Latest Posts by blackswanmary - Page 2

big guy ✮ jschlatt x fem!reader hcs

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n: what up! i wrote this for my gorgeous loml best friend @plantring who definitely wasn’t holding me at gunpoint, and i’ve been meaning to write a schlatt fic for ages! so, here you go. big guy. maybe charlie next 👀 also the song was just the song i’ve been repeating and had in mind while i wrote this fic ! i hope you guys like it :)

notes: jambo, other unnamed cat referred to as ‘burnt soup’, swearing, cuddles, nicknames, twitch, wii games series, tucker keane & Ted nivison, chuckle sandwich mention, romantic, drinking, hobbies, singing, SFW, NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! , grabby schlatt /pos

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

sfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ toots. he calls you toots, all the time, every day. it’s either a cheesy nickname, sweets, toots, baby, sweetheart, or sugar. he’s new yorkian yk.

☾ he’ll call you them before you even start dating, just to watch your cheeks flush pink and lips fall agape. the image ingrained in his mind permanently.

☼ such a flirt, before you start dating. he’ll make a wild joke to nobody in particular when you’re with friends, noticing how everybody will laugh but yours is hoarse. watching you squirm in your seat as he lets out a little chuckle, is how he gathers you like him.

☾ you’re the flirtiest friends, and everyone can see it but you two.

☼ maybe your mutual point of realisation is at his house, when he complains about shaving and you offer to shave his chops. “y’better not fuck this up, lady. these are the money bags.” he’d tease, making you laugh. you sit on his lap, claiming it’s for ‘better access’ as you clean up his face.

☾ like i said with ted, schlatt’s also a romantic. maybe a little more old school, but definitely romantic. he’d ask you out on a date first, with pretty flowers and that charming fucking smile. then ask you to be his girlfriend. what? he isn’t a pussy.

☼ if you two don’t live together, he likes seeing you in his space more. he can’t quite describe why, maybe it’s just waking up with you tangled in his sheets in his bed in his room with his cats cuddling up next to you like you’ve been there forever.

☾ speaking of the cats, they’ve picked you over him. if you both call their names at the same time, both the cats will come running to you as if schlatt isn’t even there.

☼ “what the fuck?” he mutters, picking up jambo. “i pay for your food, house you, give you love and attention. and this is how you repay me, shithead? huh? by picking her over me? fuck you!” he frowns, holding jambo up as the orange cat simply meows in response. jambo’s paw finds his nose, and schlatt’s eyes glance at you. seeing you giggling as you cuddled burnt soup like a baby. “you too, you fuckin’ traitor.” he proclaims, pointing at the purring black cat in your hands who’s giving him the cutest stare ever.

☾ huh, kind of reminds him of you.

☼ if you have a pet too, even better.

☾ got a cat? he’ll try and make your cat love him more then you. it doesn’t work, but if you comment he’ll say it’s a work in progress. insists on feeding it every time he’s at your house, probably figures out some sort of nickname for your kitty. cuddles it every chance he gets.

☼ got a dog? he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, call it dopey since he’s always proclaiming he doesn’t like dogs. but you catch him babying and cuddling your dog when he thinks you’re not around too often to believe him.

☾ best believe jambo and burnt soup will get mad at him when he comes home with another animal’s smell on him, but never get mad at you. he’s such a softie for pets.

☼ schlatt was quite the private man, not a very big fan of making things public on the internet. he knew how people could be. he wouldn’t want to expose you to that, at least not until he was sure you’d be okay with it and you’d been in a relationship for a while.

☾ didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a few subtle messages for his chat, though. maybe a pair of pink slippers on his floor or some jewellery. when chat would notice and spam, he’d smirk.

☼ “what, chat? th’re obviously mine.” he chuckled. gaslighting his twitch as much as he could. if you asked, he’d say it was an accident and he didn’t notice. he’s a good liar to everyone but you.

☾ after a while, he’d open the idea up to you. whether it be a stream, or a youtube video where he can blur your face. but he has one rule.

☼ wii games. he wants to bring back wii games.

☾ and of course since you’re both equally competitive fucks, it turns into a laughing, yelling and tackling match as you both play every wii game imaginable. spewing insults at each other when the other misses in wii tennis, bickering like an elderly couple, screaming and cheering in victory. him claiming he let you win.

☼ “if you win anythin’, that is.” he’d murmur with that dumb grin.

☾ which you reply to with a string of curses and insults

☼ he couldn’t imagine anything more hilarious. plus click bait.

☾ he brings you to chuckle week (RIP CHUCKLE FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS </3) and you all decide to play some of the board games that look like they’re collecting dust in the airBNB you all are staying in.

☼ scrabble? you and schlatt team, ted and tucker team, and you practically knock them off the fucking board. guess who? they’re cooked. uno? reverse. chess? checkmate. you’re winning every time, together for once, and giggling about it too.

☾ “connect 4!” schlatt bellowed, as you two won at yet another game. you sat at the dining table of the airbnb, sitting opposite each other in pairs playing another dusty game. “what the fuck? you two are cheating or some shit.” ted huffs and tucker shakes his head and laughs, with you and schlatt cuddled up with your manic grins and wins in every game under your belt.

☼ turns out putting two competitive (crazy, as tucker calls you) people on a team works.

☾ let’s just say no matter who you’re playing with, you two always win game night.

☼ schlatt will pretend that he doesn’t like whatever hobby you have, playfully rolling his eyes, but if you catch him marvelling at you doing said hobby? no you didn’t.

☾ he’ll let you drag him wherever, but not without complaints. he’ll hold your hand wherever, never let you pay whenever you go out.

☼ “that’s silly.” he’d argue, pushing your card away. “christ, woman. ’m gonna have to fuckin’ confiscate your card ‘n replace it with my own soon.”

☾ he’ll hold you whenever, especially if you like it. whether it be his arm around your shoulders, on your waist, or maybe even a hand in your back pocket

☼ especially in crowds, he’s got you close so you can get through it to where you need to go. he’d hate to lose you in a crowd, not a chance.

☾ he’d get drunk, you’d try and kiss him and he’d be like “fuck off. i have a loving girlfriend.”

☼ and you’d be like “j i’m ur girlfriend.”

☾ “oh! hi girlfriend :)” and then kisses you.

☼ tries to act tough but he’s such a big softie at heart.

☾ he also gets jealous if he catches anyone simply just glancing at you, big 6”4 boy just gives them a simple look

☼ “achlatt! that guy was literally just doing his job.” “don’t give a fuck, y’re my girlfriend. no need for him t’be so cheery to ya.” but he’d also be annoyed if they weren’t nice to you.

☾ sometimes, you’ll catch him cooking and singing to himself as he plays music on a speaker. some glen campbell, maybe arctic monkeys. but he gets embarrassed, despite literally having a christmas album and a real good voice.

☼ “i don’t sing, sugar.” schlatt would argue, food cooking and arms wrapped around your waist as you two gently swayed to the music playing in his kitchen.

☾ a lie that was, you called bullshit

☼ and you’d both sing to whatever was on the speaker, laughing and just holding each other close as you two danced properly. spinning you, dipping you. his hair messy, a look of admiration on his face. no matter how uncoordinated you two were, it was right in your eyes.

☾ same thing i said about ted goes, big broad tall man mmmmm

☼ gives the best cuddles

☾ got plushies in your room? he’ll buy you more, and have fake beef with them. rolling his eyes if you argue that they’re your children.

☼ deep down he knows he loves them

☾ and you

☼ mostly you

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

nsfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ he’s such a sweetheart in bed

☾ bitey bitey man. he can’t sit still for long

☼ as long as you’re in the privacy of your own home, whatever you’re doing, bet that his lips will be finding your neck.

☾ “can’t help it. taste too good.” he’d complain if you’d whine, that stupid shit eating grin on his gorgeous face. his hands on your hips, and his mouth leaving pinks, purples and reds that he knew you’d have to cover up tomorrow for work.

☼ he’s whipped. absolutely fucking whipped. pussy whipped.

☾ he’d do anything you asked, especially if you were promising to let him fuck you the minute you got through the door of either of your houses.

☼ horny motherfucker.

