Sam a small smile as he left the room. The moment he was gone, the silence between you and Dean seemed to grow even heavier, the air thick with all the things neither of you were saying.

Dean could feel your eyes on him again, and this time, it was too much. He set down his chopsticks, his fingers twitching with the need to do something—anything—to break the tension. He clenched his jaw, trying to push down the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him all day.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that surprised even him. “What?”, he asked, his voice rougher than he intended. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden sharpness in his tone. But you didn’t look away, your expression shifting from uncertainty to something more determined. “Because… because something’s wrong, Dean”, you said, your voice quiet but steady. “And you won’t talk to me about it".

Dean felt a surge of emotions he couldn’t quite name—anger, frustration, something else that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to keep his voice steady. “Nothing’s wrong, (Y/N). I’m just tired”.

But you weren’t buying it. He could see it in your eyes, the way you were studying him like you were trying to see past the mask he was wearing. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you better than that”.

That hit harder than it should have, and Dean felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. You did know him, maybe better than most people. And that was the problem. You knew when he was hiding something, when he was trying to push you away, and now it was clear you weren’t going to let it go.

He looked away, unable to hold your gaze any longer. “I’m not lying”, he muttered, though he knew it wasn’t convincing. Not to you, not to himself.

“Yes, you are”, you mumbled, your voice trembling slightly. “Look, I’m sorry if I pushed you earlier, but I just… I feel useless, Dean. I’m not working, I’m not hunting. I’m just… I’m just getting groceries with your damn money, cleaning, doing the laundry”. You paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing, your voice even quieter. “But I want to be more than just a burden on you and Sam’s wallet. I want to help hunting”.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him. He’d always seen you as part of the family, not a burden, but he realized now that his actions might have made you feel otherwise. He hated that you felt like this, hated that you saw yourself as anything less than the strong, capable person he knew you were.

“You’re not a burden”, Dean said, his voice gruff but earnest. He finally looked up at you, his green eyes meeting yours, and he saw the sincerity in your expression—the desperate need for him to understand. “You’ve never been a burden, (Y/N). You’re part of this family. And yeah, maybe I’ve been a little overprotective, but that’s only because…”.

He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without revealing too much, without crossing that line he’d been so carefully toeing for years. The truth was, he cared about you—more than he should, more than he was willing to admit even to himself. And that was why he’d kept you on the sidelines, why he’d tried to shield you from the dangers of hunting. Because the thought of losing you, of something happening to you out there, was more than he could bear.

You waited for him to finish, your eyes never leaving his, and he could see the determination in them—the same determination that had drawn him to you in the first place. You weren’t going to back down, and he knew it.

“Because what, Dean?”, you prompted gently, your voice soft but firm.

Dean clenched his jaw, the weight of everything he wanted to say pressing down on him like a vice. He knew that you deserved the truth, deserved to know why he was holding back, but he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line. Not when he was so afraid of what it might mean—both for you and for him.

“Just drop it, (Y/N), please”, he finally said, his voice rough with barely restrained emotion. He looked away, unable to meet your gaze any longer, his fists clenching at his sides in frustration. “I can’t… I just can’t talk about this right now”.

The hurt in your eyes was like a punch to the gut, and he hated himself for putting that look on your face. But he couldn’t let himself give in to the emotions that were threatening to spill over. He couldn’t let himself feel the things he was so desperately trying to bury.

You didn’t respond right away, and the silence that stretched between you was almost unbearable. Dean could feel the tension, the weight of all the things left unsaid hanging in the air. He wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—that might make this easier, but the words wouldn’t come.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, Dean. I’ll drop it. But this isn’t over. You know that, right?”.

He nodded stiffly, still not looking at you. “Yeah, I know”.

Just as the weight of your conversation hung heavy between you, the tension was interrupted by the sound of Sam’s footsteps echoing through the hallway as he returned from the kitchen. He entered the room, holding a fresh beer, his easy-going demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside Dean.

Sam moved back to his seat and began eating again, filling the silence with casual conversation about the hunt, the case details, and the plan for the next few days. You responded when necessary, but your mind was clearly elsewhere.

As the meal was finished, the clatter of chopsticks and rustling of takeout containers filled the room as you and Sam cleared away your dishes. When you stood up to take the empty containers to the trash, Dean’s gaze was drawn to you despite himself.

As you moved around the table, reaching for Dean’s empty container, his eyes couldn’t help but trace the lines of your figure. Those little shorts you wore hugged your hips, thighs, and ass in a way that made it impossible for him to look away. The way they glided over your curves, emphasizing every inch of your form, made his breath hitch in his throat. He cursed himself silently, trying to fight the heat rising in his chest, but it was no use.

For a moment, time seemed to slow as he watched you, every detail of your appearance seared into his mind. He knew he shouldn’t be looking, knew that it was wrong to let his thoughts go where they were inevitably headed, but the pull was too strong, too overwhelming.

When you bent down slightly to pick up the containers, giving him an even better view, Dean had to physically force himself to look away, his fists clenching tightly under the table. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something darker twisting inside him. He had never wanted anything more than he wanted to protect you, but this was different. This was something he couldn’t control, something that threatened to consume him if he wasn’t careful.

You straightened up and caught Dean’s gaze as you turned back toward the kitchen. The brief eye contact was electric, like a jolt of energy passing between you. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the lingering hurt from your earlier conversation, but there was something else too—a flicker of something that mirrored the turmoil in his own heart.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for something in his eyes, before turning and heading to the kitchen to dispose of the trash. As soon as you were out of sight, Dean let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his body slumping slightly as the tension and guilt gnawed at him.

A week had passed since that tense evening, but for Dean, the feelings that had been stirred up during that conversation hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only intensified. Every time you were near him, it was like a live wire of tension ran between you, sparking whenever you accidentally brushed against him or stood just a little too close. It was as if his body was reacting on its own, a rush of heat flooding through him that he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.

The situation had become unbearable. Every glance, every casual touch, made it harder for Dean to keep his composure. He found himself avoiding you whenever possible, staying out late to work on the Impala, or finding excuses to leave the bunker for supplies or to do some research at a local library. He couldn’t let you see how much you were affecting him, how close he was to losing control.

But today, it all came to a head.

Sam, ever the one to suggest a way to unwind, had floated the idea of hitting a local bar to blow off some steam. Dean jumped at the chance, desperate for anything that might distract him from the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He needed to drink, needed to drown out the thoughts that kept circling back to you.

As Sam and Dean discussed the idea in the library, you overheard their conversation and joined them, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of getting out of the bunker for a bit. “Can I come too?”, you asked, a hopeful smile on your face. “I have a fake ID, so no worries there”.

Sam shrugged, clearly seeing no problem with it. “Sure, why not? It could be fun, and we could all use a break”.

