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nelle-y · 2 months

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You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath

Synopsis: trying to spend time with your boyfriend while keeping your relationship private… or a secret…

Content: Alhaitham x fem!reader, low-profile/secret relationship, angst no comfort, writer!reader,

Warnings: slightly toxic if you squint, guilt-tripping, neglect, arguing, long intro (it gets good i promise), cursing, not proofread

Note: (Title from Taylor Swift’s ‘All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version)’) I tried to make this as in-character as possible while trying to convey the conflict of the plot so please let me know if there are any inaccuracies

—

The walls of Lambad’s tavern grew dim as the sun set; you, Tighnari, and Kaveh sat at a table having a little get-together. It didn’t feel complete, though, because two members of the group have yet to arrive. Cyno said he would be late due to an interrogation he has to do. And Alhaitham… he didn’t really give a notice but you all figured he was busy, being the acting grand sage and all that.

After a 30-minute rant about Kaveh’s clients, you talked about writing a new novel but you had no idea how to start it.

“Questions are overrated,” said Kaveh as he downed his drink, “I suggest you start with an at-large murder suspect being chased down by government officials—not guardes or the millelith, literal government officials.”

“You could ask Cyno for inspiration,” Tighnari suggests. You consider the idea but you figured Cyno wouldn’t have the time. “Or you could ask Alhaitham. I remember he has some experience in that field too.”

“Ah, yes,” you reply meekly. “I had forgotten.”

Hearing Alhaitham’s name felt like a stab to the heart, a curse laid upon you. You weren’t sure if it was out of love or suffering. After two years of dating, not a single soul knew about the two of you. As you asked yourself why that is, you give yourself an excuse that he simply wasn’t ready to be out. That he wanted you to make a name for yourself in case people would only remember you as the acting grand sage’s partner and not your rightful title as a writer.

When he first introduced the idea of keeping your relationship low-profile, you thought nothing of it. You knew he had no ill-intentions with the situation, so you agreed. But you thought the coast would be clear 6 months into the relationship.

During that time, the only signs of affection you got from him were when he was seldom tired from work and came home to you, longing for your warmth and drowning you with the most beautifully crafted compliments you could only dream of hearing. It was the side of him only you got to see. It was almost an honor being able to witness such greatness, all the while feeling like a goddess, worshipped and gratified by the gift of your presence.

Nowadays, you no longer felt like a deity worth praying to; that side of him became rarer than it already was.

The times when you were together—together being with the rest of your friends—you would always try to make some sort of contact with him just to feel the thrill of love your heart was aching to have, only for him to starve you of it and leave.

You felt alone, neglected, desperate, nonexistent, like a forgotten dream worth pursuing.

Everytime you thought of leaving, frames and fragments of his flattering psalms and echoing touch seemed worth the mind-numbing pain you’re going through. You’re the only one for me, he’d say. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. He would gaze upon you like you were a full moon, and you would embrace him like he was the sun.

But basking under the sun is bound to get you burned.

About an hour later, already midnight, Cyno had already arrived but Alhaitham was nowhere to be seen. Kaveh has had too many drinks and is now drunk to the core. And with the hopes of seeing Alhaitham’s face for once, you drank your fair share too. Your cheeks glowed with a drunken flush, a fire setting aflame to your frozen heart. Something he could never do.

“Looks like the acting grand sage will not be joining us,” Cyno pointed out.

A guffaw escaped from your throat, “What is there to even expect, Alhaitham has been busy since that damned Azar did… something.”

You can’t think clearly. The laugh you let out almost sounded like a sob, and to be honest, you were on the verge of crying. You were just tired. You needed the warmth only the love of your life could provide.

Then out of the blue, the voice you longed for an eternity echoed through the tavern, tired and monotonous. “Apologies for my utmost tardiness, there were some issues at the akademiya I needed to handle.”

Alhaitham.

Your stomach hurt all of the sudden. You watched as he walked to the seat opposite of you. Shouldn’t you be happy now? You were just about to break down because he wasn’t here. Now that he is, you should be content and watch your boyfriend from afar. But all you could feel was betrayal, the blank agony of despair, the cruel sting of rejection.

He failed to notice the tears that glossed your eyes, assuming it was the reflection of the light. Your gaze pierced his soul with desperation, begging for him to console you and just… do whatever. You were asking for even a squeak, a sliver of concern, the bare minimum.

“Tighnari, how is Collei doing with her studies?” Like he had a shield for your painful daggers, he didn’t even glance at your direction. Disappointment filled you like a glass of wine. You should be used to this by now—the overwhelming weight when he avoided your leg, another desperate cry you needed him to hear.

Tighnari shared Collei’s progress after seeing that you were okay. As much as you were proud of her, you prayed to every archon not to let her be in your situation. Your heart shreds for the other person, it screams his name like a priest in worship, and all that for naught.

The group laughed at something, you weren’t listening all that much. You just felt… empty.

Kaveh’s voice called your name, “Isn’t that right, Y/N?” The group turns to you, who was dazed and distracted. The architect immediately noticed this. He patted your cold hand, “Y/N?”

“Hm? Ah, yes. Yeah, sure.”

Alhaitham laughed, “You seem distracted tonight, Y/N. If you’re looking to write for the akademiya, that kind of attitude will not be tolerated.”

Somehow you got defensive. Was it Alhaitham’s obliviousness? The way he made it seem like you were aloof? His laugh that mocked you in your desolate state? Maybe it was all of the above. Whatever it was, it made you snap.

“Ah, Alhaitham, akademiya this, akademiya that—there are more things to life than work, you know.” Your voice covered up your attacks as simple friendly banter. You’ve gotten good at sucking up your anxieties and steadying your voice all thanks to him. Now you can cover yourself up real nice when you commit a crime. You have a knife in mind, and you’re ready to kill. “Like, I don’t know, a partner, per say.”

Stab.

The grand sage scoffed, “You know very well I don’t have time for such trivial things.” His muscles flex as he crossed his arms. So these were the words he chose to say to you, after centuries of broken promises and empty plates.

“Maybe you would if you actually made the time for one.”

Stab.

“You are aware that you just ignored what I just said, right? Are you even listening?”

Stab.

“Oh, I’ve been listening. For the past two years, I’ve been listening my butt out for you.” It was scarring how unbothered Alhaitham was; you wanted to scream at him. The tightening of your chest, the prickling of tears behind your eyes, the weight of despair settling in your stomach, could he see what you’re going through? “Now, all I ask is a little bit of sympathy because I have been suffering all alone, waking up to an empty bed, not even a-“

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Alhaitham interrupted you, somewhat panicked. You didn’t realize how loud you were being, up from your seat with your palm stinging from how hard it hit the table. “You know, if you’re having boy problems, you don’t have to take it out on me. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend.”

Right then and there, your world began crashing down. “Alhaitham,” Cyno muttered disapprovingly, making Alhaitham realize how rude he sounded. The tavern’s customers hushed to listen to your table. You hadn’t realized there were so many people.

Without even looking around, you could feel their eyes on you, whispers riddled with scandal.

“They’re being so loud.”

“Has she no shame?”

“In the presence of Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham, too.”

“Look, the general mahamatra is there; she really needs to watch herself.”

The embarrassment, the anger; it all fuelled you with a feeling you could not explain. No metaphor could capture the entirety of the wickedness of a man. How come he gets to sit there with everyone’s respect while you grovel in your puddle of tears? How come he’s having the time of his life while you’re burning in hell?

“You’re right,” you began, eyes dulled and void of life—of love, “You’re not. Okay, that’s all the liquor I can handle, guys. I think I’ll be heading home now.”

“Y/N,” Kaveh called, standing from his seat to escort you on your way out.

“I can walk myself, Kaveh.” You grabbed your things and took a sip of water. “Acting Grand Sage, humblest apologies.” Once again, you looked at him with utmost disappointment before leaving the tavern and heading home.

—

I am adrift in a sea of longing, drowning in the silence of his absence, clutching to memories like driftwood in a storm-tossed ocean. Yet still, I cling to the fading embers of our love, fearing the darkness that awaits should I let them fade to ash.

Hours after you returned home, sleep had not been your friend. As much as it would be typical, you cried until your eyes stung. It was now 4am, the time Alhaitham usually wakes up. Lost in your never-ending, ever-agonizing thoughts, you stared blankly at the dining room, wondering if he will finally recognize his mistakes, how much pain you’ve been in.

The knob of your front door twisted open, and surprise, surprise, it was Alhaitham who entered your apartment. “What the FUCK was that, Y/N?” He was not one to raise his voice like that, or even curse.

“Of all the nights I was available, this was when and how you choose to talk to me?” Your voice was the opposite—calm, sad, empty.

“Do you realize you nearly told everyone about our relationship?” He spotted a notebook on your crossed lap and grabbed it. “What’s that, ‘I am adrift in a sea of..’ what? Y/N, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“You specialized in languages, Alhaitham, you’ll figure it out.”

The man scoffed, “I’m not a mind reader, Y/N, if you could stop being immature-“

“You’re calling me immature? Okay, what about you keeping our two-year relationship a fucking secret?” The both of you continued raising your voices at each other. If people in the tavern hadn’t already spread rumors, this will surely start them. “Just tell me you’re ashamed of me, Alhaitham!” Then the man fell silent. Serves him right. “Tell me you don’t love me, so you can have a concrete reason to leave!”

“You know being the acting grand sage was never an easy task. The Fatui and other rebelling organizations have me as their number one target, and they are more than willing to hurt anyone to get their way! I was keeping us a secret to protect you! Seeing you getting hurt would mean the end of the world.”

“Getting hurt?” You scoff, “If you never wanted me to get hurt, you’re doing a terrible fucking job. I had to sit through multiple tables with empty seats because you were never home. Do you know how embarrassing that is for myself? I had to tolerate every ounce of contact you avoided because ‘someone might see us.’ In case you couldn’t get how much pain I’m in, let me sum it up for you—IT HURTS MORE THAN DEATH, ALHAITHAM!”