☾ in terms of oral, he loves giving and receiving equally

☼ watching you tremble underneath him as he hooks your thighs onto his shoulders and messily eats your pussy, sucking on your clit like it’s his last meal and he’s a starving man. his hands squeezing said thighs as you writhe, eyes watching your every reaction. impossibly harder at your every noise.

☾ and then also, “i didn’t say hover, sweetheart, i said sit.” making you sit on his face, pulling your hips down with his arms tucked under your thighs. devouring you and your perfect fucking cunt.

☼ pulling away later, lips and chops covered in your cum. licking his lips. “light as a fuckin’ feather, baby. don’t know what’cha talkin about.” if you were to ask if you were too heavy.

☾ but then also

☼ running his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you, on your knees so prettily for him. soft groans and sighs coming from his lips, eyes lidded, as you sucked his cock and looked up at him with lust. watching you wrap your lips around it inbetween his legs. tracing your tongue along the veins. pulling your hair, but never too hard: god, he was absolutely feral.

☾ he’s definitely dominant, but he isn’t harsh. he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. like i said, he’s a softie.

☼ prefers to be face to face, but i feel like he’d really like back shots. simply to grab at your ass, watch the curve of your back arch as he fucked you good. leaving bites along your back as well, leaning over and leaving some on your shoulder.

☾ classic missionary, or you on his lap, are also his favourites. but he’s open to try other things with you, most definitely.

☼ he loves his woman, he really does. and he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy, always give you good loving. he’d hate to ever leave you without.

☾ him getting tipsy makes him even more desperate to please. even more desperate for you. but even sober, he always is

☼ rutting his hips into you, a little drunk as you combed your fingers through his hair “mmm. mine, sweets. god.” he’d grunt, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he fucked you perfectly. “need y’so f’ckin bad.”

☾ you flash him during an argument? it’s over as quick as it started. you were right, obviously. he’s following you like a dumb puppy again.

☼ would definitely turn around your plushies during sex. and also lock out the cats.

☾ when you two would unlock the door and come back out to the cats whining, your legs a bit wobbly, or maybe even unable to walk on your own at all, he’d pat the cats and smirk.

☼ “sorry, little shits. y’r mom needed some lovin instead.” he’d coo as you playfully shove him. a chuckle coming from his lips.

☾ he’s a very touchy grabby guy, whether it be your tits, thighs, your ass. he loves it.

☼ he’d get needy, and make it clear. it would never take him long to tell you if he was feeling needy, or he’d show it simply by picking you up or being close to you. it wasn’t hard to tell, and you’d be fucking within minutes.

☾ and if you’re needy? god, he relishes in it. teasing you, maybe even leaving you on the edge of orgasm over and over until your eventually sweet release. depends on how cruel he’s feeling. or maybe touching you, but not enough, just enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to build up anything. he loved the sound of your whiny frustration.

☼ yeah. he wants you. so bad. all the time.

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTALKERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How It's Like Having Him As Your Stalker?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You never noticed him at first.

Which was strange, really. Because Dick was a presence—magnetic, charming, always the kind of guy who could steal attention in any room, even when he wasn’t trying.

But with you? He liked to stay hidden. Lurking in the shadows. Watching.

At first, it was innocent (or so he told himself). He noticed you at a coffee shop one day, lost in a book, chewing on the end of your pen as you scribbled something in a notebook. He found himself drawn to the little things—the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating, the way you smiled at something on your phone, the soft way you carried yourself. It was just curiosity at first. That’s all.

Then he saw you again. And again. And suddenly, he was seeing you everywhere.

It became a habit, a compulsion. He memorized your routine like it was a mission. When you got coffee. What time you left work. What stores you liked to browse in. He told himself he was just making sure you were safe—because Gotham was dangerous, right? A girl like you, alone? Vulnerable? It only made sense that he’d keep an eye on you.

Then he got closer.

It started small. Brushing past you on the subway, close enough to inhale the scent of your shampoo. Sitting near you in a cafe, pretending to be busy on his phone while he listened to the way you spoke. Learning your favorite drink, so he could leave it waiting for you at the counter when you arrived—anonymously, of course. You’d glance around, confused, but never knew it was him.

You weren’t even aware that he was already in your apartment.

Not when you were there, of course—he’d never scare you like that. But while you were out? He’d slip inside with an ease that almost disappointed him (you really needed better locks). He never took anything—he just… looked. Examined the little pieces of your life. The books stacked beside your bed. The jewelry you left on the dresser. The clothes draped over the chair, still carrying the ghost of your body’s warmth.

He touched them sometimes. Ran his fingers over the fabric. Just to feel close to you.

The obsession grew.

He started taking things—small things, things you wouldn’t notice were gone. A hair tie. A receipt you left on the counter. A half-used tube of lip balm. They were trophies, proof that he was part of your world even if you didn’t know it yet.

And the pictures. Oh, the pictures.

They covered his walls. You smiling. You asleep on the bus, head tucked against the window. You looking at a menu, deep in thought. Hundreds of them, from every angle, every moment of your life he could capture without you noticing.

And the best part?

You liked him.

You had no idea, of course, but Dick could see it. The way you glanced at him when he finally started talking to you, when he finally made himself known in your life. It was easy—he was charming, he was sweet, he was everything you’d want in a guy.

So he inserted himself into your life, seamlessly.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here!” A bright smile. A friendly laugh. “What a coincidence, huh?”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was orchestrated, down to the second. Every “random” encounter, every meeting—it was all planned, deliberate. But you didn’t question it. Why would you? He was Dick Grayson. A gentleman. A hero.

You never realized the full weight of his devotion.

Never realized how deep it ran.

Never realized how much worse it could get.

Because the thought of losing you? The thought of someone else having you?

It made him sick.

It made him furious.

It made him violent.

You noticed the change after a while. The possessiveness in his touch, the way his grip lingered on your wrist, the way his blue eyes darkened when you so much as smiled at another man.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he’d say, voice honey-sweet. “You’re too trusting, sweetheart. Not everyone has good intentions.”

Not like him.

So when your ex went missing, you didn’t think much of it.

When that guy at work—the one who flirted with you—got mugged and beaten within an inch of his life, you chalked it up to Gotham’s crime rate.

And when you started feeling like you were being watched, even in the safety of your own home—well.

Dick was always there to reassure you.

“It’s okay, babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And he meant it.

Even if that meant keeping you all to himself.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

big guy ✮ jschlatt x fem!reader hcs

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n: what up! i wrote this for my gorgeous loml best friend @plantring who definitely wasn’t holding me at gunpoint, and i’ve been meaning to write a schlatt fic for ages! so, here you go. big guy. maybe charlie next 👀 also the song was just the song i’ve been repeating and had in mind while i wrote this fic ! i hope you guys like it :)

notes: jambo, other unnamed cat referred to as ‘burnt soup’, swearing, cuddles, nicknames, twitch, wii games series, tucker keane & Ted nivison, chuckle sandwich mention, romantic, drinking, hobbies, singing, SFW, NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! , grabby schlatt /pos

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

sfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ toots. he calls you toots, all the time, every day. it’s either a cheesy nickname, sweets, toots, baby, sweetheart, or sugar. he’s new yorkian yk.

☾ he’ll call you them before you even start dating, just to watch your cheeks flush pink and lips fall agape. the image ingrained in his mind permanently.

☼ such a flirt, before you start dating. he’ll make a wild joke to nobody in particular when you’re with friends, noticing how everybody will laugh but yours is hoarse. watching you squirm in your seat as he lets out a little chuckle, is how he gathers you like him.

☾ you’re the flirtiest friends, and everyone can see it but you two.

☼ maybe your mutual point of realisation is at his house, when he complains about shaving and you offer to shave his chops. “y’better not fuck this up, lady. these are the money bags.” he’d tease, making you laugh. you sit on his lap, claiming it’s for ‘better access’ as you clean up his face.

☾ like i said with ted, schlatt’s also a romantic. maybe a little more old school, but definitely romantic. he’d ask you out on a date first, with pretty flowers and that charming fucking smile. then ask you to be his girlfriend. what? he isn’t a pussy.

☼ if you two don’t live together, he likes seeing you in his space more. he can’t quite describe why, maybe it’s just waking up with you tangled in his sheets in his bed in his room with his cats cuddling up next to you like you’ve been there forever.