But Dean wasn’t as quick to agree. The idea of you coming along, of being in a bar where the atmosphere was already charged with alcohol and proximity, made his stomach twist with anxiety. He knew how he reacted around you in the safe confines of the bunker—how much worse would it be with a few drinks in him and you looking the way you did? It was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take.

He hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and Sam, searching for an excuse to say no. “I don’t know…”, he started, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe it’s not the best idea”.

You frowned, clearly disappointed by his reluctance. “Why not? I’m not a kid, Dean. I can handle a night out”.

Sam glanced at Dean, noticing the tension in his brother’s posture, but he didn’t seem to grasp the full extent of what was going on. “Come on, Dean. It’s just one night. Let her come with us. It’ll be fun”.

Dean wanted to argue, to come up with some reason why you should stay behind, but the look on your face stopped him. Dean knew that if he pushed too hard, it would only make things worse, make you more determined to prove you could handle it.

With a resigned sigh, Dean finally nodded, though his expression remained tight. “Fine. But you´ll behave”.

You nodded eagerly, a smile spreading across your face as you grabbed your jacket. “Deal”.

Dean forced a tight smile, but inside, his mind was already racing, trying to figure out how he was going to keep himself in check. He couldn’t afford to let things get out of hand tonight, couldn’t afford to slip up in front of you or Sam.

As the three of you headed out of the bunker and made your way to the bar, Dean couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that tonight might push him closer to the edge than he was ready to go. The thoughts he’d been wrestling with, the emotions he’d been trying to suppress, were all bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over if he wasn’t careful.

When you arrived at the bar, the place was already buzzing with energy. The low hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a lively atmosphere. Dean found himself instinctively scanning the room.

Sam led the way to a table near the back, where the three of you settled in. Almost immediately, Sam flagged down a waitress and ordered a round of drinks. Dean tried to focus on the conversation, tried to relax and enjoy the night, but every time you shifted in your seat, every time your arm brushed against his, it sent a jolt of awareness through him that he couldn’t ignore.

When the drinks arrived, you raised your glass with a grin, clearly excited to be part of the evening. “Here’s to a night off”, you said, your eyes sparkling as you clinked your glass against theirs.

Dean managed a smile, but the alcohol in his glass felt like both a blessing and a curse. He knew it would help take the edge off, but he also knew it might lower the barriers he’d worked so hard to keep up.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming, and the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Sam was in his element, laughing and talking with ease, but Dean found it harder and harder to keep his focus. Every time you laughed, every time you leaned in closer to say something to him, it felt like a test of his self-control. The warmth of your body, the scent of your hair—it was all too much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to hold himself together, Dean knew he needed a break. He couldn’t sit there any longer, couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[delta-06]

‘’I hate you! Or do I…?’’

NSFW so MDNI

Nikto enjoys seeing your cocky attitude falter as he spits blood on your self esteem and walks over your decisions saying that they are clouded by your arrogant judgment and are not safe to be considered even remotely efficient. . .you thought that being the same rank as him and having relatively the same experiences could be of some help when shaming him all day before crossing eachother’s path and growling at the mere presence of the other.

The situation escalated when he began to push you into any wall anytime he could and bruising your mouth by roughly kissing it with his teeth while digging his nails into your clothed waist. You on the other hand tried doing the same as you weren’t going down without a fight, and managed to dig some bloody cuts on his shoulders. It continued like this; bickering sessions ended up with bruised lips and trembling legs trying to push the other away to regain some dignity.

The hate and tension reached its peak when Nikto ended up pushing you into your bed and digging his teeth into your bottom lip drawing out blood and insults. He ripped off your clothes and you did the same. Some blood and bruises were forming on your bodies but that was a matter for the after.

He wanted to say ‘You did good on the last mission’ instead of ‘You fucker, you failed everything and you couldn’t even do a simple task’ as he scratched forcefully your broad back after pinching the fresh healed wounds on your torso drawing out a silent scream out your mouth. ‘Thanks for your presence and for covering my back- back there’ ‘Shut your virgin ass since you don’t do any better, at least I am a liked person around’, you flipped your positions. Now you were on top of him with your legs pressed between his and you were clamping your teeth down on his neck. It hurt a lot. . .and Nikto couldn’t accept that, his pride was too big and high to let you on him and in a swift move he turned you down on the mattress, ‘You are only good at taking it up the ass! Moron, you should have been a stripper at this point! A failed one because I bet my salary that you wouldn't even grab the attention of a drunken man ahah!’

Spit drooled out his mouth like a carnivore savoring his newly catched prey. He didn’t want to admit it but…he really wanted to see you like that again. He was lost in his own world for a while and got back to his senses after you barked back a cocky:

‘At least I am useful to something, unlike you who can only bark out orders like a certain Colonel I know and be like an angry volcano all the goodamn fucking time!' your voice was restrained as you couldn’t quiet breath since a strong hand was holding you - choking you in the messy bed.

You then yelped out in stinking pain, he sticked his fingers inside you without a warning and without an ounce of lube, such as spit. The stretch was hurtful and you hated how good the pads of his pointer and middle fingers worked around your sensible spot, fucking and overstimutaling it till you were just panting out short breaths and trying to get up on your elbows, to then try to shove the one you looked up the most off. He pushed you down again, this time forcing your neck down and letting breathing become harder, he took away his fingers and pushed your ass up. You could sense his eyes wander to all of your upper and lower back imaging all the thoughts that might be crossing his filthy and rotted brain. You hear his belt unbuckle and the low but intriguing squelches from his fingers taking some of his saliva out the mouth (you really wanted to devour that mouth harshly) and wetting down his cock.

He pushed his length inside without a warning and he grunted out at the sudden enveloping sensation trying his hardest not to bottom out. You wanted to tell him how good it felt, how much you wanted to have his hand prints on your body and how much you wanted your neck to be bruised with his teeth marks and fingers, but only a stream of curses came out of your mouth. He rams into you, mounting you and keeping you close in seemingly fear of you going away, your cock brushing repeatedly the wooly sheets creating a friction that makes you see stars and finish immediately without a warning. After a couple of more seconds he comes into you grunting like an animal, securing you under his crushing weight. He had his eyes closed, his mask long since thrown away in some part of the room and all his features visible.

You saw the burn mark on the right side covering the skin until his eye and the long slash dividing his mouth from the left. You loved him, well love was there but you couldn’t phrase it, you wanted to put your hand under his chin but all you could ever do was to choke him if possible. He feels the same, his heart swells with pain as you twooften brawl but he can't, it's too hard. Nikto wants to try and sew your situationship back to ‘’normality’’ but his voices tell him otherwise, to do anything other than good.