As the last echoes of your argument faded into the silence of the empty apartment, it felt as though the very foundations of your world was crumbling around them. Each word spoken was like a dagger to the heart, tearing apart the fragile bonds of love that had once held you together.

Every word you said stung his chest, the last part beating him to a pulp. It was too late for regret to cross his mind. “I really did love you, Alhaitham, more than anything.”

Those words… he hadn’t heard them in what felt like eternity. All he wanted to do was melt into your arms and apologize endlessly for all his wrongdoings, the times he barely came home, the mornings he could’ve spent with you. He’s been feeling this way for what feels like centuries. If he opened his arms to you, would you still embrace him? Would you still forgive him?

“But I can’t keep giving myself excuses to tolerate all of this.”

He looked at you, your eyes that were once so full of light now dimming of any source. The desperation, the longing you both share. There was so much sadness in your eyes. Have you always looked at him that way? Alhaitham was always quick on his feet—he had to find a way to convince you to stay!

“Y/N,” he began, “We can’t just give up on everything we’ve been through. All the dates, anniversaries, everything we took our time to make—it will all be a waste if we give up now.”

“I think you gave up on us the first time you dropped my hand when I reached for you.”

You were slowly slipping from his grasp, from his future. “I’m willing to give you all the time you need. Every meal, every date, every word you desire, I will make time for all of it. I promise you.”

“How can I know this will be another empty promise? How will I know you won’t do this again? You were never the type to offer everything so helplessly, Alhaitham.”

“Y/N, can’t you see-“

“Where were you during my sleepless nights? Where were you when I had prepared the perfect dinner for us? Where were you when I stood in the middle of the park, waiting for a certain someone to show up?

You were never there, Alhaitham. But I forgave you for all of that. I gave you a million last chances.”

A million last chances… you were thinking of leaving him beforehand? When he couldn’t seem to move his mouth, you decided you’ve had enough.

“Please, leave.”

It was too late for him now. He was long gone from saving you, from saving this relationship. There was nothing left to say, or do.

In the dim light of dawn, you both stood alone, tears a silent testament to the shattered dreams and broken promises that littered the floor like shards of glass. And as you watched your former lover walk away, a part of you knew that the wounds inflicted that night would never fully heal, leaving behind nothing but the bitter taste of regret and the haunting echo of what could have been.

(Part 2 is out now!)

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham angst #4ggravate #angst #alhaitham x reader #genshin angst #genshin fanfic #alhaitham fanfic

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loveinhawkins · 2 months

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picturing Eddie first meeting Dustin and thinking yeah, he knows how this goes: he’ll be a larger than life, comical figure in this kid’s life for, like, not even a year before he leaves Hawkins High in the dust.

And sure, Dustin is, like, ridiculously endearing even when he’s being a cocky little shit in campaigns, and that suits Eddie just fine, ‘cause he can be a cocky little shit at the best of times, downright obnoxious really, he thinks—a part of him’s never outgrown the juvenile, no matter how many times he repeats senior year.

Plus Dustin is crazily good at solving riddles, so Eddie’s remaining months leading Hellfire are definitely gonna be a fun challenge.

Then March comes.

And Eddie’s shaking apart in a boathouse, seeing impossible, terrible things on a loop in his head, Chrissy, Chrissy, God no, please, and Dustin’s there, with a wisdom far beyond his years, calmly leading him out of the dark.

Eddie half expects it to be a trick, but no. Dustin Henderson believes him.

You don’t know me, Eddie wants to say.

But there’s a constant defiance in Dustin’s expression, even when he’s clearly trying to keep things light and breezy, there’s nothing to worry about! Like he’s just daring for Eddie to contradict him.

There’s something assured in how the kid does things, Eddie thinks. He can see how the years of all this shit have shaped him, have him flitting between maturity and earnestness: something born from a childhood that’s not been lost, just altered.

He watches Dustin walk with Steve Harrington in the woods—can read the shared history and fondness hidden in between layers of snark; they’re family, he knows that without a doubt.

What trips him up is that Dustin keeps looking back, keeps drawing him back into the group with complaints that he’s walking too slow, and his eyebrows are raised meaningfully, like he’s really saying that there’s room for Eddie here, too.

And Eddie doesn’t know how to convey the sudden gratitude he feels closing up his throat—feels too jittery still, too raw to do anything justice.

He keeps close when Dustin tears off through the woods, heart in his mouth as the night darkens, Dustin, can you slow down? Dustin!

He pulls Dustin back from the lake’s edge just in time, then feels Steve’s watchful eyes on him—spots a flicker of approval, like he’s passed some sort of test.

And that feeling only grows the longer he’s around Steve, lying through his teeth in The Upside Down, I don’t even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks, and Steve’s giving him this knowing sideways glance, like maybe they’re something of the same; Eddie feels a sudden, unexpected rush of joy at the thought, dancing in and out of Steve’s space, still super jealous as hell, by the way.

“I told you, right?” Dustin says, grinning widely as Steve drives them out of Forest Hills at breakneck speed. “He’s awesome.”

And Eddie feels the fondness of his own smile, feels it right down to his core, because he gets that Dustin’s only being so forthcoming because Steve can’t hear him right now.

Kid worships you, dude. Like, you have no idea.

It hits him then, while roughhousing with Dustin in the grass (a deliberate distraction, trying to make the kids forget about weapons and fire): that he’s never really been the kinda guy who people want to stick around, but now…

Now he’s starting to think that he could be.

Starts to imagine, starts to hope—and that’s huge, something that would’ve seemed impossible mere days ago—as he sees Robin and Nancy laughing at his antics, their weapon-making temporarily forgotten.

They like me, Eddie thinks with wonder, they really like me.

And he wants—sudden and fierce, with all he has—to change the world for them, to make it so Robin Buckley would just be spending spring break watching arty films, dreaming of Paris; so Nancy Wheeler would never need to hide guns in her bedroom, would never have to carry an unimaginable grief.

Steve looks over, too—his laugh carries across the field, and Eddie is caught by the warmth in his eyes; even as Dustin manages to playfully tackle him, he’s still thinking of Steve, and maybe, maybe…

The lightness fades as they go over the plan, but not the emotion: Eddie keeps that tucked away, safe, a promise to himself.

“Uh, are you sure about this?” he says in an undertone to Steve, when it’s first revealed that it’s him and Dustin paired up together.

Steve’s eyes are apologetic, “Sorry, man, I’ve tried every—if there was a way to just, like, sit it out, I’d have—”

“No,” Eddie says urgently, “I mean…” And he points at himself before nodding discreetly to where Dustin is—currently talking up a storm with Erica, something about vents that he can’t make sense of.

“Are you sure?” Eddie presses, trying to put all he’s not saying into the question, I can see how much that kid means to you, I’ve known him, like, six months, Harrington, that’s nothing, why, why do you—

Steve shakes his head. A little smile breaks through his concern. “Yeah, of course,” he says, like it’s nothing.

But Eddie can feel the weight of it. A passing of the torch.

And he doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words: that, apart from Wayne, he’s never really allowed people in, never allowed them to matter like this.

As they drive back to the Creel House, as time runs out and nerves build, he tries to show everything he can’t say; he helps Nancy take stock of supplies, offers Robin his shoulder so she can sleep, and he knows that’s not enough, barely scratches the surface, but it’s all he’s got.

He sits in the back of the RV, watches Steve, tense and silent in the driver’s seat, and knows with certainty what his mission is: get Dustin Henderson safely back home.

And no, Eddie doesn’t know how any of this is gonna go.

But he can hope.

He can try.

#the dynamic between them all makes my heart ache. just working through some thoughts ❤️#eddie and dustin #eddie munson fic #henderfam #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin fic #eddie munson analysis #dustin henderson analysis #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hcs #steddie #eddie and the party #eddie munson ficlet #eddie and dustin ficlet #implied steddie #pre steddie #eddie munson

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thetrashywritingwitch · 2 months

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Despite his parents' success in fashion and design, Katsuki just doesn't get it. That kind of visual creativity isn't something he naturally inherited like his quirk or how he annoyingly is the spitting image of his mother. It never seemed important. What benefit could he get out of art that would help him as a Hero? To him, jack shit.

Yeah, someone designed his suit and support items. Or rather, brought his shitty doodle idea to life. But that's their job, not his. He still remembers being scolded for folding one of his dad's client sketches into a paper airplane and sailing it out the second story window.

He barely remembers the middle school field trip to an art museum. Didn't pay attention to whatever the guide had to say, and didn't much care. Katsuki and his lackeys friends just joked around the entire time. All the weird, abstract stuff was ugly. All the realistic stuff was boring. No painting was gonna prove important to meeting his goal.

... However, it pissed him off that the stupid art classes he had to take caused him so much grief. He could easily get an A in every other class, but the string of B's in every art class from middle school up through UA felt like a stain on his good record. Why the hell did he need to draw vases and shit anyway?!

Katsuki Bakugo sucked at art, and he hated it. It was the one thing he couldn't figure out. He could study and memorize for a test, easy. He could practice and train to perfect his quirk, strength, and endurance. But all his drawings were rough and sloppy. His lines were shaky and uneven. Painting was messy, and if he fucked up, he couldn't easily erase it or start over like a math problem. Whatever, he didn't need to know this stuff anyway. Waste of time and energy when he had more important things to worry about.

So it comes as an uncomfortable shock when a friend sends him a DM of some art they found. "Hey it's you!! Saw this on my feed." And it's... Yeah, it's him. The tags at the bottom confirm it. Of course, his actual account wasn't tagged because he goes out of his way to actively avoid people begging for his attention so badly.