☾ speaking of the cats, they’ve picked you over him. if you both call their names at the same time, both the cats will come running to you as if schlatt isn’t even there.

☼ “what the fuck?” he mutters, picking up jambo. “i pay for your food, house you, give you love and attention. and this is how you repay me, shithead? huh? by picking her over me? fuck you!” he frowns, holding jambo up as the orange cat simply meows in response. jambo’s paw finds his nose, and schlatt’s eyes glance at you. seeing you giggling as you cuddled burnt soup like a baby. “you too, you fuckin’ traitor.” he proclaims, pointing at the purring black cat in your hands who’s giving him the cutest stare ever.

☾ huh, kind of reminds him of you.

☼ if you have a pet too, even better.

☾ got a cat? he’ll try and make your cat love him more then you. it doesn’t work, but if you comment he’ll say it’s a work in progress. insists on feeding it every time he’s at your house, probably figures out some sort of nickname for your kitty. cuddles it every chance he gets.

☼ got a dog? he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, call it dopey since he’s always proclaiming he doesn’t like dogs. but you catch him babying and cuddling your dog when he thinks you’re not around too often to believe him.

☾ best believe jambo and burnt soup will get mad at him when he comes home with another animal’s smell on him, but never get mad at you. he’s such a softie for pets.

☼ schlatt was quite the private man, not a very big fan of making things public on the internet. he knew how people could be. he wouldn’t want to expose you to that, at least not until he was sure you’d be okay with it and you’d been in a relationship for a while.

☾ didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a few subtle messages for his chat, though. maybe a pair of pink slippers on his floor or some jewellery. when chat would notice and spam, he’d smirk.

☼ “what, chat? th’re obviously mine.” he chuckled. gaslighting his twitch as much as he could. if you asked, he’d say it was an accident and he didn’t notice. he’s a good liar to everyone but you.

☾ after a while, he’d open the idea up to you. whether it be a stream, or a youtube video where he can blur your face. but he has one rule.

☼ wii games. he wants to bring back wii games.

☾ and of course since you’re both equally competitive fucks, it turns into a laughing, yelling and tackling match as you both play every wii game imaginable. spewing insults at each other when the other misses in wii tennis, bickering like an elderly couple, screaming and cheering in victory. him claiming he let you win.

☼ “if you win anythin’, that is.” he’d murmur with that dumb grin.

☾ which you reply to with a string of curses and insults

☼ he couldn’t imagine anything more hilarious. plus click bait.

☾ he brings you to chuckle week (RIP CHUCKLE FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS </3) and you all decide to play some of the board games that look like they’re collecting dust in the airBNB you all are staying in.

☼ scrabble? you and schlatt team, ted and tucker team, and you practically knock them off the fucking board. guess who? they’re cooked. uno? reverse. chess? checkmate. you’re winning every time, together for once, and giggling about it too.

☾ “connect 4!” schlatt bellowed, as you two won at yet another game. you sat at the dining table of the airbnb, sitting opposite each other in pairs playing another dusty game. “what the fuck? you two are cheating or some shit.” ted huffs and tucker shakes his head and laughs, with you and schlatt cuddled up with your manic grins and wins in every game under your belt.

☼ turns out putting two competitive (crazy, as tucker calls you) people on a team works.

☾ let’s just say no matter who you’re playing with, you two always win game night.

☼ schlatt will pretend that he doesn’t like whatever hobby you have, playfully rolling his eyes, but if you catch him marvelling at you doing said hobby? no you didn’t.

☾ he’ll let you drag him wherever, but not without complaints. he’ll hold your hand wherever, never let you pay whenever you go out.

☼ “that’s silly.” he’d argue, pushing your card away. “christ, woman. ’m gonna have to fuckin’ confiscate your card ‘n replace it with my own soon.”

☾ he’ll hold you whenever, especially if you like it. whether it be his arm around your shoulders, on your waist, or maybe even a hand in your back pocket

☼ especially in crowds, he’s got you close so you can get through it to where you need to go. he’d hate to lose you in a crowd, not a chance.

☾ he’d get drunk, you’d try and kiss him and he’d be like “fuck off. i have a loving girlfriend.”

☼ and you’d be like “j i’m ur girlfriend.”

☾ “oh! hi girlfriend :)” and then kisses you.

☼ tries to act tough but he’s such a big softie at heart.

☾ he also gets jealous if he catches anyone simply just glancing at you, big 6”4 boy just gives them a simple look

☼ “achlatt! that guy was literally just doing his job.” “don’t give a fuck, y’re my girlfriend. no need for him t’be so cheery to ya.” but he’d also be annoyed if they weren’t nice to you.

☾ sometimes, you’ll catch him cooking and singing to himself as he plays music on a speaker. some glen campbell, maybe arctic monkeys. but he gets embarrassed, despite literally having a christmas album and a real good voice.

☼ “i don’t sing, sugar.” schlatt would argue, food cooking and arms wrapped around your waist as you two gently swayed to the music playing in his kitchen.

☾ a lie that was, you called bullshit

☼ and you’d both sing to whatever was on the speaker, laughing and just holding each other close as you two danced properly. spinning you, dipping you. his hair messy, a look of admiration on his face. no matter how uncoordinated you two were, it was right in your eyes.

☾ same thing i said about ted goes, big broad tall man mmmmm

☼ gives the best cuddles

☾ got plushies in your room? he’ll buy you more, and have fake beef with them. rolling his eyes if you argue that they’re your children.

☼ deep down he knows he loves them

☾ and you

☼ mostly you

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

nsfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ he’s such a sweetheart in bed

☾ bitey bitey man. he can’t sit still for long

☼ as long as you’re in the privacy of your own home, whatever you’re doing, bet that his lips will be finding your neck.

☾ “can’t help it. taste too good.” he’d complain if you’d whine, that stupid shit eating grin on his gorgeous face. his hands on your hips, and his mouth leaving pinks, purples and reds that he knew you’d have to cover up tomorrow for work.

☼ he’s whipped. absolutely fucking whipped. pussy whipped.

☾ he’d do anything you asked, especially if you were promising to let him fuck you the minute you got through the door of either of your houses.

☼ horny motherfucker.

☾ in terms of oral, he loves giving and receiving equally

☼ watching you tremble underneath him as he hooks your thighs onto his shoulders and messily eats your pussy, sucking on your clit like it’s his last meal and he’s a starving man. his hands squeezing said thighs as you writhe, eyes watching your every reaction. impossibly harder at your every noise.

☾ and then also, “i didn’t say hover, sweetheart, i said sit.” making you sit on his face, pulling your hips down with his arms tucked under your thighs. devouring you and your perfect fucking cunt.

☼ pulling away later, lips and chops covered in your cum. licking his lips. “light as a fuckin’ feather, baby. don’t know what’cha talkin about.” if you were to ask if you were too heavy.

☾ but then also

☼ running his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you, on your knees so prettily for him. soft groans and sighs coming from his lips, eyes lidded, as you sucked his cock and looked up at him with lust. watching you wrap your lips around it inbetween his legs. tracing your tongue along the veins. pulling your hair, but never too hard: god, he was absolutely feral.

☾ he’s definitely dominant, but he isn’t harsh. he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. like i said, he’s a softie.

☼ prefers to be face to face, but i feel like he’d really like back shots. simply to grab at your ass, watch the curve of your back arch as he fucked you good. leaving bites along your back as well, leaning over and leaving some on your shoulder.

☾ classic missionary, or you on his lap, are also his favourites. but he’s open to try other things with you, most definitely.

☼ he loves his woman, he really does. and he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy, always give you good loving. he’d hate to ever leave you without.

☾ him getting tipsy makes him even more desperate to please. even more desperate for you. but even sober, he always is

☼ rutting his hips into you, a little drunk as you combed your fingers through his hair “mmm. mine, sweets. god.” he’d grunt, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he fucked you perfectly. “need y’so f’ckin bad.”

☾ you flash him during an argument? it’s over as quick as it started. you were right, obviously. he’s following you like a dumb puppy again.

☼ would definitely turn around your plushies during sex. and also lock out the cats.