He stays a shameful silent. After some time of not deciding what to do, he rolled to the side and heard the aftermath still inside you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

He knows that now you will get up, clean yourself up and leave while giving him a disgusting look because you have no reason to stay, but that was not what he wanted. His stupid brain couldn’t voice his wants and needs and that resulted in the formation of this vicious cycle of this love-hate relationship. He loved you dearly, but he could only spit out venom because he didn’t know how to phrase what he felt.

Instead of letting his grip loose, he started rubbing small circles on your firm stomach feeling your toned muscle fibers underneath, the veins going under adorned the neatly taken care of hair forming a nice happy trail. You hated not shaving them so they were always short.

He put one of his hands at the center of your chest and passed his fingers between your body hair, sweaty from before, and noticed that your heart rate was very calm, calmer than it should’ve been. He inhaled your scent from the nape of your neck and reopened his eyes as he whispered an almost sad ‘’Don’t leave, please’’.

You shifted, embracing the hand on your lower stomach with your own and sighed. ‘’Why…” you were tired, tired of all of this so you decided to be patient and hear what he had to say.

All he could think of and speak was ‘’Just. . .don’t please.’’ His hands twitched, you knew that sign, he was struggling internally and maybe making some of his thoughts scram away. You took some pity on him and decided to stay as you even had no energy to get up.

A silent strange air hugged you two while he rested, he began to tighten his grip and growl a ‘’Go away, fuck i hate you’’. He was not having this yet you sensed he didn’t really mean it. After he came back, he was different, you found himself many times talking to himself or gripping his forearms in anger so tightly that you swore blood was seeping out of the wounds but as you tried to help him and make him voice what was wrong, the answer you got was ‘’Fuck off’’.

He crawled back like a wounded animal and slipped out many words between voices and strangers taunting him every waking moment of the day. You and Nikto have been first colleagues and then close friends but as he began, over the years, that cycle of insults and unnecessary sparring, you couldn’t do anything else other than fight back.

“Easy there, it’s just us and no one else. you don’t need to do and say anything, remember only things you can touch and feel are real”

It was the mantra you had made him remember like a prayer in case his episodes were becoming too much, but they could only do so little. He repeated them whispering with a broken voice as he breathed heavily.

“Sorry, for everything…” he half cried as he lost the capacity to do so many years ago and sat hiding his eyes in his hands. You turned and looked at him with a sad look, you sat too and put your hand on his back and said “It’s fine”.

With that, you two looked at eachother with knowing looks, he said he loved you but also those parts of him did not, but he did. You said you loved him too and would help him with medications if needed and how to end things up. Being in a relationship was prohibited and could result in both of you being discharged with dishonor so being together was off limits.

The other people on base remained firm in believing that you two hated each other to the bone so you two decided to stick with that routine. Night fell quickly and you found yourself in his arms sleeping the night off. In the morning though, you had to wake up early to not raise suspects.

[kingkat12]

quickie (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, party sex, semi-public sex, established relationship, drunk-ish sex, Roman is shameless and drunk lol, alcohol mentions

summary: Roman can't keep his hands off you-- no matter where you are.

word count: 1,581

It was hard to fight Roman’s grip around me, especially since he towered heads above me— I knew it was a lost cause. 

However, I was pissed. Pissed about how he had behaved at tonight's party, and how he had managed to get so drunk that he was grabbing at me at every opportunity. “Rome,” I huffed, putting my hands on his chest to force some space between us after he had managed to get us both into the bathroom.

Roman, drunk off his ass, did his best to keep his balance. He swayed a little, looking down at me with those hungry eyes I knew too well; “What? I can’t touch my girl?”

“Not here!” When I was sure he wouldn’t fall onto the bathroom floor, I quickly ran over to the door to lock it properly. “We’re at Letha’s birthday party, can’t you keep yourself together?” Amid my annoyance, I scanned him; all dressed up in his white shirt, hair gelled back into a classic heartbreaker look. I couldn't deny it all made my heart beat faster.

Hiccuping, Roman blinked twice— he clearly saw no issue with having sex at his cousin’s party. “Why should I?” He stepped towards me, watching me press myself up against the door. “We haven’t been alone all week… Isn’t this just the perfect opportunity?”

I struggled to hold back a shiver. It was tempting, sure, but completely inappropriate. “I’m not having sex with you in a bathroom,” I mumbled, no longer meeting his strikingly green gaze. “Makes me feel cheap.”

“Cheap?” Roman’s arms snaked around me once more, his soft lips pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re looking at it all wrong.”

I did my best to phase out the strong smell of brandy coming from my boyfriend— I wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of him when he was drunk. “And how am I supposed to look at it, then?”

He hummed against my skin, his fingers tracing circles into the back of my short, red dress. “Think of it more like… I can’t wait another second to be with you,” Roman placed a kiss against my cheek, drawing forth a pink-ish blush. “I want to feel you around me despite where we are, isn't that a nice thought? I would want you even if we were at a fucking trash compound.”

I could only laugh— he probably didn’t catch how big of a turn-off that image actually was, especially in his drunk state. “That sounds unsanitary,”

Roman chuckled, leaving behind a wet mark against my jaw after kissing me there. I closed my eyes, letting my head loll back against the door as I relished in the feeling; I had certainly missed this. 

“I don’t care,” he eventually said, one hand trailing up to twist itself in the nape of my hair. With another tug, evoking a whimper, Roman kissed his way up to my ear, leaving me heaving for air— it reminded me that he could leave me breathless, no matter the situation. 

I had to swallow my pride, realizing that his little scheme was working. “Someone could— hear,” Unexpectedly, my hips bucked forward in the middle of my sentence as Roman pressed a ridiculously soft kiss against my ear. My hands gripped his shirt, panting. “And you’re— you’re drunk!”

Roman hummed, a sinister, low laugh escaping him. “Let…” His hands dropped, fingers dipping past the edge of my dress as he slowly pulled it up along my thighs. I shuddered, bringing his face into my hands as I watched his green eyes sparkle with lust. “Me…” The dress was now at my waist, Roman’s eyes hungry scouring my underwear. He didn’t spend a lot of time looking (he had always been more of a do-er, anyways) before he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my lower abdomen. My breath hitched as Roman bunched up my dress, digging his long digits into my waist as he licked a stripe up to my navel, listening to my whimpers as he held me back from squirming. “Fuck…” He came up shortly after, a satisfied smirk on display across his full lips as he pressed me flush against him, connecting us with a passionate, fiery kiss. As he pulled away, I realized how dizzy I was— and I was about to beg him to do it again, until he slowly turned me around to face the door. My eyes were wide as Roman’s last words were whispered against my ear; “… You.”

At this point, I was practically gelatin in his arms. I could only nod, struggling to breathe as Roman kissed down my exposed neck, now grinding the hardness of his cock up against my ass with a relieved sigh. “Is that a yes?” he whispered, gently driving his teeth into my shoulder.