But it's weird. It's not some high impact action shot. Or copy of his unsightly mug screengrabbed from an interview. He's calm. Serene, almost. He never saw himself as "pretty" or whatever the weirdo fan clubs call him. He's got scars on scars and a scowl deep enough to reach the Earth's molten core.

He never considered the difference between how artists see the world vs how he sees it. Or how he sees himself. Is that why it never clicked? He lacks an ability that can't be acquired by training or studying harder than everyone else?

It makes him grimace.

Clicking your profile, he scrolls the gallery to see that it's all art. His portrait isn't the most recent, either. There's this confidence in the mark-making, like you know how it's gonna look before the brush hits the paper. And he knows something about confidence - that to back it up, you gotta work for it.

He knows the bubble of jealousy, too. But that's stupid. This stuff doesn't do him any good. It's not useful. It doesn't help him. So why does he absentmindedly push the "Follow" button before hiding his phone in his back pocket?

The notification ding vibrates your phone as you're eating lunch. Another spam text to block? Surprisingly, no. "New follower on Instagram: Dynamight_Official"

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha headcanons #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #dont ask i've had artist au's in my head for many ages #living vicariously through this like no one's business lmaoooo #many thoughts probably too many

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pedropascallme · 1 year

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Occam’s Razor

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader; no use of y/n

Summary: “Philosophically speaking—logically speaking—Occam’s razor is a principle that recommends searching for explanations with the least possible set of elements. In other words, the best answer, the correct answer, is often the simplest.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel is early 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), fingering, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, praise kink, daddy kink, sir kink, size kink if you squint, mild degradation, mild brattamer!Joel??, canon typical violence. If i missed anything please let me know!

~~~

Philosophically speaking—logically speaking—Occam’s razor is a principle that recommends searching for explanations with the least possible set of elements. In other words, the best answer, the correct answer, is often the simplest.

But more on that later.

Joel miller was a man of few words. Rugged; stoic to his core. Ellie, on the other hand, was perhaps the chattiest of Cathies you had ever met. When their little party picked you up, you and Ellie quickly fell into the habit of talking through and over anything and everything together.

Much to Miller’s chagrin.

Despite his stern demeanor, you couldn’t deny that Joel had that southern charm to him. He’d clear branches out of your way, place a hand on your back while you walked over uneven terrain, call you “darlin’” to get your attention. You’d be a fool not to notice how handsome he was; despite the obvious signs of age and trauma, despite the fact that he was quite a bit older than you, and despite the fact that he clearly had everything but you on his mind…there was no denying how gorgeous Joel miller was.

You liked to imagine he had a soft spot for you, liked to imagine that the hands on your shoulder when you climbed a steeper-than-expected hill were for more than steadying the both of you. You liked to think that when you made camp and he offered first shift it was because he cared. Maybe it was the way he looked at you during meals, as if he was undressing you with his eyes, that fed into your delusions. But, hey, the world had ended—crazier things could happen.

Still, you would be snapped out of your fantasies when he gave you the stink eye for encouraging Ellie’s dirty jokes. Your attempts to force him into a conversation were shot down almost every time. He had yelled at you more than once, most recently for “trying so damn hard to get us all killed”—his words—when you had almost tripped an old landmine that raiders had set up in a field. So maybe it was all in your head. You tried not to take his words to heart, choosing to focus on his kinder actions. But Joel had you hot and bothered. And, oftentimes, pissed.

Who gave a fuck. At least you had Ellie.

It had been days and days and days of walking and camping and then walking again. When you weren’t talking to and giggling with Ellie (the younger girl reading her joke book and getting you to guess every punchline) or staring at the back of Joel’s head as he led you onward, you reflected on why exactly the two travelers had let you stay with them. Why Joel had let you stick around. It wasn’t like he had to—hell, when Ellie had found you, Joel pulled a gun to your head, and Ellie had to convince him to bring you along. It took ten minutes for him to let his gun down, and it still felt like he hadn’t let his guard down around you. Maybe Joel thought the girl needed a more maternal figure, maybe he thought you, in your ratty jeans, at 20-something, could provide that energy. That seemed like the simplest answer, and it felt to you that Joel didn’t care for you all that much, despite your daydreams. You were grateful, really, you were, but there were times where you wished he would address the fact that you were there. A “thank you” would be appreciated.

You were pulled out of your own head when you heard Ellie gasp; immediately you reached for the gun on your hip, eyes darting up and around in search of whatever danger she had reacted to. Before you could do anything, though, you heard her speak:

“House!”

Your shoulders slumped a bit in relief that it had been a good gasp. But you still stood behind Joel with Ellie as you made your way forward to the house. Just in case. Joel held up his rifle, expecting the worst—he was always expecting the worst. Slowly but surely, you made it to the porch of the run-down cabin.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice was firm when you and Ellie got closer to the entrance. It was an order, even though it had been barely above a whisper. He walked through the front door as quietly as he could, keeping himself low and his gun high. After a few minutes he walked back out and stuck his thumb towards the entrance.

“S’alright. Doesn’t seem like anybody’s been here for a long while.”

Ellie ran into the house, no doubt in search of a bed to call her own for however long you three would be staying. You trudged up the steps behind her, looking around at the decomposition of the interior. It would’ve been a nice house to live in before.

_______________________

Night fell just as quickly as the day had begun.

By some miracle, despite the house’s decay, there was still running water. You relished the time you got to spend in the shower, rubbing all of the dirt and grime off your body and watching it swirl down the rusted drain.

Once dressed, you rounded the corner and sat on the dusty couch in the middle of what had once been a living room. You had spent so much time in the shower, you assumed Joel and Ellie would’ve been asleep by now, figuring that you would take first shift in your shiny clean state.

That was not the case.

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and by the time you turned yourself around to look at the source of the sound, Joel was already standing on the bottom of the staircase.

“Ellie’s asleep. I’ll take first watch.” He walked towards the couch, sitting himself down at an arm’s length from you.

“I can take first watch. I don’t mind. I’m up anyway.” You drew your legs into your chest, suddenly feeling a bit exposed in your white shirt as the excess water on your body from the shower had started to make the fabric see-through.

“M’up, too. Bedroom’s the first door on the right. Can’t miss it.”

“Miller, I can watch. Take a break.”

“Ain’t no breaks, darlin’.” Your heart skipped a bit when he used the nickname. It was embarrassing how one word could get under your skin and cause heat to rise in your cheeks so easily.

“Well, sure. But I’m taking this shift.” You didn’t know why you were arguing with him over something so futile. He would end up winning, anyway. Really, you just wanted an excuse to talk to him one-on-one. “So be on your way.”

“No, you’re not. Go upstairs.”

“Who died and made you king?” Those were fighting words, and you knew it.

“The whole fuckin’ world died, sweetheart.” You could tell you were getting to him. “Go.”

“You’re a real piece of work, Joel Miller. You’re not in charge, you just have the most ammo. If I said I’ll take first watch, then I’ll—"

“Jesus H. Christ, girl, d’y’ever shut up?” Joel cut you off.

“You got a mighty big stick shoved up your ass, Miller.”

Joel stood up, refusing to back down from the fight you had started. You decided to stand, too. You weren’t about to let him win just because he had you cornered into the couch.

“‘Nd you’re still over there runnin’ your mouth. What’s this, hour four o’bein’ here? You still got somethin’ new to say?”

“You want me to be quiet?” You were standing right in front of him, looking him directly in the eyes.

Fuck, he had pretty eyes.

“Mm.”

“Make me.”

Remember Occam’s razor? The simplest solution.

Joel grabbed you by the waist, attacking your mouth with his. You yelped at the sudden contact, but he silenced you just as quickly by forcing his tongue into your mouth. You relaxed into him, letting his hands explore you while you wrapped your own around him, fingers tugging at the curly hair at the nape of his neck. He pushed you back down onto the couch.

“Need me to make you shut up?” He undid his belt, calloused hands sliding it out of the loops. “I’ll show you what that fuckin’ mouth is good for, sweetheart. Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

You were never one to disobey a command. You inched yourself off the couch, settling on your knees in front of Joel. He traced a hand down your jaw, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, and he placed his thumb inside.

“Use that mouth, baby.” He watched you close your lips around the digit and hollow your cheeks to suck. “Tha’s right. Need’a teach you some manners. What’tya say?”

“Thank you, Joel.” You managed to mumble out, still sucking on his thumb.

“Uh-uh. You treat me with some fuckin’ respect when you’re on your knees for me. What do you say?” He pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop, tracing it over your cheek and smearing your spit across your face.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good girl.” He unzipped his fly and took your hands in his, placing them on his crotch. You could feel how hard he was, how his cock throbbed for you in his pants. He put your hands on his hips, then pulled down his jeans to release himself.

You had spent a lot of time imagining Joel’s dick. You knew that it had to be big, considering the way he carried himself, considering he always had to adjust his pants after sitting down. But even then, nothing could have prepared you for how fucking hung he was. He was so beautiful.

He grabbed one of your hands, making you wrap it around his cock.

“What are you waitin’ for, darlin’?” He looked down at you expectantly. There was no way you would be able to fit all of him down your throat, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, giving experimental licks and kisses. He groaned, grabbing your hair and holding it in a ponytail.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He asked, and all you could do was make a noise in response. “Gonna let me use this mouth how it needs to be used?” Again, you could only make a noise, this time higher pitched in anticipation. “Wanted to fuck this pretty mouth o’yours for so damn long. You gonna let me?” Now all you could do was moan, and he took that as a “yes.”