☾ when you two would unlock the door and come back out to the cats whining, your legs a bit wobbly, or maybe even unable to walk on your own at all, he’d pat the cats and smirk.

☼ “sorry, little shits. y’r mom needed some lovin instead.” he’d coo as you playfully shove him. a chuckle coming from his lips.

☾ he’s a very touchy grabby guy, whether it be your tits, thighs, your ass. he loves it.

☼ he’d get needy, and make it clear. it would never take him long to tell you if he was feeling needy, or he’d show it simply by picking you up or being close to you. it wasn’t hard to tell, and you’d be fucking within minutes.

☾ and if you’re needy? god, he relishes in it. teasing you, maybe even leaving you on the edge of orgasm over and over until your eventually sweet release. depends on how cruel he’s feeling. or maybe touching you, but not enough, just enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to build up anything. he loved the sound of your whiny frustration.

☼ yeah. he wants you. so bad. all the time.

I shouldn't even request because I'm too much of a creature of habit, but I'll never stop wanting both Geta and Caracalla to get some love (they're touchstarved and desperately need affection)!!!!

A/N: In my writer's block, I tried to write something different. So here's a little Caracalla? I'm not sure how to write him yet, but I just needed to write SOMETHING or I'd lose my mind. I will return to Geta as soon as I can. Hope you get something out of this! Hopefully I will be back to writing your regularly scheduled programming soon.

Copper hair. Seafoam eyes. A wide grin. 

An apology tumbled from your lips. You knew you should not be here. But with the hour so late, surely he should have been asleep. Not in the gardens. No, at night, this was your haven.

And yet.

“Please, don’t mind me,” he spoke, his words both hurried and unhurried at the same time. Like he was scrambling to form thoughts as quickly as he could, as coherently as he could, before he lost them. But he wasn’t used to living his life at anything other than a snail’s pace.

“The hour is late, Emperor,” you noted, asking the question without asking.

There was a flash of something in his eyes. His grin slid wider. 

“Dondus,” he answered. As if that explained everything.

“Emperor?”

He looked up, much higher above, and your eyes followed, a screech announcing the reason for the surprise visitor to the gardens.

“Dondus,” he repeated, clarifying.

“Oh.”

The monkey flitted about, hopping from branch to branch gracefully, at home in the treetops. 

“Sometimes this is what it takes to get Dondus to sleep,” Caracalla explained, taking a few steps forward. “Too cooped up, I guess.”

“I can understand that.” 

You could. It sounded uncomfortably familiar.

“You are also up late…” he said, also asking without asking.

Heat filled your face. Head bowed slightly, your hands squeezed each other before you. “I–It’s too warm in our quarters, Emperor. For me, anyway. I cannot sleep.”

Who am I to burden an Emperor with these small problems?

“Too warm? Do you not have a window?”

Embarrassed, as if you had built the palace yourself, you shook your head ‘no.’

His brows furrowed. Confusion. Indignance.

“It is an interior room,” you added, as if to ease his reaction.

He said nothing more about it, but he was visibly occupied with the information.

Standing there awkwardly, you allowed yourself to look upon him. He wasn’t an intimidating figure, not like his brother, and it added to his unusual charm. He appeared much younger than his brother, despite them being the exact same age. Down to minutes. Minutes that made all the difference, it seemed.

He was cute, in his own way. Like Cupid, youthful and meddlesome. The story of Cupid and Psyche came to mind, but you pushed it away just as quickly. He was an Emperor. Not someone to have daydreams about. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, interrupting your thoughts.

Embarrassment filled you. You scrambled to piece words together in a way that wouldn’t offend or betray your true line of thinking.

“You are not what I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my brother does his absolute best to portray me as some monster,” he frowned.

Panic, concern. “That is not what I meant, Emperor. I only mean… you are… charming.”

A large smile spread across his face. A glint in his eye. Pink dusting the tops of his cheeks and ears. 

He was blushing.

“What is your name?” 

His question did not frighten you as it could have. He sounded genuinely curious. 

You provided him with your name quietly, cautiously, as if it was some secret. Even as he repeated it, it felt forbidden.

“I imagined you as more of a ‘Luna’ myself,” he admitted. 

Whatever gave him that notion, you couldn’t pretend to know. But it seemed so very Caracalla. 

Glancing up overhead, you could see the moon looming large, bright and full, in the sky. 

“Uh, I am sure you may call me whatever you like, Emperor.”

“Good,” he beamed, approaching you. “What do you do here?”

It felt wrong to be looking upon him, to be holding a conversation like this with an Emperor. But the flicker of excitement that bloomed with each passing second couldn’t be denied.

“I work in the kitchens.”

He brightened at that. “So I have you to thank for our delicious meals?”

You quickly dispelled that notion. “No, no, I am no great cook, Emperor–”

“Caracalla,” he corrected.

“I–what?”

“We are friends by now, surely,” he chuckled. “The ‘Emperor’ stuff is so boring.”

This felt so significant. And yet, it seemed like no big deal to him. As if he were just exercising a preference and not doing away with a layer of formality.

“I, uh, I prepare some ingredients, Caracalla. In the kitchen.”

“A noble task. Someone must. I’m glad it is you.”

Heat fills your face at his warm praise. To feel such a thing is dangerous. Because you will never want it to stop.

Caracalla laughed as Dondus leapt out of the tree and sought purchase on his shoulder, tiny hands grabbing the cloth there tightly. 

“That is our cue, I believe, mea luna. It was nice meeting you.”

“It was also nice meeting you, Caracalla.”

And it was. He was quite different from how you expected, with how his brother fretted over him. Perhaps a little unusual, but you didn’t mind that at all.

“Mea luna,” he smiled, “I’ll keep your secret.”

“My secret, Emperor?”

A wink before he turned, walking out of the gardens.

“Wait, Emperor!” you called out. “What secret?”

You got no answer.

I saw your Geta one-shot and loved it! And while reading it, I had a question. What do you think the difference is between being Geta's favorite concubine and Caracalla's favorite concubine? Difference between ways of being and so on hahaha. Thanks!

Well, I'll start with loverboy. Geta.

It's no secret my feelings for this frazzled man. He stresses, carrying the weight of his position on his shoulders at least slightly more than his brother does, as well as Caracalla's condition pushing his knees to the dirt. He needs help. But he doesn't know what kind of help. Or how to ask for it. Or where to find it. But he has the capacity to love, to trust, it's just buried beneath emotional trauma.

It would take a chance encounter, a passing interest. He keeps you with him most nights, until it is every night, all night. Pillowtalk becomes strategy sessions. It happens slowly, his trust not so easily given. But when he does give it? You're his confidant. You keep his secrets for him when they're too heavy. You listen to his complaints. He finds comfort and solace in you, forsaking all others. He's allowing himself to feel these affections for you and though it may frighten him at first, he does give in. He needs a partner, someone who can share his burdens, a secret resource for when he's too tired, at a loss.

With adorable little Caracalla, I feel like it's slightly separate from a sexual attraction. He of course loves that aspect, but it's not necessarily what would make him obsess over you. Because that's what it would be, an obsession. He has access to whatever he wants in that regard, but a true emotional connection? That is what he desires most.

Maybe you make him laugh. Or you tell him stories to lull him to sleep. You'd become such an important part of his day. He just needs a companion, someone to love him purely. And if you return his affections? Obsessed. You would be elevated to Empress, even at the protest of the Senate. He would dote on you and think of you in everything. Do you like this food? Yes? Then that is what everyone will eat. Your favorite color? He wears it constantly. It would be an emotional partnership. He would be better, with you. His mood calmed, his outbursts far lessened. And if anyone spoke ill of his Empress? Well, they wouldn't live much longer.

Hi! I recently watched the new Gladiator sequel and I’m so obsessed with the emperors, they’re absolute cuties<3 I was just wondering if you could write some headcanons maybe about being married to both of them, of course it’s fine if you don’t write about polygamy

Have a great day

My freaky gingers! Fred and Joseph did amazing as Caracalla and Geta in my opinion, my freaky little sadistic ginger emperors.

Being wanted by one sibling meant being desired by the other.

Geta and Caracalla shared everything, for nothing could ever belong to one of them as the other was bound to grow envious and want the same thing for himself.