I whimpered— I couldn’t fight it anymore. “Yeah,” 

“Oh, thank God,” Roman’s grip around me tightened, proceeding to press passionate nips and bites up my neck. “I’ve wanted you all night… All fucking night.”

I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me,”

Roman laughed, his hands taking in the softness of my skin against his rough ones before they traveled further down. “Now, now... Don’t get all sassy on me,” 

My eyes sprung wide open as his hands ghosted over my underwear, and I let out a wanton moan as his fingers brushed over my clit. “Sorry,” I tried, my apology quickly turning into a trail of profanities as he used two fingers to press down against me, rubbing me through my underwear as I leaned my forehead against the door in defeat. “Shit, shit—” 

Roman hummed into my shoulder, clearly happy with the results of his plot. “So, my girl likes to be touched now, hm?”

Fucker— he knew damn well. 

“Does she?” he teased, his tone only fueling the fire in my body. 

I could barely reply; my mind was dulled down by the feeling of Roman’s fingers rubbing tight, firm circles against my clit. 

He smirked, pressing several kisses against my shoulder. “Yes, she does,” 

Oh, Roman and his dirty mouth— I couldn’t take it. “We— We can’t be in here for too long,” I tried, panting into the wood of the door. “People will get, hah—suspicious.”

Thankfully, my boyfriend seemed to agree. “We’ll make it quick, then,” Roman wasted no time, a whine escaping my lips as his hands deserted the aching need between my legs. He hooked his fingers around my underwear, dragging it down and leaving it around my thighs before he reached for his zipper. 

“This is so stupid,” I mumbled, trying to catch my breath in the meantime. “I can’t believe we’re doing this—” My words came to a halt as Roman’s thick cock eased into me, and I let out a choked moan as I tried to support myself with the door. All my morals suddenly flew out the window; this felt too good to fight.

Roman suppressed his sigh of relief against my shoulder, quickly recovering from the wave of pleasure upon entering me. “Come again?” he teased, digging his fingers into my hips as he slowly stroked further into me with each thrust. 

My breath hitched, holding back a cry of rapture as I moved to meet every pump of his cock—I couldn’t believe how much I had missed this. “Rome,” I cried, placing one hand over his. “A-Aah—”

“Shh,” Roman pressed soft kisses against my neck, bucking into me. “Not so loud, baby… Wouldn’t want anyone to hear, would we?”

Crap— I had to force myself to be aware of my surroundings. It suddenly hit me that we were fucking in Letha’s bathroom, and how we definitely didn’t want to be caught in here; no one would ever let me live that down. So I bit down on my bottom lip, letting my lids fall heavy over my eyes as Roman’s cock stroked into me, the angle allowing him to brush against my sweet spot over and over.

It didn’t take long before I started to feel on the brink of delirium—it certainly didn’t help my state when Roman reached around my body, rubbing my clit with the rhythm of his thrusts. I couldn’t help but turn a bit, reaching forward to tug his brown hair, a satisfaction building deep inside of me as I heard him suppress a moan against my shoulder. 

It didn’t take long before Roman’s lips came crashing against mine in a passionate kiss, which soon enough ended up with the both of us panting against one another, chasing our highs. 

“You feel—Fuck, you feel so, so—” Roman let out a grunt as my walls clenched around him, his green eyes rolling back just slightly. 

The sight of that alone nearly sent me over the edge, but it was the sweet kiss he pressed against my temples that did it for me. That, along with the continuous thrusts of Roman’s cock and the firm circles against my clit, made me cry out against the door. 

The physical motions of my orgasm gripped around Roman’s girth, drawing forth a moan as he spilled into me, the warmth of his cum almost instantaneously seeping out of me. 

As our panting filled the room, it dawned on me that I had done the exact opposite of what I had told myself tonight. With that realization, I couldn’t help but break our moment of rapture with a giggle—“We’re so doing this again,” 

Roman smiled as he leaned down, leaving a trail of eager kisses along my shoulder; “We so are,”

[razrbladekiss]

GUILTY AS SIN? | Joel Miller — PART TWO

SUMMARY: after a chance encounter, joel miller is faced with a dilemma. will he be able to resist temptation, or will he crumble beneath your mystifying gaze?

PAIRING: dads ex-best-friend!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. soft!joel, i yearn for this amidst all of the angsty, grumpy old man joel. some dialogue that melts me. dirty talk. pervy joel. mentions of f&m masturbation. pussy eating. fingering <3 protected piv cus if you’re gonna fuck your dad’s ex best friend, then you need to at least do something sensible!! sarah calls joel while you’re…yano.

happy birthday joel <3

PART ONE

Should I really be doing this?

Joel’s inner monologue—and conscience—is about to implode, firing fragments of stupidity into each corner of his brain it seems. Because that’s the only way this could be described rationally.

He’s fucking stupid. He has to be. To come back to Point Pleasant, for one, to admit that he has a crush on his ex-best-friend’s daughter another, and then take her HOME with him.

To the house that your parents used to go to every Saturday night for parties, gatherings, meals. Joel used to host Superbowl Sundays there, too, which were arguably some of the best days had by your father and something he’ll always remember regardless of the precarious terms that he’s on with Joel.

That house would be your after-school retreat, when you and Sarah were best friends growing up. You’d spend hours there playing games, riding your bikes in the yard, telling one another your deepest darkest secrets.

You took your first sip of alcohol in that house at a party that—to this day—you and Sarah still keep secret from your parents. You had your first fight there—at the same party, actually—and the scar from the Jack Daniels bottle still sits uncomfortably above your right bicep. The scar that your dad still believes is from you cutting yourself on chicken wire, and not a result of an intoxicated kerfuffle with a college senior when you were sixteen.

You haven’t set foot in Joel’s home for years, and that’s what terrifies him.

What if this all becomes too real? What if she doesn’t want me when she remembers all the history, all the things that happened here?

His brain is working faster than what his mouth or body can even dream of keeping up with, and he hasn’t even realized that his truck is still stationary outside of the bar.

“Joel.” You say his name for the third time, and he finally manages to cut free the ties between his reluctance and desire. He smiles at you.

“Yeah?”

Eyebrows fused together, you stare back at him. Joel fiddles with the keys to his truck before he’s stuffing them into the ignition.

You choose to stay silent. He knows that you know that he’s playing dumb. How couldn’t you? You’d been having those same reticent thoughts leaving the bar, too.

It’s a tricky situation to be thrust into, but it’s not exactly your worst nightmare. Banging Joel is only something you could’ve imagined. And, truthfully, it was.

You’d spent many a night with your deft fingertips between your legs, touching yourself to the mental image of Joel’s cock splitting you open and fucking you so hard that you’re seeing stars. But you’d never admit that.