He pushed himself forward into your mouth, and you could feel the burn of your cheeks as he got deeper. He got maybe, maybe, halfway in when you started to gag, choking on his length, your spit dripping down your chin.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. Messy girl. Lettin’ me use you like this. Fuck!” You had reached a hand down to cup his balls, giving them a small squeeze with your mouth still wrapped firmly around his shaft. “Knew you’d be a good girl. Knew you’d be a fuckin’ whore.” He began to shallowly thrust into your mouth, making you choke and drool all over yourself. You could feel the wet patch on your underwear growing bigger with every move he made and every word he said. Tears streamed down your face as he pushed himself against the back of your throat.

He pulled out, slapping your cheek with his cock. “Doin’ such a good job. Should’a shut you up like this before.” Joel slapped your cheek with his dick again, drawing a whine from you. “You need more, sweet thing? L’il slut needs more than what I’ve already given her?” Now he was just teasing.

“Please, sir…” Was all you could manage, opening your mouth again in the hopes that he would stuff his cock back inside.

“Please, sir, what?”

“Please can I have your cock, sir?” You weren’t one for begging, but God did you love seeing Joel stand above you. How could you deny him what he wanted when he was gripping his cock like that? Looking down at you like that?

“Get up on the couch.” You did as you were told. He grabbed your face and pulled you into him for another kiss. It was filthy, all spit and tongue, and you fucking loved it.

He began stripping you of your clothes. He tugged your shirt off over your head, drinking in the way your naked chest rose and fell with every breath you took. You shimmied out of your jeans, but before you could get rid of your panties, Joel was pushing you onto the couch.

“Lemme help you, pretty girl.” He pulled your hips up, one arm under your ass for support while he ghosted his fingers over your clothed cunt.

“Look at that fuckin’ wet spot. Did I do that to you, baby? Daddy get you all wet, fuckin’ your pretty mouth?” He rubbed a knuckle in the middle of the wetness on your panties, and you moaned at the contact. “Answer my question.”

“Daddy got me wet—yes!” You bit back a yell as Joel pulled your panties to the side and unceremoniously pushed his middle finger into your weeping cunt.

“Fuckin’ soaked f’me. Barely fittin’ one finger in, beautiful. How you gonna take my cock?” You opened your mouth but no words came out, instead you heard yourself let out a string of high pitched moans.

“God, this tight little pussy…gonna make you all mine, sweetheart.”

“I—ah!—I’m all y-yours alrea-dy.” You breathed out. Joel added another finger and you felt yourself squeeze him.

“Tha’s right, wanna feel you cum on my fingers like this. Can you do that, baby? Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s fingers?” You could hardly breathe you were so turned on, so focused on how Joel’s fingers were brushing against your most sensitive spot. Eyes closing in concentration; you felt a smack against your clit. Opening your eyes, you met Joel’s gaze.

“Be a good girl ‘nd look at me while I’m usin’ this pussy.” He started pushing his fingers deeper.

Your head rolled back on the couch, mouth dropping open in a silent scream, trying your best not to break eye contact with Joel.

“So quiet all of a sudden, baby. S’at all you needed? Needed to get this pussy filled up so that I could get some fuckin’ peace and quiet?” You nodded your head in response, feeling yourself at the tipping point. Your face was hot, your body coated in sweat, and all he had done was fuck your face and use his fingers on you. You were a fucking goner. You felt a rough finger on your clit, and Joel’s voice calling you a “good girl,” and that was all you needed. The rubber band snapped, and you were cumming all over his hand.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Fuck, getting’ my hand all messy.” You were breathing heavily, still able to feel the fullness of his fingers inside you as you came down from your orgasm.

Suddenly you were empty again, and Joel brought his fingers up to your lips. You opened your mouth without any fuss, tasting the tang of your juices on his fingers. He watched you like a hawk, unable to tear away his gaze from the way your lips pulled his fingers in while you sucked your cum off of them.

He pulled his fingers away, and you whined. You needed contact—any contact—with him. He gave you another kiss, pulling away to ask you what you needed.

“Your cock, Joel. Please.”

“Already gave you my cock, didn’t I, darlin’?”

“Want more, sir.”

“Gonna have to be more specific.” You could feel his breath on your face.

“Can I…I want you to… please?”

“God, you can’t even remember your words now. Pathetic little mess f’me.” He wrapped a hand around your throat. “I know what you want, baby. Want me to fuck your little pussy? S’at it?” You nodded. His insult went straight to your core.

He got up on the couch next to you, shifting you to lie on your side, your legs pressed together in what was essentially the fetal position. He pulled your ruined panties down, letting you straighten your legs for a moment before throwing them somewhere and pushing your legs back up. You felt him lining his cock up to your hole, nudging you with the tip.

“Tell me what you want.” He urged again.

You felt a newfound confidence surge through you. “Want daddy to fuck my pussy, please.” You followed all his rules, using your manners, using his title. It didn’t go unnoticed. Joel growled as he pushed his cock inside you. Every inch of him filled you up, dragging against your walls. You let out a long moan as he seated himself as deep inside of you as he could.

“Tiny l’il girl, look at you takin’ this big cock. So fuckin’ good.” He began to thrust himself shallowly in and out of your cunt. Every movement made you feel how good he was stretching you out, your wetness dripped between your legs.

You let out a particularly shrill moan as he hit a spot deep inside of you, one you hadn’t even realized existed. He smacked your ass hard before cupping his hand over your mouth.

“Just when I thought you were learnin’ to be quiet. Gonna have to fuck this lesson into you, huh?” He sped up, snapping his hips into your ass. You could hear the wet sounds your pussy made around him. The hand that had been on your mouth dipped between your legs, pulling the one on top up and over his shoulder.

“Tha’s what I like to see. Pretty girl all spread out for me. Thought o’this view every fuckin’ day.” He was absolutely ruining you, kneading your clit and pulling you up onto his dick.

“Gimme another one, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He let your leg drop off of his shoulder, leaning in to kiss you while you tried to keep your moans quiet. His fingers still worked your clit, rubbing your bud in time with his thrusts.

“J-oel,” you gasped, “I’m—fuck! I—”

“I know, baby. Show me what a good girl you are.” He kissed your cheek, and you clenched around him, making him groan. Your vision went blurry from the tears leaking out of your eyes combined with the absolute and utter pleasure that Joel had coursing through your veins.

“Shit! So fuckin’ good for me, atta girl. Cum for daddy, sweetheart, there y’go.”

You were shaking, turning slightly to lie on your back and look up at him.

“Th-ank you, sir…” You could barely keep your eyes open, your orgasm had knocked all the energy out of you. But at least you remembered your manners.

“Good job, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy, his arms resting next to your head on the couch while he lazily drove his cock inside of you. “Where d’ya want me, baby?”

Through your haze you shot him a smile. “Inside. Please, will you cum inside me, daddy?”

He moaned, speeding up slightly at your request. “Want me to cum in this sweet pussy? Wanna feel me paint you with my fuckin’ load, pretty girl?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into you for another heated kiss. You moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, “please cum inside me, Joel.”

He let out a groan, followed by your name over and over again, grinding himself into you. You felt the warmth of his cum in your stomach, wiggling your hips on him while his own hips stuttered above you, draining his cock into your greedy cunt.

He held himself above you, hair sticking to his forehead. You traced lazy shapes on his back and smiled up at him.

“You’re chatty when you fuck.” You goaded him.

“Yeah? You’re chatty all the time.” He spoke bluntly, but kissed your forehead. He pulled out of you, and your cunt clenched around nothing at the empty feeling. His cum dripped out of you. He sat up and pulled you into his lap. You sat silently for a moment, holding onto each other.

“Didn’t think you liked me all that much. Definitely didn’t think you liked me enough to fuck me like that.” You broke the silence. “Always felt like you didn’t want much to do with me.”

“Y’kidding?”

“No.”

“I like you too much.” Joel whispered into the top of your head.

“What do you mean?”

“Dangerous to like someone in this world, darlin’. Didn’t want either of us to deal with more hurt than we already have.”

“Oh…” You were silent again. Then, “So why’d you let me come with you two in the first place? Didn’t have to let me stick around.”

“’Cause you’re pretty.” He chuckled to himself. “’Nd Ellie needed someone a little more her speed. Someone a little more caring…maternal…” So, you had been right!

But he continued. “‘Nd, you know…”

“What?”

“I told ya. I like you.”

“Didn’t seem that way when you held a gun to my head.” You said, recalling your first encounter.

“It was a precaution.”

“Mhm.”

“Well how does it seem when my cum’s drippin’ out o’you?” You laughed lightly, reaching your fingers down to feel the sticky mixture of his cum and yours that had leaked onto your leg. You put the fingers in your mouth. He sucked in a breath, watching you intently.

“Seems like maybe you’re telling the truth.” You let your fingers go, wiping the remaining spit and cum mixture on the couch.

“I am. Like you a lot. So much. I’d be willin’ to prove it again, y’know.” He smiled, wiggling his brows. You could get used to seeing Joel Miller joke around after fucking you stupid.

“Like you a lot, too.” More silence.

“So y’meant what you said?” He asked.

“What’d I say?”

“When we were fuckin’. Y’said you were mine.”

You leaned yourself into him. “Of course I meant it. Did you mean it when you said you wanted to make me yours?”

“Of course I meant it.” He parroted.

“Good.” You sighed, letting the smell and feel of him surround you.

“Y’finally ready to get some sleep?” He asked. And for the first time, you heard the genuine affection behind the words, not just the affection you thought you only heard from him in your imagination.

“You said the bedroom is on the right?” You caved.

“I did.”

You prepared to stand up, but Joel wrapping his arms around your stomach stopped you.

“Where th’hell are you goin’?”

“To the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“You told me to sleep, Joel, I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Simpler to just stay here.” He pulled you closer to him. You gladly cuddled into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He was right. That was the simplest solution.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #Joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction

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thefearandnow · 10 months

Text

So with Oppenheimer coming out tomorrow, I feel a certain level of responsibility to share some important resources for people to understand more about the context of the Manhattan Project. Because for my family, it’s not just a piece of history but an ongoing struggle that’s colonized and irradiated generations of New Mexicans’ lives and altered our identity forever. Not only has the legacy of the Manhattan Project continued to harm and displace Indigenous and Hispanic people but it’s only getting bigger: Biden recently tasked the Los Alamos National Lab facility to create 30 more plutonium pits (the core of a nuclear warhead) by 2026. So this is a list of articles, podcasts and books to check out to hear the real stories of the local people living with this unique legacy that’s often overlooked.