So let’s say you were originally planned to marry just Geta or Caracalla, but the pair would abuse their power as emperors and demand that you were to marry both of them instead.

‘It’s the will of the gods after all.’ Geta would say.

‘And we wouldn’t want to displease them now would we?’ Caracalla would add with a cackle.

You had no say whatsoever but to agree to marry the brother emperors, which many didn’t bother to bat an eye of how curious a case this was, but again they too were under the belief that this was the will of the gods for the emperors to share a spouse for the betterment of their rule.

Both brothers thrive for your attention to be on them and they’d do anything to have it wherever and whenever they can, and all you could do was give them the attention that they so desire.

Hold them close to your chest, cradle them there and let them hear your heart and your breathing to smooth them in knowing that someone did love them, for being there for them as a safe haven from the frequent scheming of the senate and the betrayals and the constant needed to look over their shoulders to make sure no one was going to stab them in the back.

So being with you and held so closely like they deeply desired when before ascending the throne, made it all seem worth while if it meant being gifted the love that they so sought after in those they considered a close confidant within the senate, or just in general approval from the public they rule over.

Marriage life with Geta and Caracalla wasn’t easy, you didn’t expect it to in the slightest as you were constantly seen between the two emperors, draped in the finest of silks and jewellery they could find as to signal your beginning to them both, to show that you were on equal footing as your emperor husbands as your counsel was the one they often followed more often then not.

Does this mean they are rid of the concubines? Probably not and whether or not this was an issue for you is up for debate.

If it is then you’d naturally be questioning the loyalty of your emperor husbands in a fit of embarrassment and shame, not wanting to look a fool within your own marriage, especially not in front of the Roman public nor the senate that would try to whisper words of infidelity about Geta and Caracalla.

‘Am I not your spouse? You forced me into marriage with the two of you and yet you both still seek paid comfort.’ You’d spat as though it was venom in my mouth.

‘My love-‘

You’d glare at Geta who stopped short in his tracks as Caracalla watched you both with eerily silence.

‘If you are to seek paid comfort, then don’t expect none from me should you continue this route of self indulgence.’ You say before leaving the room, not once looking back as you returned to your shared chambers. Again you wouldn’t want to look a fool when your emperor husbands run to the arms of concubines, you were above it.

Let’s hypothetically say you have concubines yourself in retaliation, they’d unfortunately all be dead on the orders of Geta and Caracalla in a fit of rage.

Your marriage isn’t pretty nor romantic in the slightest, and I’m not trying to make it out to be like that, just only that your marriage to them both could be full of hypocrisy and jealousy and sometimes accusations of cheating would arise also as a result.

It’s a mess and wouldn’t get sorted unless your three are clear headed and clam enough to talk it out like healthy lovers should. And when it does get sorted, you all act as though everything that had come to this point of peace didn’t happen at all, as soon enough you were back to holding the emperor brothers again your chest as they slept.

Due to being their spouse you naturally had a target on your back, so it would be of no surprise that you were to be the intended victim for an assignation attempt by shadowy figures hiding their identities in the background.

Shadowy figures that wanted you dead as to kill any sort of morale the emperor brothers had by taken what’s theirs.

Let’s say you survive the attempt, make no mistake that your emperor husbands would be by your side immediately, anger and fury written as clear as day across their faces as they had you pressed between the two of them, they’d whispered hushed words into your ears about finding who did this to you and killing them publicly to show their intolerance to attempts on their spouse.

Your emperor husbands would make sure you were constantly guarded no matter what afterwards, killing those who didn’t do their duty and replacing them with new guards that would keep you safe when they were with the senate, or in the study.

They become insufferably clingy and overprotective afterwards that it felt suffocating to be in the same room with them being so close to you, it was overwhelming and they’d even have people test whenever or not your drink and or food was tampered with as extra precaution.

You understood their worries to an extent but if it’s been a good while since the attempt, then you find it unnecessary to continue such tight and overbearing conditions they had put in place. So it’s best to speak with them about that for paranoia had overtaken them both with the ideas that you’d be killed or taken even if they were to even dare blink.

Being married to Geta and Caracalla was chaos incarnate, discord and mayhem disguised in gold, jewellery and expensive silks and lavished lifestyles; a perfect facade to cover the true nature of their own unravelling beneath the mask they’ve made to get by as rulers of a powerful empire ever known.

Geta

I’ve already made something similar for his jealousy/ possessiveness but I like talking about it so much that I wanted to added onto it ngl. That and I went a little longer with this one then the others cuz I love him.

Geta is more possessive than jealous. Simple as.

While sharing everything with Caracalla has it’s downsides, but the fact that he finally had someone to call his own without the expectation to share you, only made Geta all the more hellbent on keeping you with him and reminding others that you were more then taken by him.

He doesn’t take lightly to people looking at you a second longer then they should or in a similar way that he does -it doesn’t end up pretty for them at all- and your left with the burning glare of his against your back as he silently seethes from his throne, his hand clutching the glass in his hand so tightly that you swore it was going to break within his grasp if he wasn’t careful.

Geta’s possessiveness always pushed him into decorating you in the finest clothes, finest jewels and stones across Rome in order to show that you were his and only his, reminding others that they couldn’t have what he was proud to call his and his only. However he was aware that there were men of such nature who believed that it didn’t matter if you were with him or not, you were still the one they set their sights on regardless.

Geta despised men of such nature, he once told you that those kinds of men were those who lacked a mind, lacked the favour of the gods within any vicinity of their lives and should be considered less then men for trying to take you away from him.

So needless to say you’d have to speak soft words into his skin to remind him that he was the emperor, nothing that is his could ever be taken away from him, not even you as you’d knew he would do everything within his power to get you back while making them pay however he saw fit. You scattered kisses across his warm face and caress the backs of his hands, pamper him in soft love and affection before his anger consumed him completely, all the while telling him all that he needed to hear.

‘I’m yours Geta, never theirs. They can wish for the gods to change our fate but they’re to ones who weaves our love into existence in the first place, for the gods knew that there was never a stronger force then you and I.’ You’d say into his skin as you could feel his heart soften beneath your touch.

Geta’s temper was a pain but not one you couldn’t mange, speak reason into him and watch as his hands grasped you possessively, kneading the skin of your hips as he pulls you towards him to press his forehead firmly again yours as his dark eyes looked deeply into your own.

‘The gods can’t take away the bond they’ve made between us, for that would mean to admit a flaw on their part but the gods never make mistakes, they brought us together for a reason and we should make good on that my love for no one can touch us should we stay as we are now.’ You added on as you watched the anger fade from his eyes.

‘You weave words in ways that’ll make poets jealous my love,’ he replied. ‘But I must agree that nothing will ever touch us should we stay as close as we are now, so let’s stay here for a moment longer while I have you with me now to love and to hold.’ He finishes.

‘What about Rome?’ You’d ask.

‘Rome can wait, I on the other hand cannot wait to taste you my dearest heart.’ Geta replied and all thoughts of his jealously left his body as though it was never there.

Caracalla

Dare I saw somehow even worse than Geta?

Caracalla’s jealously stems from inferiority due to always having to share shit with Geta.

So if he were to ever see that someone was within distance of you, it’s not something that ends well for either you nor the person whom Caracalla was convinced was the perpetrator.

The air is still and stiff as Caracalla would immediately take his place by your side, hand griping your side in a possessive manner, that you wouldn’t be surprised if you’ll soon find bruises from his grasp once you were alone. That is if Caracalla allows you to be alone after this one instance where someone got a little too comfortable with the emperor’s spouse.

The person might as well have been killed then and there or taken away to be killed later by the guards. There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent their death as before long Caracalla would be more than likely accusing you of favouring the company of other people over his.

Now you’d have to tread carefully and make sure no weapons were within sight for him to grab, or anything that he could get his hands on really, and press your case to him that that wasn’t true at all and that you loved him with all your heart.

‘Then shall I cut your heart out and see if it still beats for me even when far removed from your body?’ He’d then say and your heart raced but your face remained calm, collected as any other emotion will only make things worse for you.

‘It shall always beat for you no matter whether you cut it from my chest or rest your head again me to heart it closely as it whispers to you my love.’ You then say as you stepped closer to him, all the while watching his every move as though you were waiting for a concealed weapon to make itself know, but it never did.