How could you? He’s Sarah’s dad. At one point, he was your father’s oldest friend. A man that—despite his physical allure and more than charming personality—is much, much too old for you.

You swallow your indecision, rolling down the window when you feel the air getting thick. A cool—almost orgasmic—breeze flits through the cabin and you’re suddenly comfortable again.

Too comfortable, maybe.

“When did you realize that you wanted me, Joel?” You ask. It’s a bold question. One that he mightn’t hold the answer to. But it’s worth a shot.

Joel clears his throat, focusing on the road ahead. His knuckles begin to turn white for the grip that he has on the leather-bound wheel is unyielding. Though, he doesn’t feel as tense as he appears.

“Actually, you don’t gotta answer—“

“When you left for college.” He speaks over you, feeling an inexhaustible shade of maroon bleed into his cheeks. “When your father called Sarah ‘n I over to say our ‘goodbyes’ before you went, that’s when I realized.”

Your heart starts to thump.

“I think it was the thought of not seeing ‘ya for a few months that put it into perspective for me.” Joel admits somewhat uninhibited. It was nice. “I was so proud of you, goin’ ‘n chasin’ your dreams. Always been a bright girl.”

You smile at him. He’s still focused on the road, trying not to heed too much the glare from oncoming vehicle lights as Joel’s old age has cursed him with damn astigmatism.

He squints.

“Always had more of a soft spot for you than what I should’ve.” He says. “Not in a gross old-man way. Just always saw so much of your dad in you when you were growin’ up, and it took me back to when we were kids ourselves. And then when you turned eighteen—and grew up a hell of a lot—I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Perv.” You joke and he just shoots you a pointed glare. But he knows you’re kidding.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t think that I forgot ‘bout what you said. How you’ve always wanted to fuck me.”

Eighty-five million shades of crimson flush into your face at Joel’s crude remark, but all he can do is laugh at your suddenly reddened state.

“How old were you when you had your sexual awakening?”

“Fuck off.” You chuckle and swat at his shoulder. “Eh. Dunno. I always thought you were kinda cute, but the shitty sex in college made me yearn for a good pounding from a seasoned professional.”

Joel’s jaw drops. You’re filthy. He loves it.

“Have you ever touched yourself thinking of me?” You ask completely nonchalant, mainly because you have fingered yourself to the mental image of Joel.

He huffs out a laugh—humorless—and turns to you when he hits a stop light.

Joel never thought he’d be asked a question like this, let alone have to answer it.

“Yeah.” He concedes. “I—uh—I have.”

Your pussy throbs.

“Spent a lotta time fuckin’ my fist ‘n thinkin’ of you.” He divulges and suddenly feels that familiar ache in the chasms of his tummy. His jeans start to constrict as his dick feels like it’s getting strangled by taut denim.”Those vacation pictures you posted on Facebook last summer…”

Joel shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“That little bikini.” He continues, torturing himself. “Fuck. The things that I’ve wanted to do to you—“

“Then do them.” Bold—completely brazen—you say. “Joel, I didn’t say that I wanted to fuck you just for the sake of it. I want you.”

“And I want you, too.” Joel tells you, shifting a little to look at you as he promptly realizes that his house is another ten minutes away. “But I can’t wait.”

Hastily—in a moment of complete madness, blinded by the most lecherous haze—Joel takes a sharp left turn down some slightly sketchy side-street. He yanks up the parking brake.

“What?” You blink at him, heeding the raging boner he’s flaunting. “You want to do it here?”

Joel nods. “Car sex not good enough for the princess, huh?”

He starts unzipping his pants while you, on instinct, pull off your dress.

“No.” Your head shakes. “No, absolutely not. Just didn’t think you’d want to eat me out in the passenger seat, s’all.”

“Yeah, well.” He pulls his jeans and underwear down, and his prick springs free. Its so hard it looks almost painful. “I’ve waited long enough to get you alone, ‘n I ain’t wasting no more time.”

You nod, pulling almost sheer fabric over your head. Fair enough.

Joel’s eyes all but pop out of his skull at the sight of your tits. They’re even more alluring in person, than what that goddamn Facebook picture alludes.

“God. Your father is gonna kill me.”

“What daddy don’t know won’t hurt him.” You retort with a smile. It’s almost innocent. It’s almost driving him fucking crazy.

His features harden. As Joel puts one hand to the back of your neck and the other wraps around his cock—slowly pumping his length—he kisses you. It’s teeth and tongues, and he’s moaning because the pleasure flowing straight to his tip mixed with the saccharine liquor on your tongue is almost too much.

It’s intense. It’s steamy and needy, and Joel just smells so good. He tastes pretty sweet, too.

You whine into his mouth, feeling a haze of lust devour any sense of rationality that you might’ve had before this very juncture.

“Fuck.” He rasps as he pulls away, his hand still affixed to his literal throbbing cock. “Get on your back.”

You oblige in a heartbeat, laying against lukewarm leather, skin already sticking to it as its getting damp with sweat.

“Jesus Christ.” He lets out an expletive, feeling his already solid cock harden to an almost painful degree as you begin to leak liquid sexuality at the mere thought of Joel eating you out.

Your chest heaves as Joel starts to lick at your cunt.

A searing warmth percolates through your body as his tongue works your heat, licking a chaste trail through your folds. Its demure, its soft yet lascivious, and its driving you absolutely insane, the way he’s touching you. Feeling you. Eating you.

He laps at your honeyed sweetness, hastening the pace at which he licks and sucks and jabs at your core. Your wanton—borderline licentious—whines only encourage him.

“So sweet.” He comes up for air, slipping his middle finger into your pussy while he writes his fucking name with his tongue on your clit and wrenches inside of you. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Joel—“

“Baby.” The man murmurs against your swollen bud, overstimulating you to a point of almost no return, and you whine. You cry and whimper for him as he laps at your weeping bloom, feeling every ounce of pleasure twist within the chasms of your abdomen.

He spreads both of your legs apart and pulls them over his shoulders—hands firmly clamping against your stomach—and goes at it, hammer and tongs. No remorse. No mercy. No goal aside from making you squirt and scream the place down.

And of course it feels wrong, to be pinned beneath the man whose first sexual escapade was most likely shared with your father mere moments later. But you don’t care.

You don’t care that half of Joel’s life was spent by the side of your parent, or that he was there the day that you learned how to ride a bike for the first time. Because it’s so different, now.

You don’t know him anymore. Joel isn’t the same. He doesn’t look the same, or act the same. He was so grumpy, so mad at the world for the longest fucking time. But now he seems to be at peace.

Here. With you.

“Bet those stupid college jocks never tried suckin’ your soul outta your cunt.” Joel mumbles against trembling thighs, kissing and biting a little trail before he’s diving straight back into your heat.