This is simply the latest mainstream interest in the Oppenheimer story and it always ALWAYS silences the trauma of the brown people the US government took advantage of to make their death star. I might see the movie, I honestly might not. I’m not trying to judge anyone for seeing what I’m sure will be an entertaining piece of art. I just want y’all to leave the theater knowing that this story goes beyond what’s on the screen and touches real people’s lives: people whose whole families died of multiple cancers from radiation from the Trinity test, people who’s ancestral lands were poisoned, people who never came back from their job because of deadly work conditions. This is our story too.

The first and best place to learn more about this history and how to support those still resisting is to follow Tewa Women United. They’ve assembled an incredible list of resources from the people who’ve been fighting this fight the longest.

https://tewawomenunited.org/2023/07/oppenheimer-and-the-other-side-of-the-story

The writer Alicia Inez Guzman is currently writing a series about the nuclear industrial complex in New Mexico, its history and cultural impacts being felt today.

https://searchlightnm.org/my-nuclear-family/

https://searchlightnm.org/the-abcs-of-a-nuclear-education/

https://searchlightnm.org/plutonium-by-degrees/

Danielle Prokop at Source NM is an excellent reporter (and friend) who has been covering activists fighting for Downwinder status from the federal government. They’re hoping that the success of Oppenheimer will bring new attention to their cause.

https://sourcenm.com/2023/07/19/anger-hope-for-nm-downwinders/

https://sourcenm.com/2022/01/27/new-mexico-downwinders-demand-recognition-justice/

One often ignored side of the Manhattan Project story that’s personal for me is that the government illegally seized the land that the lab facilities eventually were built on. Before 1942, it was homesteading land for ranchers for more than 30 families (my grandpa’s side of the family was one). But when the location was decided, the government evicted the residents, bought their land for peanuts and used their cattle for target practice. Descendants of the homesteaders later sued and eventually did get compensated for their treatment (though many say it was far below what they were owed)

https://www.hcn.org/issues/175/5654

Myrriah Gomez is an incredible scholar in this field, working as a historian, cultural anthropologist and activist using a framework of “nuclear colonialism” to foreground the Manhattan Project. Her book Nuclear Nuevo Mexico is an amazing collection of oral stories and archival record that positions New Mexico’s era of nuclear colonialism in the context of its Spanish and American eras of colonialism. A must read for anyone who’s made it this far.

https://uapress.arizona.edu/book/nuclear-nuevo-mexico

There isn’t a ton of podcasts about this (yet 👀) but recently the Washington Post’s podcast Field Trip did an episode about White Sands National Monument. The story is a beautifully written and sound designed piece that spotlights the Downwinder activists and also a discovery of Indigenous living in the Trinity test area going back thousands of years. I was blown away by it.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/podcasts/field-trip/white-sands-national-park/

#oppenheimer #oppenheimer movie #barbenheimer #manhattan project #new mexico #los alamos #I never do posts like this #but I felt compelled #theres just so much like nuclear worship going on right now

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devourable · 6 months

Text

masterlist ! long post under cut. anything without links is unfinished. nsfw content marked in red

{ boy yanderes }

yandere church boy (⛪️ abraham atkins)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs / asks :

sfw hcs 1 . sfw hcs 2 . nsfw hcs . darling w different religion . equally religious darling . darling from large family .

fics, drabbles, etc :

prayer session - private service - genesis 9:6 - divine sin [ocxoc ; by darling--core] - kinktober; overstim [ocxoc ; by darling--core] - my angel {wip, coming soon!}

yandere hacker (🖥️ gene eliades)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

gene x camslut darling

fics, drabbles, etc :

coding lesson - kinktober; cockwarming [ocxoc ; by darling--core]

yandere prodigy (🪶 sterling cygnus)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

ask dump . what if darling left school? . college parties . handmade birthday present . overheard confession . positive reinforcement darling

fics, drabbles, etc :

field trip - i like you {wip, coming soon!}

aus :

professor cygnus (older!au)

yandere best friends (tobias lovell & sebastian lee ; 🍀 the neighbors)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

nsfw hcs - shy voyeur darling (wip, coming soon!)

yandere delinquents (mattias c., judas j., dominic g., aaron d. ; 🚬 the delinquents)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

how did they meet? . nsfw headcanons . sick darling . dom reader . darling’s birthday . asexual darling . oral fixation darling

yandere monster (🌲 mykolas)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

sfw headcanons . how does he mate with his darling?

fics, drabbles, etc :

break time

yandere cheerleader (📣 orion knight) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

yandere idol (🎤 ivan armani) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

the huntsman (🪓 gareth sharpe) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

{ girl yanderes }

yandere gym bunny (💪 valentina everett)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

wedding headcanons

fics, drabbles, etc :

wlw comfort drabble - making a scene

yandere princess (👑 althea chrysostomides)

intro fic • pinboard

yandere mermaids (kallisto, tomila, lyonesse ; 🪸 the mermaids)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

what gifts do they like? . sfw headcanons . what if darling wants a family?

fics, drabbles, etc :

mating season (wip, coming soon!)

yandere farmer (🌾 linden bell) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

the coven (wip)

intro fic • pinboard

{ nonbinary yanderes }

the butcher (🥩 rhodes williams)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

vulture culture darling . nsfw headcanons . fiesty/protective darling

fics, drabbles, etc :

better days - helpless - make me bleed

the stalker (💌 vega leers) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

the alt kids (faust m., delta c., anton f., ; 🕷️ the alt kids)

intro fic • pinboard

hcs and asks :

nsfw hcs

the demon (🩸 melchior) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

[ poly yanderes ]

the parents (angel & bianca moreno ; 🧸 the parents) — wip

intro fic • pinboard

the villains — wip

intro fic • pinboard

{ misc / multi oc posts }

your first time p1

your first time p2 (coming soon!)

date night w abe / delinquents

flirty darling x sterling and rhodes

yanderes x single parent darling

yanderes x cuddle drunk darling (wip, coming soon!)

yanderes / darlings and cuddles

poly yanderes x biased darling

yandere terms of endearment

abe, tina, and rhodes x chronically ill darling

how do they feel about other yanderes?

who does/doesn’t want kids?

rhodes x darling x abraham, part 2

#masterlist #yandere boys #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x oc #yandere boy #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere headcanons

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brucewaynehater101 · 1 month

Note

i'm gonna be real idk if your the right person to go for young justice core four headcanons but you give the best replies by far so heres my own idea idea

I was listening to the Roblox Soundfont remix and now the og Gone Angels and now I'm thinking . . .

Tim became Robin to prevent Batman from ceasing to be the symbol of heroism and good he started off as

The symbol that spiraled into destruction of even the self with Jason Todd's death

imagine a world where Red Robin becomes the very thing he swore to destroy with his own death

he dies along with Bart and Kon. Cassie due to this and maybe other factors fucking looses it, Batman post-Jason's death but pre-Tim becoming Robin style

or maybe instead he dies but the rest of the core four lives. either way Cassie still looses it, by herself or with her other teammates

And maybe, just maybe, they get nobody to be the Third Robin to their Batman, no Third Robin to Tim's Second Robin

likely improbably in canon but the idea of Cassie and maybe even Bart and Kon having a villain arc (maybe Black Silence style) is too good of an idea not to share

(Side note; imagine a Gone Angels cover where the survivor(s) sing and for the itallian lyrics in the midway point the deceased sing)

((extra side note: imagine this is what gets Batman and maybe the other Bats to reflect on the time before and after Tim become robin, post Jason's death; seeing their history repeat with Young Justice))

((hell maybe the Justice League realizes as wells))

"you give the best replies by far." Thank you. Sometimes, it takes a bit to reply to asks cause I'm taking a few hours to really answer the prompts/ideas/questions people pose. I also sleep at random times, so apologizes in advance to any asks that take a while!

My image of YJ is a codependent platonic polycule. They are Young Just Us because they didn't receive proper support from their mentors. This is part of why Cassie and Tim fell apart after Kon and Bart died. This is why, in their own weird ways, both of them tried to get a form of Kon back. Tim tried the scientist cloning avenue, and Cassie tried the cult.

If you want Tim's death to inspire Cassie and YJ to go evil, might I suggest Tim sending proof of Bruce being alive in the timestream and then succumbing to his spleen injury (perhaps an infection)? This would create a delicious amount of angst, anger, and mental breakdowns.

Cassie, the only nonretired YJ member alive at the time, didn't believe Tim about Bruce being alive. This was in part due to the cloning stuff but also in part to trusting Nightwing (or Batman at the time). If Tim didn't make it out of that alive, Cassie may be desperate to find anyone to blame but herself for that. She was a kid, she was lost in her own grief, and Tim should have had the support of literally any other hero.

The entire hero community turned against a teenager in his time of need that he resorted to conspiring with the LoA and ended up losing his life. Whether she chooses to be mad about nobody believing him (Tim's possibly a better detective than Bruce and people have revived before, but his evidence at the time was flimsy), she can be very pissed that not a single hero offered to help him. They didn't even need to trust in Tim's decision. They could have just accompanied Tim until the teen gave up or proved himself right. They could have treated it as a grief road trip while Tim found himself.

Anyways, losing the last nonretired YJ member that way may cause her to just snap. The JL was already on thin ice with the YJ for their lack of support to her generation of heroes. Them failing YJ enough that two children died in the field and one died as a direct result of their actions? She would, rightfully, loathe the JL. On top of that, she does already not trust the government for what they did to Secret. If she can't prosecute the JL, she'll become their enemy.

Cassie lost all of her main polycule. She wants revenge.

After Bart and Kon come back, they see how JL left Cassie and what they did to Tim. Cassie is part of their ride or die, and she has been treated so horribly. Tim has died. They obviously join her.