‘Lies! You favour Geta over me! No better than the others!’ He’d scream, making you stop in your tracks.

‘Why would I favour him when I married you? Caracalla I’m many things but a liar is not one of them, look into my eyes and seek the truth for yourself should words fall short for your reasoning.’ You tell him as you watched him close the distance between the two of you and look you directly in the eyes with a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It was scary but you held your ground in hopes that he would see that you were true.

‘You choose me?’ He’d asks softly this time.

‘In every life I have after this one I shall always choose you.’ You said.

‘Even this one?’ He adds.

‘Even this one my love.’ You echoed.

Caracalla smiled and let out the cutest little giggles that you have ever heard from a bloodthirsty emperor as he threw himself into your arms, holding you tight as though he didn’t threatened to steal your heart earlier. ‘Your heart belongs to me, the gods will it so.’ He says in an almost chant as he pressed his head against your chest and closes his eyes. ‘Your heart speaks to me and call me with words of love, devotion and gratitude.’ He then says as you run your hands through his soft but messy hair.

‘As it should.’ You told him.

‘As it should.’ He echoes softly this time as you stood there just holding one another in a moment of peace that you’d never thought would come.

Marcus Acacius

Doesn’t nearly get as jealous as the two emperors, if anything he’s confident of your relationship to endure a few hardships outside of petty jealously.

However this does not mean the general doesn’t feel it tickle his heart whenever he saw that someone was getting a little too close for his liking towards you, but with a strong and protective hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you close to him.

He takes pride in you and how you can easily draw people in much like you did with him when you first met, proving it to be a testimony to the type of person you were and it was something Marcus admired deeply about you with a smitten smile and softened eyes that were always on you, as though he couldn’t tear them away from you even if he was to try. He loves his beloved spouse and nothing will ever change that and he could always find himself falling more and more in love with you at every possible moment.

It warmed his heart to see you talk to the children of Rome or aiding the elderly but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to step in when he saw an unsavoury character encroach on you while you were unaware. Marcus is protective of his beloved and he wasn’t about to let to leave you to be carelessly open to any and all harm that may come your way. The jealously is in no way aimed towards you as you weren’t doing anything to perpetuate the persons delusions that you were reciprocating to their advances.

Yet a flash of his sword and the unimpressed scowl upon his face was more than enough to deter unwarranted company. Marcus would do anything to make sure that you were comfortable as you’d always be a priority for this dedicated man.

So the man is not above getting a little physical should that be the case for your safety.

Hi love! Joel Miller has rotted my brain for forever now and I’m so excited to see the influx of fanfiction for him! ☺️☺️ if I could put in another request with pre-outbreak Joel again, please, could you do one where it’s outbreak day and the reader is already in an established relationship with Joel and is close with Sarah. Maybe the reader is with Sarah when everything starts to go down? A nice mix of angst and fluff? Thank you hun 🥰🥰

AN | There’s plenty of softness and fluff 🥰 but also a very sad ending (sorry, but also not)!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, TLOU typical violence [outbreak day chaos, attack by infected, non-descriptive mentions of injury and blood]

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” he heard your voice, soft and sweet like golden honey. He felt your touch, soft and warm, ghosting over the exposed skin of his back, mindlessly tracing over his freckles, “hey sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” his protest was weak and his resolve to actually get up melted even further as you wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled yourself closer to him, “baby.”

“Come on birthday boy,” a row of kisses was pressed to his bare shoulder as you tried to nudge him towards the edge of the bed, “busy day today, we’ve gotta get up.”

“Can’t we just stay here all day?” He knew it wasn’t an option but he figured it was worthy of a try.

“I-”

“Get up!” you heard Sarah’s voice from the other side of the slightly cracked door, “and if you’re doing anything nasty, close the door at least!”

Joel grinned but Sarah giggled as she ran downstairs and to the kitchen. You rolled onto your back and sighed happily at the ceiling. You really, really loved the Millers. 

“You heard the lady,” you rolled out of bed and pulled on his t-shirt from the night before. Joel opened an appreciative eye as he watched you head into the ensuite bathroom. But before you disappeared from sight, you stuck your head around the corner and beamed at him. God, he loved your pretty smile, “happy birthday, my love.”

Joel sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his broad, golden chest. He was tired, but there was a warm smile quirking up the corners of his mouth nonetheless, “thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you tossed a clean towel at him, “now get up, or we’re both going to get yelled at.”

“And we definitely don’t want that.”

“We absolutely do not.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This looks amazing,” Sarah was a wonderful kid. Like, truly so. You never thought you’d feel that way about any kid, but she’d proved you wrong. She preened under your praise as you pressed a kiss to the side of her head, “you did this all by yourself?”

“As if,” Tommy Miller poked his head out from the fridge and cheekily waved his hand at you. You playfully rolled your eyes but returned the wave. When you said you loved the Millers, you really meant all the Millers, “I squeezed - by hand - the oranges that made that delicious juice. And cooked the bacon.”

“I don’t like the grease,” Sarah shrugged with a teasing glower at her uncle. You grinned when you saw the balloons they’d blown up floating around the kitchen, along with a wonkily hung happy birthday banner, “but I made the pancakes.”

“Well, both of you did a wonderful job,” you praised as the three of you heard Joel coming down the stairs. You exchanged a quick look with Tommy and Sarah and the two of them nodded in silent understanding.

“Happy Birthday!”

The two of you shouted in unison, catching the poor man off guard as he almost jumped at the sound of all three of you at once. He clutched at his heart as he watched into the kitchen, pulled into a hug by his daughter and brother. Once they let him go, he came over and pulled you into his arms, hugging in a bone crushing grip, before kissing you sweetly. 

“Save that for later,” Sarah groaned before taking his hand and leading him to the table, “we have to have breakfast and then you’ve got to take me to school, old man.”

“I should make you walk,” he joked and the girl pretended to be upset. The two of them were too funny for their own good, “I’m thirty-six years old you little shit, who are you calling an old man?”

“Definitely not my wonderful, amazing father that’s not old at all,” she tried again, “and the one who gives me rides to school.”

“Yeah,” he waved her off, but the affection and love was written all over his face, “you’re lucky I love you!”

“I love you more, dad!”

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You seem very happy today," Betty gave you a knowing smile as you walked into the office's break room to grab a cup of coffee; well another. It's been a long day at the law office already.

"Well," you took a sip and smiled softly, "it's Joel's birthday today. He likes to pretend to be all grumpy, but we know he loves it. His brother and daughter made him breakfast this morning and you should have seen his face light up."

"He's a nice guy," she agreed. Most of the women - people - in the office loved him, "any plans tonight, then?"

"Stop," your face warmed as you laughed softly, "not tonight. He's working late, so I'm hanging with Sarah. If he's home at a decent hour, we're having a movie night. But…I do have a little something planned for the long weekend."

"Oh, do tell," Betty was funny in a way, but you liked her. She was older than you, and she'd been married for eons. She liked to joke around that marriage was such a drag but it was obvious just how much she loved her husband. You hoped that would be you and Joel one day.

"I've got a little weekend getaway planned," you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, "Tommy is going to watch Sarah, so it'll be just the two of us."

"Very nice," she clinked her mug against yours, "well, cheers to Joel, and you."

"Cheers!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Do you think he'll like it?" Sarah gave her cake a dismal little look as you looked over. It was a little wonky looking with mismatched candles, but still beautiful. All her.

“He’s going to be over the moon babe,” you promised her, watching as the smile on her face grew and grew. She set the plate on the dining room table, next to the present she got for him (with your assistance but that didn’t matter), “I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“I hope,” she agreed, “he’s been working late a lot and it’s birthday. He should be here.”

“And here he is,” the back door creaked open, both of you too wrapped up in what you were doing to hear his truck. He beamed at the two of you, causing Sarah to squeal and run over to him, throwing herself in his arms, “hey, kid.”

“I missed you,” she looked at him, her big brown eyes mirroring his own, “you said you’d be home like an hour ago!”

“I know baby, I know,” he touched her cheek affectionately, “there was somethin’ weird going on in the city and it took forever to get home. What’d I miss, huh?”