Your head shakes and you whisper a little “no.” Speaking feels impossible, now.

And while the words won’t fall from your lips, a sharp mewl—shriek, almost—falls from your lips as your warmth devours Joel’s tongue and fingers. You tighten around him, immediately feeling your release.

But he doesn’t stop. Joel stays at it. He laps up the desire that’s pouring from you, feeling his cock start to leak at the sound of you and the way that he’s forcing your body to convulse.

You writhe and moan and he wants to take pity on you, but he can’t stop. He paws at his length and jerks his hand in time with his tongue as it slips through your folds.

“Joel—“ your hand goes to his head on instinct, wreathing fingers into his hair as his hold is relentless. “Fuck me—I—“

“You what, darlin’?” He lifts his glance, watching your eyes roll back in your fucking head. “You can’t take it anymore? You want me to show you what a seasoned professional can do?”

You cringe at your words being thrown back in your face, but you nod. Because Joel’s calloused fingertips strumming away at your clit is making you fucking ascend, and you’d like to leave his truck with at least some of your dignity.

He goes back down for another taste, drinking your come as it pours out of you. He licks a final trail through your pussy and lands at your clit, sucking it before releasing with a soaking pop.

Joel pulls away and gets on his knees bwteeen your legs, admiring the mess that he’s made of you beneath him. It’s a beautiful sight. But he worries that if he basks in it for too much longer, then he’ll blow his load all over you.

Fuck. His load. Joel grunts, pulling a hand over his face.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, propping yourself up by your elbows. “Joel?—“

“Condoms.” He rasps. “You got any?”

“No.” Joel throws his head back, frustrated. “Hey. I’m sorry that I don’t carry them around with me, but I don’t usually go fuckin’ around with people that I run into in the hardware store—“

“Sorry.” He apologises, hoping that he hasn’t ruined the mood. “Think I got some in the glove box.”

“Hope they’re in date.” Joel glares at you. “What? When was the last time that you got laid, Miller?”

He rubs his lips together. He ignores your remark, instead pulling a lone rubber from the glovebox. Joel sighs, complacent.

You peer at the back of the foil. 02.04.26.

“Huh. Got your dick wet pretty recently.” You muse, slightly downcast. But if it weren’t for being at the store today, you wouldn’t be in this situation and all would be so different.

Joel feels your trepidation. But counters with “I’m pretty sure that Tommy put these in here after I went on a Tinder date in January.”

You watch as he rolls it over his prick, and raise a brow.

“You haven’t had sex since January?”

He shakes his head.

“Fuck. That’s wild. I thought you were always out bangin’ bitches.”

“No.” He chuckles, gripping firmly his cock. He lines it up with your—still completely soaked—core. “Used to be, but not anymore.”

“Aw, I feel special, now.”

Joel leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Always been special, sweetheart.”

Throbbing once more, your cunt glitters. It’s humiliating, getting so wet so fast. But Joel is fucking luxuriating in it. He loves this sight, you underneath him.

“You ready?” The search for consent—or at least approval—forces butterflies to wreak havoc inside of your stomach.

You nod at him. “More than.”

Joel’s heart pounds. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe that he’s being so fucking stupid. But, here you are. Here he is. About to have TRUCK sex with you, like you’re just some girl that he’s picked up from the bar.

IDIOT.

But he heaves all disinclination to the side, and pushes slowly his cock into the searing warmth between your legs.

He hisses out a “fuck” while you throb around him. You’re tighter than he thought, and he can’t believe it. He can’t get over the fact that he fits you almost perfectly, like his prick was just fucking made for you.

He could stay like this all day.

But he needs to get off. Quickly. Because it’s almost eleven-fifteen, and he promised Sarah that he’d call to see how her flight to Kansas was at eleven-thirty.

“Christ, Joel.” Your head hits the seat with a thump, feeling quickly the second orgasm that he’s bestowing upon you this evening. “Feels so good.”

“Can say that again.” He replies, breathless as he starts to hasten his pace. His knees dig deep into the leather-bound seat as he strives to keep his balance while rutting into you.

Your back arches as a surge of pleasure strikes your core, and Joel puts his right hand beneath the curve of your spine while the left is gripping tightly your thigh as it shakes and shivers.

“This pussy.” He groans through gritted teeth, watching his cock slide in and out of your weeping cunt. “This fuckin’ pussy is perfect.”

More of that arousal seeps onto his cock, slick and wet. A sharp squelch urges you to cringe, but the physical sensation cancels out any feelings of sheepishness.

You’re a mess. In Joel’s truck, on the front bench, you’re a fucking mess.

But it’s some of the best sex you’ve had in—well—forever, and you can’t even dream of elucidating the gory details to anyone. Because this is wrong. Completely forbidden. Yet it feels so good.

You’d die if anyone found out, but you’re hardly being private about it.

Your moans—loud and obnoxious—reverberate through the cabin and you’re pretty sure that people a mile away can hear how well Joel’s fucking into you.

“Wanna get on top.” You muster out and take him by surprise. But he’s into it, and pulls out to sit back down on his ass.

You clamber over—and feel that pooling wetness seap down the inseam of your thighs—watching him watching you.

Both legs land either side of Joel’s, and he takes it upon himself to line his cock up with your slit. You rub over the tip, slowly sliding down onto him while your eyes are locked on his.

Joel twitches and writhes underneath you. You put both hands on his chest—exposed through his green and red flannel—and slowly ride him. You’re gentle, with your movements. Unyielding, but gentle.

“Love your cock.” Through bated breaths, you say. “So, so big.”

“Love your pussy—“

He’s cut off by the almost offensive ringtone that came default with the phone that—honestly—you couldn’t put a name to even if you had a gun to your head

“Aw, fuck. What time is it?”

You shrug, rolling your hips. “Like, eleven-thirty.”

Joel grunts and groans, fishing around for his cellphone. He pulls it from between the seat and the door.

Sarah.

“Darlin’—it’s Sarah you’re gonna have to—fuck—gonna have to stop.”

You shake your head no. “I’ll just be quiet. And I’ll go slow.”

“Fine.” He says, though knows that you “going slow” will destroy him.

Joel clears his throat, feeling quickly his release looming.

“Hey, baby girl.” He greets her, and you hear her mutter something back. Something about him needing to stop saying that, and asking him to refer to her as something normal.

She hasn’t changed. You smile. It’s cute. You just want to kiss him.

But you want to torture him even fucking more.

Both hands take purchase against his shoulders, and you rock at a pace that you know is killing him.

He grinds his lips together, humming in response to something that she’s saying.

“That’s great, Sar’.” Joel shoots you daggers as your tits press against his chest. You moan quietly, writhing on top of his prick.

You’re not going to quit, and he knows that. So as she’s describing—in depth—the ordeal that she had at the airport, he takes it as his cue to lift his hips and pound into you. All the while striving not to make a noise.