Now, with Bart there to give evil ideas (Bart is the scariest member of YJ and you can't convince me otherwise), YJ is a force to be reckoned with. Maybe some of the other members come out of retirement, maybe not. They would be unstoppable with Tim helping them, but that's the problem. They don't have Tim. Tim isn't there to help them nor hold them back. That's why they became "evil" anyway.

I like to imagine someone, probably Nightwing, screaming at them from across the battlefield. "This isn't what he would have wanted! He became Robin to stop Batman from destroying everything. This is the antithesis of why he became a hero!"

For a split second, YJ would pause. There's merit in those words, after all. Cassie would recover first as she shakes her head. "He became a hero to be the leash to Batman's rage. He's not here now. He's not here to temper our rage, and you did that. You abandoned a child." She plants her feet more firmly and points her sword at Nightwing. "We won't let you do that again."

It's dealers choice on whether YJ win the battle or not. Also, I do believe YJ would be obsessed with trying to bring Tim back. Perhaps some of their evil deeds truly stem from them trying to find ways to bring back Tim. They are incomplete without him just as they were incomplete without Kon or Bart and would be without Cassie.

Now, is Tim actually alive or does he stay dead? Did Ra's revive him using the Pit? Did Ra's lie or misguide the Bats while keeping Tim hostage? Will Tim come back, either after being brainwashed by Ra's or escaping, to find his platonic polycule has officially lost it and turned evil?

#cassie sandsmark #dc comics #dc universe #young justice #young just us #let yj be evil #tim drake #bart allen #kon el superboy #thank you for the ask!!!!#yj can and should take over the world for the greater good

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tigertales9 · 9 months

Text

Give & Take

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: You have a hectic day before Joe leaves for the soccer match between FC Cincinnati & Inter Miami

Time/Place: Wednesday, 8/23/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio (with flashbacks to the day before)

Inspo pic:

pic source = @lonelywiththestars - Damn!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You reverse out of the parking space in front of the dry cleaners and head for the exit, quickly looking left and right before pulling into traffic, heaving a sigh as you mentally tick items off of your to-do list:

lunch with the girls -- done

pick up dry cleaning -- done

quick trip to the grocery store -- next

A few minutes later you flick your blinker on, turning into the grocery store parking lot and pulling into an open space; you hop out of your car and head toward the store, grimacing slightly at the dull throb of pain in your lower back. You smile to yourself as you remember the reason for the back pain.

A marathon sex session the night before had most of your body feeling deliciously sore. Joe had come home from practice more frustrated than usual. It'd been almost a month since his calf injury, and he was more than ready to be practicing with the team, but he still hadn't been given clearance by the team doctor. Y'all had been taking it somewhat easy in the sex department since his injury but not last night. One look at his face when he walked in and you knew you were in for a treat.

~ ~ ~

You grab a handheld basket as you enter the store since you only need a few items. You bite your lip as your mind rewinds to the night before.

~ ~ ~

You were sitting on the sofa when he got home, aimlessly scrolling on your phone when he walked into the living room. "Hey babe," you greeted, giving him a smile as he pointed at your phone. "Is that important?" he asked, taking the phone out of your hands when you gave him a breathy "no." He turned the phone off and set it on the side table before literally pouncing on you. A minute later you were butt naked with your legs spread obscenely wide, his fingers and tongue relentlessly working you toward your first of several climaxes as you pulled his backwards cap off and buried your hands in his messy curls.

He got you off twice before stripping naked and dropping to his knees between your trembling thighs; your core was still spasming from your second orgasm when he pulled your ass to the edge of the sofa cushion, draped your legs over his broad shoulders and buried his cock to the hilt, leaning down to catch your whimpers in his mouth while setting a punishing pace, his own climax hitting a few minutes later.

When he finally caught his breath he maneuvered you to stretch out on the large leather sofa, stretching out beside you and dropping a kiss on your lips before pulling back to meet your gaze.

"Practice kind of frustrating today?" you panted, giggling when he wrinkled his perfect nose before burying his face in your neck. "Soooo fucking frustrating," he groaned. "They still won't let me take any snaps."

"They're just trying to make sure you're fully healed."

"I know but it sucks."

"Any update on the timeframe?"

"They're saying another week should do it. I told Coach if I'm not taking snaps in full pads next week, I'm gonna sign with the Steelers the first chance I get."

"Ew! Don't even joke about that."

"Sorry," he grumbled. "I'm just so frustrated with this shit."

"Poor baby," you soothed, cupping a hand behind the nape of his neck as he worked his way down from your neck to your chest, his tongue fluttering over a hard nipple before nipping it with his teeth, letting you know that he wasn't finished with you yet but was actually just getting started.

The next couple of hours unfolded like a fever dream, with Joe getting you off again before edging you over and over, manhandling you through several position changes just as expertly as he runs progressions on the football field.

You eventually ended up on your knees in front of the sofa, your face and chest pressed against a cushion as he pounded into you from behind, your fingernails digging into the distressed leather as you fucked back against him. You had to work to draw breath into your lungs as he dropped a hand down to tease your super-sensitive clit, your thighs -- coated with your juices -- shaking as your final climax hit, your scream of pleasure muffled by the leather cushion as he followed you over the edge.

~ ~ ~

Your phone chiming pulls you back to the present; you dig it out of your bag and read the text from Joe.

Where are you?

Running errands. Be home in about 45 min

OK. Hope I get to see you b/f I leave

You send one final text and slide your phone back in your bag, grabbing a couple of cans of pumpkin puree and dropping them in your basket before heading for the spice aisle to get some nutmeg. Joe mentioned he was craving pumpkin pie yesterday after you asked him if he needed anything from the grocery store. He definitely deserves a treat after all the work he put in last night, you think to yourself, grabbing the nutmeg before heading to the produce section for some avocados.

You're halfway there when you feel a trickle of moisture seep into your panties. You stop in your tracks as your eyebrows slowly head toward your hairline. Sore boobs and lower back pain, you think to yourself. Oh shit! I'm getting my period in the grocery store while wearing white denim shorts. Way to go, dumbass! You contemplate heading to the bathroom, but you're way closer to the checkout lanes so you quickly head for the express lane instead, breathing a sigh of relief when it's empty.

Twenty minutes later you pull into your garage, leaving everything in the car as you jump out and sprint for the door. You hear football noises coming from Joe's office as you rush past and head for the bathroom, turning on the tub faucet before stripping off your shirt, shorts and bra.

A minute later Joe pokes his head in the door. "Hey … you okay?"

"Yeah." You give him a weak smile as you pull the stopper on your sink and fill it with water, squirting in some liquid soap before slipping your panties off and quickly immersing them in the suds. "Got my period at the damn grocery store," you grumble, nodding at your white denim shorts laying on the counter. "I should be smart enough not to wear white shorts this close to my period starting, but here we are." You heave a sigh as you squirt some bubble bath in the tub before stepping in.

Joe walks into the bathroom and picks your shorts up, inspecting the outside before peering inside at the small red stain. "Well at least the blood didn't soak through so no biggie, right?"

"Yeah, it could've been way worse. The second I felt it, I hit the express lane faster than Usain Bolt."

He chuckles along with you before walking toward the door carrying your shorts. "I'm gonna go spray some stain remover on these. You need anything? Wine? Tequila?"

"Maybe just a bottle of water and some ibuprofen."

"You got it."

"Babe?" you call just before he exits.

"Yeah?"

"Can you grab the stuff out of my car? It's just some dry cleaning and one bag of groceries."

"You got it," he repeats, giving you a wink before heading off to do your bidding.

He reappears several minutes later, quickly striding into your walk-in closet to hang up the dry cleaning before approaching you in the tub, handing over a bottle of water and some ibuprofen. "Thanks," you sigh, swallowing the medicine while giving him a smile. "What time are you leaving for the soccer match?"

He checks his watch before answering. "In about twenty minutes."

"You looking forward to it?"

"Hell no," he chuckles. "I wish I could just stay here with you."

"Seeing Messi play should be cool. Plus you get to do the sword thingy."

He rolls his eyes. "Sam is pulling the sword. He's been talking about it nonstop since he found out."

"Well try not to be too grumpy cat, okay? Show everyone that panty-dropping smile. Your fans need some new content."

"Hush," he grumbles, flashing you said panty-dropping smile before walking into the closet to change clothes. "By the way," he calls from the closet. "I saw you bought stuff to make a pumpkin pie, but I know you're not feeling well tonight so you can just do it some other time."

"We'll see," you answer, giving him a once-over when he walks out of the closet wearing nothing but black jeans. "Ohhh, do a spin for me, daddy," you purr, your breath catching in your throat when he follows orders. "Holy shit! Your back!"

"Yeah, all the extra upper body work is paying off," he gloats, flexing as he admires his reflection in the mirror.

"Not that! Your back is covered in scratches."

"Oh yeah," he shrugs. "We got a little rough last night, no biggie."

"Come here and let me see."

He walks closer and squats down beside the tub, shivering when you run a damp hand over the red marks. "Well at least I didn't break the skin," you whisper. "Do they hurt?"

"Not at all," he soothes, standing up and quickly pulling on a t-shirt. "I'd be disappointed if we got rough and you didn't mark me up."

"We did get a little rough last night," you agree. "When I woke up this morning, I thought my sore boobs, sore vag and lower back pain were from the rough sex last night, but i guess they were partially due to my period about to start."

"I didn't hurt you, did I? Was I too rough?"

You smile at his worried look. "You were the perfect amount of rough, as always."

"Promise?"

"I promise. -- You better get going or you're gonna be late."

"Yes, ma'am." He finishes getting dressed before walking over to drop a kiss on your lips. "Be home as soon as possible."

"Have fun!" you chirp, giggling at the string of curse words he unleashes as he jogs down the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later you're curled up on the sofa, munching on a bowl of popcorn while scrolling on your laptop, your heating pad firmly nestled against your belly. You spend about thirty minutes searching for a dress for your bestie's upcoming birthday party before doing a search for Joe, smiling when his slightly grumpy but totally hot self pops up.