“Nothing,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table before throwing her arms out in a ta-da gesture, “except this amazing cake!”

“And present,” you added with a cheeky wink.

“And present,” she agreed happily, “now hurry up so we can have some cake and watch the movie? It’s getting late and unfortunately, you force me to go to school everyday, so.”

“So,” he put his hands on his hips as he stuck tongue out at her, “go in and get ready for bed. Then we can have some cake and watch the movie.”

“Yes!” she pumped her fist excitedly, but before she could run upstairs, she stopped herself, “wait - open this first.”

“What is it?” his grin only grew as she handed him the box, “where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs,” she snorted in amusement, “I sell hardcore drugs.”

“I should have known,” he shook while delicately opening the small box, “you’ve always been nothing but trouble. What is - wow.”

He took the watch in his hand and looked it over carefully, watching it steadily tick again. It hadn’t worked properly in years; he’d always loved it, but now, seeing it fixed by his brilliant daughter, he decided it was his favorite thing in the world. 

“Do you like it?” her voice was small; timid. She suddenly sounded every bit her age, so young and full of life, “I know you’d never get it fixed yourself and now you don’t have to.”

“I love it,” he put the watch on and pulled in for a tight hug, “I love you, baby. Thank you so much.”

“Happy birthday dad,” she kissed his cheek before running upstairs to change. 

“Troublemakers,” Joel teased as he took the few steps over to you, “both of you.”

“Good trouble,” you insisted, easily falling into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt him kiss the crown of your head as melted into him causing him to hum contentedly, “happy birthday, my love. Cheers to today and a lifetime more.”

“Thank you,” he pulled back and kissed you softly, both of silently asking for more and refusing to break apart until you heard Sarah clear her throat.

“You’re going away and you’ve got all weekend to do that,” she grabbed the DVD off the table and headed into the living room, “my virgin eyes don’t need to see this!” 

“You heard her, Miller,” you nudged him in the direction of the couch, “control yourself!”

“This isn’t finished,” he whispered under his breath, “far from it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sarah was sleeping, sprawled half on your lap and half on Joel’s. The two of you were halfheartedly watching the movie, lost in each other’s small touches and looks. This - this simple act of being home with the two people you loved most in his world - was everything to you. There was no place you’d rather have been. 

You were in the midst of exchanging a look with Joel when you heard a loud boom outside. The two of you startled as Sarah woke up and looked around in confusion. The sound of yelling and screaming soon reached your ears as Sarah hugged onto you, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted as Joel went to the front door to look outside. The neighborhood was normally quiet and sleepy; nothing like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat as a few car alarms went off, “Joel?”

“There’s a fire down the street,” there was a deep frown on his face, “stay here. I’m going to go and take a look.”

“I don’t know if that’s-”

“Just real quick,” he insisted, “it’s old man Smith’s house. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Okay,” you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn’t like the idea of him going out there, “be careful…please.”

“I’ll be back in just a few,” he promised with a nod before slipping on his boots and heading down the street.

“Come on,” you tenderly nudged up the girl so you take her upstairs and hopefully too bed. You wanted her to be able to get some rest, “let’s get you to bed, missy.”

“Do you think dad will be okay?”

“Of course he will,” but it was a promise that didn’t settle quite right in your stomach. There was a nagging feeling that was slowly starting to consume you and you hated it, “dad’s gonna get through anything. And I’m sure it’s nothing major - maybe something just caught fire.”

“Okay,” but you could tell she wasn’t quite convinced either, “I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you didn’t like how final her words seemed to be appear, “more than anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You ended up pacing around the living room for almost an hour as you waited for Joel to get back. Just a few minutes, you sighed lightly, of course it wasn't just a few minutes. Your nerves grew with each passing moment. 

It grew quiet for a while, which you weren't sure was a good or bad sign. Your question was soon answered by screaming and barking from next door. Sarah barreled down the stairs, panic on her face.

"The dog," she said, "next door. He's barking and I-I think he's scared. I want to go and check on him."

"Sarah," you shook your head, blood rushing in your ears and heart pounding in your chest, "we should just wait inside."

"But-"

"Your dad's not back."

"Well, then we have to find him too!" and she was out the door before you could stop her. You followed after her, not even bothering with shoes.

"Sarah!" you found her running down next door, trying to comfort the whimpering dog. Something just felt off. The front door was open but the lights were off; the fire at the end of the street was showering the neighborhood in an orange haze, "don't go in there!"

"But…"

"Don't," you insisted, "come here. Please. I know you want to save the dog, but it's not safe."

She looked close to tears but gave you a small nod. When you turned to look at the neighborhood, you finally saw all the chaos that had broken out. There was fire around, people screaming and running and shouting. It felt apocalyptic.

"Come on," you took her hand and tried to lead her back to the house. You weren't sure if it was the best choice but it was all you could think of at the moment. Joel would come back and save you soon, "I think we'll be better off-"

"Watch out!"

But Sarah's warning shout came just a moment too late. You couldn't blame her; everything around you was falling apart. 

Your knees buckled and hit the ground as you tried to keep your scream of pain down as much as possible. Whoever - or whatever it was - made a horrible sound, somewhere between a growl and shout as it tackled you to the ground. When you got a look at whatever was holding you down, you realized it was Al Walker from down the block. Or at least, it had been. But this version was not; it was something much more sinister. 

You tried to keep him back as he tried to lunge and bite you, but you were only so strong. All you could do when you felt the burning in your neck was to wince; you were too busy trying to mentally calm Sarah down. She was in full panic mode and trying to figure out what to do if anything. Your upper body felt sticky and warm; a coppery metallic smell overwhelmed you. 

Before you could try to shove him off you again, you heard a loud gunshot coming from some direction before his lifeless body fell on top of you.

“Fuck!” you crawled out from under him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and gather your bearings. You found Joel standing in front of Sarah, gently shielding her from whatever was around - from you. All around you people were running around and trying to leave or meeting the same fortune as you. 

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling up and running down your face. Joel’s gaze was on your torso and you followed it, inhaling sharply. You were soaked in your own blood and the wound on your neck was burning profusely. Although you didn’t full know what was happening or what sort of chaos had been set loose in the world, you knew this wasn’t good. 

“Baby-”

“Joel,” your voice was shaken as you looked at the two of them. You already knew that this would be the last time you’d ever see them. There was just a feeling in your gut that told you so, “go. Go.”

“Not without you.”

“Please,” you’d beg, you weren’t ashamed. All you wanted was for the two of them to get somewhere safe. You could see Tommy pulling up with Joel’s truck; even he seemed extremely rattled, “go with Sarah and Tommy and get to safety. Please, listen to me for once.”

Joel let out a loud groan of frustration before coming over and wrapping you up in a tight hug. You hugged him just as fiercely, despite your initial insistence that he leave, “baby.”

“I know,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, neither of you caring about the blood that was now covering you both. You kissed him, one last time, sweet and saccharine as it always was, “I love you. But please, get going now. Keep them safe. Keep yourself safe.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Joel Miller,” you insisted firmly and he gave you a teary-eyed nod, “I’ll catch up to you.”

It was a lie. You both knew that.

“I swear it.”

“Good,” you whispered, “now go, and don’t look back.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” you smiled softly and gave him one last kiss, “I know.”

You gently pushed him back as he reached for Sarah and pulled her towards the truck. It felt like time slowed down as you watched them get in and drive away, headed to what you hoped was safety. 

Your heart was beyond heavy.

You’d just lost your entire world. 

If only you knew what was yet to come.

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than expected.

Not just the kind of wrong that came with whiteout conditions and freezing wind — this was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. A warning dressed up as weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping.

Your skin burned from cold, your limbs throbbed with fatigue — but none of it compared to the way your heart pounded. Not from exertion.

From fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to glance at you.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah, just—cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with the horse, unaware of how your whole body shook with more than frost. You hadn’t told them. Couldn’t. How do you explain that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward felt like walking away from safety?

Your heart was screaming in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left before you could fully wake up.

The echo of his voice still lingered in your memory — low and warm, brushing against your ear as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling”

But he hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the saddle still had damp with snow.

Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances. And the sky had turned gray with anger.

You shook your head, tried to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was wrong.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was shelter. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with more force than necessary.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care.