“Fuck, Joel. I’m gonna cum—“ You whisper, hating how quickly you’re unraveling atop him. He jolts his hips upwards—fast and lazy—as you’re orgasming in front of him. Again.

And it’s only a matter of time before he starts his unyielding release, and so you ride him until you’re seeing stars. You’re so sensitive and overstimulated, and feel as though your cunt is going to drop off.

But it’s worth it. To see Joel’s face contort, his breaths grow sporadic, and face contort. It’s so worth it.

“What—uh—what day will you be home?” He asks her, throat hitching.

“Saturday.”

He groans, watching you throw your head back.

“Dad? You alright?”

“Yes.” He says, short. “Sorry, that was blunt. I’m alright. Kinda caught up in an emergency, hon. Mrs. McKaye’s pipes are blocked. Can I call you back in the morning?”

She mumbles something about him being too nice and how he can never say “no” to anybody, and agrees to speak in the morning. Joel switches off his phone and throws it behind him, quickly fastening his palms to your thighs.

“”Mrs. McKaye’s pipes are blocked?” Joel, you are such a shitty liar.”

“I know.” He says, letting his cock hit the spongiest part of your cunt as he slams into you—hilt deep—and mumbles a slew of curses entwined with your name. “I never lie. That’s why I’m so bad at it.”

You laugh for a millisecond, before pleasure is surging over you and your sweat-slick torsos are fused together. A gorge of complete and utter rapture almost drowns the two of you, and before you know it Joel’s cock is twitching—pulsating—inside of you as he hits his release and cum is spitting from the tip of his prick.

You’re grateful for the condom—as getting pregnant by your dad’s ex-best-friend is literally a death sentence—but desire the feeling of Joel’s hot cum painting threads of white against the walls of your pussy.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wriggling as he’s still deep within you. “Joel, that was—“

“Fucking amazing.” He finishes, panting. Sweat beads against his forehead, chest and neck.

Joel—hesitantly—pulls out, and his head hits the rest behind it. You peel yourself away and reach for your dress, quickly shimmying back into it before you’re curling up next to him. Joel puts his arm around you.

“Kinda glad that I went lookin’ for a gate lock, now.”

“Mhm. Me too, sweetheart.” He replies, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“I’ve gotta go and get caulk tomorrow. You gonna be there?”

Joel chuckles. “Depends. You gonna come home with me again?”

“We haven’t even made it back to your place once.”

“This is true.” He says.

Joel reaches for his pants and jeans.

He leans into you, nipping your ear. “But I ain’t done with you yet.”

[mynameisjag]

For anonymous: Prompt: Nicepool crushing hard on Weapon X.

Author's Note: If given the chance, I will write Logan as the embodiment of a feral cat unless specifically told not to.

-

The usual thing about the TVA force hiring Deadpool and Wolverine to help handle cross universe dilemmas happens. Which was usually solved with a good fight, quips, and hauling their blood covered bodies back home for a greasy dinner.

Handling the situation with words…was abit more…problematic…

No one wanted to get near Weapon X to demand the variant go home and Deadpool, well, he had his own issues with his variant.

“The forces of fanfiction are against me, why are you fucking here?!”

“Good to see you too buddy!”

“Fucking how!”

Nicepool just shrugged and did a little wave over at Logan, who waved lightly back, “The forces of the multiverse are a mystery, death and life is at it’s own whimsy command. Much like love.”, and the man was now dreamily sighing and staring lovingly at the pissed off Wolverine variant.

Who was currently distracted by Wade’s Logan.

Logan was steadily just watching the other black clad mutant circle around him, both bristling.

Wade ignored that whole situation, they could take care of themselves like the big girls they are.

“You can not “Pretty Woman” this situation, Miss Lola over there is a man eater in the way Hannibal Lector is.”

“Oh, their name is Lola? That’s so pretty…Lola…”

“Is this what everyone back home feels like dealing with me, shit, I’m going to have to some apology letters or flowers when we get back home.”

“I should get them some flowers, what do you think they’re favorite is?”

“Lily’s, like the ones they use at funerals because that’s what is going to happen.”

Both Wolverines were on all fours and doing great imitations of cats now, hissing and teeth baring included.

“Awe, they are making friends!”, Nicepool clasped his hands in front of himself, sighing deeply again.

“Just fucking stick your dick in a trash compactor, it would end the same!”

“I can give them a better life, I can save them from the streets, I can be their hero.”, there seemed to be actual anime sparkles around the man…Wade waved it all away like a bad fart.

“Lola” was now purring and rubbing up against Logan, both chittering away like the ferret cousins they were.

Deadpool was just staring at his variant, his face being covered did not deter the aura of his annoyance being projected full force at the other, too bad Nicepool paid absolutely no attention to the waves of hatred sent his way, “You know what “Mr. Salt is too spicy for me”, go on, go confess your love,” he dramatically pointed over to the Wolverines, “go on, go-wait, where’s the other one?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, “He left.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he went home.”, he pointed at one of the doorways usually made from the TVA for dimensional travel, “I think he wants me to follow him.”

“Nope, I kidnapped you fair and square, we have a dog and rent together now, so you are not going anywhere. I’ve gotten too used to stealing your body heat at night. I’ve got no body hair to keep me warm, Lo, you’ve got too much, it’s a perfect balance, we can’t mess with the balance.”

Nicepool took a deep loud breath, interrupting the other two as he placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder, who just shrugged it off, “I know what I should do now, wish me luck,” he then turned and went through the gateway like a soldier on a mission, the entryway closing behind him in a zip of light.

“Wow,” Deadpool clapped his hands together once, “he is going to be murdered. Violently. Lola is going to use his thighs and squeeze his head like a watermelon in absolute viscous glee…I’m sorta jealous that’s how that cheery fuck will go out this time,” he turned toward his partner, “will you-“

“-I’m not getting your rotted out brain shit all over my crotch.”

“Fucking damn it!”

-Lola comes from the lyrics, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.”