"He is so anti-social," you chuckle, scrolling through the pics before hitting play on a video of the sword ritual, your eyes going wide when Sam hands Joe the sword and he tests its heft before whipping it in a slicing motion. "Oops!" you giggle. "Don't think you're supposed to do that."

You scroll through a bit more content before checking the time, realizing it'll be a few hours before he gets home. "Might as well bake that dang pie," you mumble, turning off your heating pad before heading for the kitchen. You turn the soccer match on accompanied by some music, doing a little dance around the kitchen as you set out everything you need.

A while later you pull the pie out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack, feeling more than a little sweaty and sticky after poking your head in the oven several times to make sure the crust got perfectly golden. You pull the hem of your t-shirt up and wipe your face, wrinkling your nose at the pungent scent. "What the hell?" you grumble, quickly realizing it's the burnt plastic aroma you get every time you use your heating pad. "Gotta get a new one," you sigh, your stank face still in full effect when your phone rings.

"Hey babe," you answer.

"Hey. I'm about to head home. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm good."

"You feel okay?"

"Yeah. Be careful driving home."

"Okay. See you in a little while."

You head upstairs and turn on the shower, knowing you have at least thirty minutes before he gets home, maybe longer if there's a lot of traffic.

Twenty minutes later you're drying off when you hear the mechanical hum of the garage door opening. "Shit, that was fast," you giggle, quickly inserting a tampon before stepping into a pair of black lace panties. You pull on a slinky tank top and walk into the bedroom, sliding onto the bed with your back propped against the padded headboard just as Joe comes bounding up the stairs.

"Hey babe," he chirps. "Got you a chocolate shake."

Your eyes go wide at the size of the cup. "Damn! That thing is huge!"

"I know, right?" he gives you a cocky grin while flicking a glance down at his crotch. "And this shake is pretty damn big, too."

You roll your eyes. "Oh lord, you're feeling yourself tonight, huh? I guess the fan girls were stroking your ego at the soccer match."

"Nothing got stroked at the soccer match."

"Mmm-hmm," you hum, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, woman, or I'll drink your shake," he threatens.

"Like hell you will," you chuckle, giving him a smile when he hands you the super-sized drink. "Thank you," you mumble, taking a huge slurp of the creamy concoction. "How did you get home so fast?"

"I was sitting in the drive-thru when I called you."

"Sneaky."

"Nope, just smart," he gloats. "I left early to beat the traffic."

"You left early because you're anti-social."

"That too," he chuckles.

"This shake is delicious, but it's too much for me. Go grab another cup and straw. You're gonna have to drink at least half of this thing."

"Yes, ma'am," he grins, exiting the bedroom and coming back several minutes later, carrying a cup and straw in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pumpkin pie in the other. "You didn't have to bake this pie tonight since you were feeling bad," he says, taking another huge bite and making appreciative noises while chewing and swallowing. "But I'm glad you did 'cause it's freaking delicious." He crams the last bite in his mouth as you watch in amusement.

"No way that pie was fully set yet, but I'm glad you like it," you giggle. "By the way, you dropped a chunk of crust on the floor."

"Oh crap," he mutters, reaching down to grab the wayward crust before popping it in his mouth. "I'll vacuum tomorrow," he promises. "But seriously, you didn't have to do that."

"You're worth it. Plus I could say the same about you." You waggle the chocolate shake you're devouring. "You didn't have to stop and get this."

"Give and take," he responds, watching as you pour half of your shake in his cup. "That's one of the things that makes our relationship so amazing."

You grin at him as you continue to enjoy your sweet treat, eventually finishing it off with a loud slurp before setting the empty cup on the bedside table. You lay back on the bed and watch Joe as he finishes off his half of the chocolate shake. "Did you have fun tonight?" you ask.

"No," he grumps.

"Well you looked hot as hell, although I don't think you were supposed to whip that sword around like that."

"That was actually fun," he chuckles. "I might have to get me one of those."

"I'll put it on your Christmas list."

"Thanks babe," he grins. "Are you feeling crampy?" he continues, stripping down to his undies before stretching out beside you on the bed, raising up onto one arm to look down at you.

"Not bad," you answer, giggling at the disappointed look on his face. "Were you hoping for cramps?"

"No," he says sheepishly. "I was just thinking -- if you're feeling crampy -- maybe I can talk you into fooling around since orgasms help with cramps because of the …"

"Endorphins!" you holler, laughing at the look on Joe's face.

"It's basic physiology," he pouts, smiling against your lips when you pull him down for a kiss.

"And I hear it every month." You nip his plump bottom lip and deepen the kiss, reveling in the taste of chocolate and pumpkin pie spice as his tongue tangles with yours.

Several minutes later you come up for air, grinning at Joe's disappointed groan when you break the intense kiss. "You know what I could really use right now?" you whisper.

"What?"

"A shot of endorphins."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you answer, pulling him back down for a kiss, your body humming with anticipation when he slides his free hand under the hem of your shirt, splaying his long fingers out against your bare belly. He leaves his hand there, unmoving, for several minutes as he deepens the kiss, the heat radiating from his big hand simultaneously soothing you and turning you on.

You eventually bury a hand in his hair and give a light tug, hoping to spur him on since he seems in no big hurry to get down to business. He breaks the kiss and pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you while sliding two fingers just inside the waistband of your panties; you gasp as your core contracts at the promise of what's to come. He gives you a feral smile as he removes his hand from your panties and inches it up your torso, stopping just shy of your breasts.

"Are your boobs sore?" he asks. "Yeah, a little," you sigh, your breath catching in your throat when he lowers his head and lightly sucks one of your nipples through your slinky shirt. "I'll be gentle," he soothes, pulling your shirt up to expose your breasts, smiling against your heated skin at the noise you make when he latches onto a sensitive peak. He takes his sweet time teasing your nipples, moving back and forth between the hard nubs using delicate licks and sucks that have you squirming underneath him.

"Joe …"

"What baby?"

"I'm … really turned on."

"Good," he chuckles, sliding a hand down to cup your mound, grinding against you through the flimsy lace as you arch up into his touch. "You like that?" he whispers, quickly slipping his fingers inside your panties to tease your clit. "Y … yeah," you sputter, biting your lip hard enough to sting when he ghosts his fingertips over your throbbing slit, giving your tampon string a flick before returning his attention to your swollen clit.

"I'm close," you whine, giving a frustrated groan when he removes his fingers and sits up. "Patience, baby girl," he purrs, quickly sliding your panties off before crawling between your thighs, his mouth latching onto your clit as your hips buck up against him. You slide a hand into his hair and hold on for the ride, a stream of whimpers spilling from your lips as he expertly finishes you off.

After several minutes waiting for you to catch your breath, he crawls back up beside you, smacking his lips and giving you a loaded look. "Those endorphins taste delicious," he smirks, laughing against your lips when you pull him down for a kiss. "Mmm-hmm, pretty damn tasty," you agree. "My fav flavor," he sighs. "I can tell," you chuckle, dropping a hand down to palm his erection. "You don't have to do that," he mutters, nestling a hand on top of yours. "This was all about you," he continues. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

"Give and take," you purr, echoing his words from earlier. "Plus I know I don't have to; I want to. I really, really want to, okay?" you coax, giving him a naughty smile while sliding his undies off.

"Okay," he breathes, biting his plump bottom lip as he watches you maneuver yourself into place between his spread thighs.

"You want it fast or slow?" you ask, ghosting your fingertips over one of the prominent veins running the length of his erection. "Both," he groans, cupping a big hand behind the nape of your neck as you give him a knowing smile before licking your lips and lowering your head.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

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stealingyourbones · 1 year

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So, I'm new to DC. Your twin has been helping me get caught up on the basics. But from what I understand, the actual way Jason was brought back from the dead is either ignored or poorly explained. The pit came about when Talia found him after he already came back.

Now, what if when Jason died, he became a ghost and had a home island in the ghost zone. And became friends with the local reigning monarch (I like to think Danny was complaining about English and Jason heard and started tutoring him, but the how isn't very important).

Well, Jason is still caught up on his unfinished business in Gotham. The Zone doesn't have much need for a boy hero and he isn't ready to give that up. So he decides to go to Desiree and wish for his life back. She sends him back, but without his ghost core. Which is part of the reason he's so unstable. It has the side effect of him losing his memories of his time in the zone.

So Danny is in Gotham. Depending on the ship you like, he's looking at colleges for himself or Jazz. Or maybe it's a Casper High field trip and the fic is gen. And while there, Danny sees his friend Jason who disappeared into his core and hasn't been able to be helped since. All any ghost knows is that he was seeking out Desiree before whatever happened to him.

Anyway, I've no time to do anything with this. But it's an idea I had! Hope some others enjoy it.

Oh shit I’ve seen so many fics with Jason being a human with a core but having that prolonged rage because he lacks a core?! Oh that’s a fascinating concept.

Would he even be able to form another core at all? Is it unfixable? Does he have urges to, instead of brutally injuring someone, just flat out kill them instead? The reason being that he’s subconsciously trying to take the cores of the newly formed ghosts to continue living?

Oh god ok this is a completely separate idea now but I propose this: Jason is without a core and has to steal and consume ghost cores Vampire style to continue on living.

Ok back to the original idea: I absolutely adore it. Big question is how does Jason get his core back?

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc comics #writing prompts #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #bones replies #wolfjackle

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teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

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I need a jealous matt fic from you. like actuallyyyy

Urban Cowboy- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Cowgirl!reader x CityBoy!Matt

classification: fluff, angst

warnings: use of y/n, mentions of jealousy, slight cursing, mentions of alcohol and alcohol use, set in the county/ a ranch

inspiration: request^^, Urban Cowboy (the movie) but with a twist & none of the abuse. Also, we’re taking a different route with jealousy hehehe

summary: Matt, a city boy, tries one upping you, the best bull rider in town, only to be met with a painful outcome.

—

Every summer the triplets were shipped away to their grandparents ranch out in the country. For a couple of months, they left their busy city life behind in favor of days plowing the field, tending to livestock, and helping their grandparents out.

Since they were kids, Matt and his brothers have always loved summers out in the country. They spent their days swimming in the river, attending the state fair, running across acres of land, and riding their bikes down dirt roads. So many of their core memories were made during these summer trips, the change of pace allowing them to unwind and relax.

But, as the boys grew older, they began practicing less innocent hobbies. Days playing in the sun were replaced with long, drunk nights at local bars. They danced with attractive people, got into bar fights, and most importantly, they traded in their bikes for mechanical bulls.

Nick and Chris were experts on the mechanical bull, easily outlasting everyone else, but everyone knew that they were just the warmup. The real show started once Matt mounted that bull, his firm grip on the leather rope enough to hold him for longer than anyone else. He had an unmatched strength that helped him too, and he quickly became cocky about it.

Crowds of drunk people would gather just to watch Matt, cheering him on with each passing minute. They would bet on how long he’d last, each time surprised that he was able to hang on for so long. The mechanical bull thrashed and bucked, but Matt’s firm grip held him steadily in place.

No one could ever outlast Matt, until you came along at least. Unlike Matt, you weren’t a city transplant. No, you were born and raised in the country, spending more than just summers doing manual labor. So, where he had natural strength, you had muscles built from years of hard work. There was also another distinguishable difference; he was bull riding as a serious hobby, but you were only doing it for fun.

Bull riding is a past time you’ve practiced your whole life, you didn’t see the point in showing off, but the second you mounted that bull and beat Matt’s time, he couldn’t help but feel like you were. It felt like you were kicking dirt in his face.

Matt, Nick, and Chris watch from the bar. They’re sitting on the stools, facing the crowd that has piled up around you. The conductor, who sits just behind the bull setup, is jolting the remote aggressively from side to side, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t knock you off. Matt feels the jealousy stir in his stomach as the crowd cheers for you, they were only supposed to cheer for him!

“Who the fuck is that?” Matt grumbles mostly to his brothers, but loud enough for the bartender to hear.

Nick and Chris shrug, how were they supposed to know who you were? Chris calls the bartender over with a tilt of his head, silently ordering three beers with his hands.

The bartender immediately fills up three glasses, the alcohol fizzing and frothing at the top. “That’s Y/n… Her dad owns the mill on the outskirts of town, biggest flour company in the west. I heard they made enough money to buy another ranch last year… Shit, they own just about every business this side of town. Pretty sure they own this damn bar,” the bartender chimes in his deep country accent catching the boys off guard as he slides the glasses to them.

Matt, who’s leaning against the bar counter, crooks his neck to look at the bartender, looking him up and down before quickly averting his gaze back to you.

Matt can’t believe anyone could ever outlast his record time of 10 minutes, but as he watches the clock he notices that you were nearing 15. “She’s fucking beating you, dude,” Chris laughs, taking a sip of his beer before slapping Matt’s chest enthusiastically. The neon clock numbers are taunting Matt, causing him to clench his jaw as his pride gets the best of him.

His whole shtick was that he was the city boy who easily outlasted all these country kids, what good did that do if he was beat by a girl?

The mechanical bull thrashes violently as the conductor tries knocking you off, but you’re using your momentum to push you past the 15 minute mark. You don’t even look like you’re struggling either, a big smile plastered on your face as you grip onto the leather rope with one hand and your hat with the other. Everyone is watching excitedly, suddenly erupting into a loud cheer as you create a new record.

“I’ve never seen anyone last that long,” Nick comments, a look of awe and shock on his face. “Then you must not be from ‘round here. That girl is a natural on that thing, she wins the bull riding contest at the state fair every year,” the bartender replies, butting into the conversation once again before shaking his head and walking away.

Matt waits until he’s out of earshot to say, “What the fuck does that mean? ‘You must not be from ‘round here?’” He puts on a dramatic, exaggerated country accent as he says the last part, an annoyed look written all over his face.

You’re standing on the bull now, riding it like a surfer rides a wave. The crowd is going crazy, cheering you on as you continue putting on a show. A smile is spread across your face as you gently sit back down, laying on your back and propping your feet on the horns, your hands weaved between your thighs as you hold onto the leather rope. Everything about your performance was effortless, and it angered Matt.

Matt decides he’s seen enough when you throw both legs to one side, casually holding yourself up with your hands on either side of your hips. He snatches his beer from the bar violently, practically chugging it before throwing it back in the counter. He sucks in through his teeth shortly after at the strong sensation, following it with a burp before throwing his hat back on and stomping over to the crowd.

“I’ll show you who ain’t from ‘round here,” Matt mutters, pushing his way through the crowd until he’s directly in front of the inflatable foundation of the bull machine. You walk right past him as you dismount, making brief eye contact as you drunkenly giggle and laugh your way to your friends. He watches as you stumble, dizzy steps guiding you through the crowd. For some reason this only further upsets Matt, causing him to mount the bull haphazardly.

He sends the conductor a look, signifying that he’s ready to start, before gripping the leather rope so tightly that his knuckles turn white. The machine starts off slowly, rocking back and forth at a pace that gives Matt enough time to properly adjust himself.

But, before he knows it, the bull is gyrating, twisting, and turning so aggressively that he’s struggling to hold on. Matt’s mind is racing with thoughts, the fear of embarrassment causing the anxiety to build up. It feels like the conductor is purposefully trying to knock him off with enough force to hurt him, and it doesn’t help that no one in the crowd is cheering.

After the show you just gave, Matt’s performance was sub par in comparison. He was stiff as a board from the nerves, making it harder to keep his balance. By this point his his hat flew off, bouncing on the inflatable floor beneath him, and he was holding onto the rope for dear life.

“Look at this guy, showing off because he got beat by a girl,” someone snickers from the crowd, the comment being followed by a roar of laughter. That’s when the conductor bucks the machine forward, quickly knocking Matt onto his stomach before pulling the remote and forcing Matt to straighten his back to stay mounted.

Just as he’s gaining confidence in himself, the bull tilts to the right sharply enough to send Matt flying. The inflatable cushion beneath him does nothing to break his fall, the sheer force at which he was thrown being enough to break his arm. The crowd immediately groans as they watch Matt’s body ricochet when it comes in contact with the edge of the ring.

You were facing away from the crowd, engaged in a conversation with your friends, but as soon as you hear the crowd groaning and yelling you turn towards the scene. Matt is laying on the ground, clutching his arm as he tries to breathe through the pain. Everyone watches, but nobody helps, they just stand there either laughing or wincing at the idea of being in that much pain.

“Move!” you exclaim, pushing your way through the crowd and immediately walking into the ring. The spongy ground makes it harder to walk to Matt, who’s looking at you with wide eyes. This was the most embarrassing moment of his life.

You crouch in front of him, using all your force to pull him up from the ground while still being careful not to hurt him.

He lets you pick him up and guide him to a secluded area. His cheeks are burning hot with embarrassment and his eyes sting, the tears threatening to spill from the build up of anxiety and pain.

But he sucks it up and follows you, avoiding everyone’s wandering eyes.

—

“It don’t look broken, just sprained,” you comment, wrapping a bandage around Matt’s limp wrist. He hums in response, avoiding eye contact with you and you can’t figure out why.

“Sorry if I’m oversteppin’. just thought you could use some help,” your country accent is thick, and for the first time since the night started Matt isn’t completely jealous of you. He’s silently grateful that you evacuated him from the embarrassing situation, immediately feeling guilt for trying to one up you and show off.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wincing as you accidentally pull his wrist. Once the pain subsides he continues, “you were pretty great out there.” The compliment hurts his ego, but you’re being so kind to him that he puts his own jealousies to the side. Matt’s sitting on a bar stool, the both of you in a secluded corner of the bar as you continue tending to his injury.

“Thanks, weren’t too bad yourself,” you offer him a genuine smile, gently placing his arm onto his lap. It was evident, just by looking at him, that Matt wasn’t from here and that made him more alluring. You stand in between his legs, the close proximity building a tension that neither of you know what to do with.

“Can I be honest?” he asks, once again avoiding eye contact and looking into the distance. His eyes train on the mechanical bull, watching as someone else takes a turn on it. You hum in response, trying to move in front of his line of vision to catch his attention.

“I only got on that bull because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” His statement caught you off guard, what did he have to be jealous of?

“Yeah, jealous. It sounds childish, but I really wanted to beat your time… all I ended up with was a sprained wrist,” he chuckles, fiddling with his fingers. If he wasn’t being so vulnerable, and if he wasn’t injured, you might’ve gotten upset.

“Well, I’ve seen you ride before. You’re better than everyone here,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation uplifting.

“Not better than you.”

“Yeah, not better than me,” you reply seriously, waiting for him to face you before smiling. “I’m kidding,” you laugh, punching his shoulder slightly. He winces before joining you with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I can teach you a few moves,” you continue, your eyes wrinkling from how hard you were smiling. Matt’s smiling too, he felt silly for feeling jealous earlier.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, opening his legs wider for you to scoot in closer. You take the invitation, your hats bumping together slightly. The smile on your face is engulfed by Matt’s lips as he moves in for a kiss, his uninjured wrist resting on your waist.

“Easy there, cowboy,” you murmur as you feel his hands inch down towards your ass. He laughs in response, going in for another kiss.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n:

Cowboy Matt is my favorite. I might make a part two that’s much more angsty bc we need that full Urban Cowboy moment, but for now enjoy this 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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