[full-of-malice]

me and my friends are being bitter about ai and nanowrimo again. as one of the kids who was part of the group that made the tag of "#nanopocalypse" as a term for what was happening on our website as we were silenced and groomed and our lives went to shit. our lives were falling apart. it was the nanopocalypse for us. that's why we called it that and have referred to the entire situation as that. and we were the only ones who actually put anything in the "#anti nanowrimo" tag to begin with to talk about our hatred and struggles with being groomed. a desperate and ignored attempt to call awareness

so as someone who put in the work and lost days of my life and will not be the same person again and put tears and long days while trying to juggle my school and personal life, checking in on my friends and ensuring that they were okay, it feels really shitty honestly to watch tumblr take the nanopocalypse tag so they can make themselves feel good by talking shit about the ai policy. it's Exhausting. you guys are a solid year late in support and hatred for nano that we could've used when we were trying to get the website halfway shut down. we have been Trying to tell you. there were tiktoks, twitter, threads, youtube videos, tumblr posts, and it's just exhausting that suddenly the trendy hatred of ai is what gets popular. idk if feels like you all just jump on the trend to be the cool savior and hate on ai and write their posts that do nothing informative of helpful and just say "fuck nanowrimo" instead of hating on it for the actually important reasons.

nanopocalypse was the specific instance a year ago in november of 2023, when ywp (young writer program) website users were sick of being abused, neglected, and being in the dark. the mods started banning us just for voicing our issues and wanting change. we took to. the adult forums and talked to adult users who were in the midst of the own issues as well. we finally found adults who believed our struggles and were on our side. on their website there was child grooming involved too, the fbi was allegedly getting contacted it was so bad. after years finally someone was listening. yet within days they turned on us and told us we were too young and had no place in "their home" of the website and that our concerns for our community and wanting to be involved were no necessary. they started twisting our words against us and picking us apart. i spent days fighting with adults just for basic things, adults who claimed not two or three days ago that they supported us and would fight for us and were so sorry for the way we were treated only to turn around and treat us remarkably the same. there was one nanopocalypse.

it's exhausting to have to reiterate our struggles to people on the internet who don't and won't listen, but don't use our terms that we a group of abused and groomed teens made for a one time occurrence and tag that was for us and our struggles a place for us to talk and raise awareness. a place that got ignored until a year too late so ai issues could talk over us.

so fuck nanowrimo. not for the ai, but for the children who suffered for years in silence. the ai should be an afterthought, not the front of the problem.

if anyone's interested either in a separate post or in the reblogs i'll make an extensive list of any youtube videos, tiktoks, tumblr post links, and twitter links that i know of on the situation if you want. i will gladly answer any question anyone has because i've tried to educate people on this for a long time and no one will listen

[desirespeaks]

open to anyone

connections ex partner, ex spouse, fwb, crush, colleague, literally anything

muse cam. forty-two. cop. straight passing closeted pansexual

        “is this the only reason you invited me over?  so we could fight?”  it seemed every time the two were in the same room together, it ended in an argument.  

[bunnihearted]

🍷

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

HI. MACKERELMORE. nhw trickster. killington. amity. the chaos zone. deadwood. new and funny and interesting ways to slaughter people. tide clone shit. bonesaw boiling the failed clones alive. muse. trickster using muse to do shit like u just saw in killington. the wards seeing the trickster using muse to execute people in ways Like That. holds up mic!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOD. THERES SO MUCH GOOD FUCKING FOOD FOR NHW IN THE CHAPTERS I READ EARLIER. fuck. god. shit. okay.

starting with the trickster bc i feel like when i get into tides stuff ill talk for 10 years. ohhhhh my god dude as soon as they walked into a town called fucking KILLINGTON ????? i was like. god thats a joke trickster would make huh!!!!! hed think thats so fucking funny. (and it is. but only to me who has the advantage of seeing this as a narrative and not a real event i am experiencing. fucking hilarious shit. killington??!?!?!?!? killington. ) i have a lot of thoughts about the shit he did to Amity before he escaped and like. yeah. fuckin yeah. i dont think he wouldve killed Everyone in the city (gotta have. puppets to play with and also like. people who hes not controlling to chase around and hunt for sport) (this is fucking terrifying and awful! this is so bad! like catastrophically so!) but i definitely think when the wards go to amity (because i want them to do that so bad at some point) i think it will be in sort of a similar state to this with like. bodies strung up like decorations. graffiti made from fuckign. ash and blood and paint all mixed together. really obviously placed traps. etc etc etc. jsut like. evidence that this place is like his fucking playground! horrifying!

anyway yeah also muse holy shit. muse has to singlehandedly raze at least one fuckign town. for sure. dude dude like that fucking video jack had where they had everyone gathered together before they started killing them? that but with trickster and muse? and its . more fucking scary because instead of 200+ slaughterhouse 9 clones its literally JUST trickster and muse. and whatever random handful of puppets trickster is controlling around the edge of the crowd for extra sets of hands.. aauogaouguguhhghhhgh. i need them to do horrific shit.

OKAY. CLONE TIME. CLONE TIM.E . OUGHGHHGHGH TIIIIDE. TIIIIIIIIDE. how many failed clones do you htink there were. how many failed clones to make tide and magma. do you think they know about the failed clones. they got fucking BOILED ALIVE. do u think tide and magma ever see any of the other clones before theyre ready and they have to look at their own fucking faces (face?) and think about that. i still have that post abt the lambert family in my drafts god i need 2 finish that but. in my mind tide and magma are the oldest (technically magma is the oldest but tide was like. a year or less after him so theyre closer in age) and then it was. seismic and whirlwind at the same time so theyre twins. and then shockwave. and then elle. so i think tide and magma have that Eldest Sibling bond where they have. Issues that are parallel to each other. and a LOT of that comes from being endbringer juniors and a lot of that comes from being clones. but where magma got closed off and aloof about it tide like. desperately clung to kindness bc he doesnt like when people are scared of him. anyway im getting distracted. FUCKING CLOOOOOONE SHIT. CLONE LORE. WORM CLONE LORE. THE WHOLE LIKE. either implanting false memories from other people or needing to raise them from scratch????? thats fucking insane. oh my god. what the fuck kind of memories do u think they got. obviously a lot from dr lambert but like. man. do u think the endbringer thing is like baked into their fucking memories. its in their dna. i didnt quite understand the bit about bonesaw trying to give them their powers but if altering memories can alter what sorts of powers they get...... do the endbringers have dna. do u think tide and magma got endbringer dna in them. that would be sick (both in the sick meaning cool way and in the im gonna make myself sick way). actually that brings up the point. are the endbringers even organic??????????? or are they constructs?????????? since they were confirmed created by someone/something....... man. MANY THOUHGST HEAD FULL. HAVING A LOT OF EMOTIONS ABOUT NHW TIDE. bonesaw boiled the failed clones alive. i dont . i dont think tide and magma were ever *kids* (which is like. ow.) but like. god im just imagining the part in trigun where vash and knives find whats left of tesla. holy shit dude. do you see my vision here

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[bylertruther]

i don't like season three when viewing it as a continuation of seasons one and two, but i do very much like season three when viewing it as the prequel to seasons four and five... hmmmmm.

[depresseddepot]

trying to determine which parts of my relationship with sex are asexuality, which are trauma, and which are autism is like trying to have a conversation with three people talking loudly and all at once

[kabutone]

like not to sound like some edgy piece of shit but that is also why horror is like such a breath of fresh air to me lmao like in almost all the horror media i've seen