There was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. Your gloves were off before Jesse could even say anything. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol check-ins.

A burst of static.

Then another.

Finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, respond.”

Nothing.

The silence wasn’t ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t delay. It was absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

Jesse called after you.

But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, eyes wide and fierce. “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed without a word.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened.

And Joel and Dina were out there.

You and Ellie rode hard, the snow whipping across your faces like knives, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead — but then, in the distance, a glow.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill — firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. It wasn't from a patrol cabin or torch post. It rose in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“It’s from Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped.

Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, their coats soaked with snow, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No patrols. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit...”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it—It was about to break you open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting a pray, her eyes screaming please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Joel’s screams.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood and pain and something worse. His legs bent at unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying.

And above him, a woman. Blonde. Rage carved into her face like she’d practiced it. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focus on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared and tackled her with everything you had, all your weight, all your fury. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more.” you growled.

Her people came fast, like shadows. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife.

But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. You fought like someone who had nothing left but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had — a piece of wood, a broken lamp, your fists, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you screamed.

The crack of your shotgun echoed like thunder as the first shell slammed into one of the men flanking her. Blood hit the wall. Chaos exploded in every direction.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding in her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reached for you got a knife through the ribs. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

Abby swung the club toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“You wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first!”

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake.

Because Ellie broke free just long enough to grab your dropped shotgun and aim it at her. “Step back,” she spat, blood in her teeth, voice shaking but solid.

“Now.”

Abby looked between the two of you. At Joel — bleeding, still breathing — at her fallen group. Then she backed off, raising her hands slightly.

“This isn’t over,” she said.

“Yeah,” you snapped, “it is.” You said, pointing your gun right between her brows.

Your shotgun echoed in the stillness of the room.

The blast slammed into her chest, and her body jerked back like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the floor; eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reek of blood and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

You dropped beside as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before.

“Y-you---"he rasped, voice like torn gravel.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he wasn’t fully in the room anymore.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

Your heart lurched in panic. “Joel!”

Nothing.

You pressed your fingers to his pulse—still there, but faint.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now.”

You’d already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattling against the stillness. His face was swollen and unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, the side of his head. His legs—

Don’t think about the legs. Not now.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. You still with me?”

A faint groan. Barely audible.

But it was enough.

He was still here.

You pulled off your jacket and shoved it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened…?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew. The air had changed.

This was a war zone. A zone you had built in seconds because you didn’t know what else to do. You blinded yourself; you had become a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open — shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two broken.

Your voice cracked. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just… leave me—”

“Shut up,” you said, fierce now, your tears splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket and an old mattress from the back.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could, while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures.

Joel screamed.

It was guttural, raw as if he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t flinch. “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open — just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and you brush the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm.

Keep him alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split beneath Abby’s final blow. His blood soaked through instantly. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Your hands moved on their own now. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him. Stay with me. Please stay with me.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for direction.

Then your voice broke through the stillness.

“Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak.

You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand — limp and calloused in yours.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. A raw whisper. “Tell Tommy… tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

Silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing. The sound of blood dripping from the club Abby left behind.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked like bone. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s—he’s too heavy. He’s—”

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need a stretcher, a team. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I’ve got him.”

A pause.

Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud gasp “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged motions beneath you.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand.

That startled her.

It startled you too.

But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears — not yet — but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt. The fury. The fear that maybe… it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

And Ellie, for the first time in what felt like forever, let herself believe it.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once.

“I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway. “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside the room.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I—I need to stop the bleeding. His leg is bad. His ribs—fuck, I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer, still pale, still wide-eyed, her clothes soaked with blood—some hers, some not. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Shaken. Haunted. But standing tall.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath.

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once; jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second—boots pounding out the door, calling for Dina. You were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on floorboards.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “You hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slow, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet—except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

His legs were splinted crudely with a broken table leg and belts. His wounds were packed with gauze you tore from your own coat lining. You boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He’d faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the bloodstained wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still.

You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close.

No answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath broke in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

Still nothing. And then a twitch.

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

“…Sarah.”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open.

His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin again.

The smell of smoke and gasoline in the air. Sirens in the distance. Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder: “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was warm. Real.

He turned and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something dumb. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t want to blink—afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot.

Her warmth gone. He spun. He screamed for her. And when he looked down—

You were there.

In the memory. Not Sarah. You. Covered in blood. Crying. Calling his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you. He couldn’t move. The world was slipping.

And then—your voice cut through the haze.

“Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. Then again. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed.

He looked up at you, dazed, confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying…” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

And as the fire cracked quietly, Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close.

You didn’t sleep.

Your body screamed for rest, but you stayed next to Joel—watching the way his chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy. “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, y’know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath—maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. “…Learned from the best.”

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his—gingerly, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved—slow, searching—until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled like snow. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the walls. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then—his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words and that had broken you in the gentlest way.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry—not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief. He was alive.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was pain, muted but deep, like a dull echo in his bones. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on. Still there.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window like morning fog. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even in rest. You looked exhausted. Pale. Eyes ringed with shadows.

But you were here.

He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel…” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. Fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night…”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal. For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently but unshakable. “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in farm, together.”

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours. That’s not about deserving. That’s just how it is.”

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew, he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain—only release. Relief. Love.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. Alive. He was alive. The reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. Every damn day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked, but it was his. The first real smile you'd seen in so long it felt like a lifetime ago. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow and steady, like the beat of a familiar song you never thought you’d hear again. The machines hummed softly beside him. The faint glow of a streetlamp outside filtered through the hospital window, painting golden lines across the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.

"In shock" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Angst & Comfort

Word Count: 643

While traveling through an abandoned department store, an infected attacks Y/n, and Joel does his best to assure her that everything is okay.

Travelling through major cities was hell, to say the least, and there were few things Y/n hated more than doing so. Her survival skills paled compared to Joel’s, so she was always terrified of something happening to her, considering that there was nothing much she could do to fight off an infected. Yes, he had tried to teach her how to shoot a gun, and she was fine when it was just the two of them practicing, but once the real thing happened, she’d freeze, terror running through her veins.

Everything had gone fine so far; however, Y/n wasn’t sold as she walked with Joel through an empty department store. It was too quiet, and she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was watching them in the shadows. Their flashlights only shone so far, and the magnitude of the location made it extremely difficult to notice every hiding spot where something could pop out.

Y/n wasn’t too far behind Joel, but she had slowed down slightly, taking in everything around her, probably too intently. On the other hand, he was more focused on getting out of there quickly, so he was prepared to deal with something if it popped up, but he hoped they’d be in and out of there fast enough that they wouldn’t have to.

The woman paused for a moment when she heard a noise to the left of her. When she turned her head, she locked eyes with an infected who was not an advanced case of cordyceps.

“Joel! Help!” Y/n screamed, her feet doing their best to get her away from the danger, however, she wasn’t fast enough, and within a couple of seconds, the infected threw her to the ground.

Her screams echoed through the building briefly until Joel’s gun sounded, and the infected fell to the ground beside her, its body still slightly twitching. After shooting it one more time, he quickly ran over to Y/n, who was lying on the ground, with tears streaming down her face.

“J-J-Joel,” the woman stuttered, only able to take short, panicked breaths, practically hyperventilating.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Joel reassured, looking at her body to ensure she hadn’t been bitten during the encounter.

He sighed in relief when he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, before scooping her up in his arms and pulling her close to his chest. Joel’s hand immediately cradled the back of Y/n’s head and held her body tight, hoping to stop the woman from shaking as much as she was.

“It’s going to be okay now, baby, deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he spoke softly, tenderly kissing the top of her head. “Everything’s going to be alright, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“D-Did it g-get me?” she asked, looking up at the man with red glossy eyes and worry prominent on all her features.

“No, it didn’t. I already checked, you’re clean,” he responded, looking at her with nothing but the truth behind his eyes.

She nodded in confirmation and swallowed hard, some relief showing on her face as some of the shock wore off. Joel took the pad of his thumb and wiped away some of the tears staining her face, before kissing her on the cheek sweetly.  

“Are you okay, too?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows, scanning his face to try and get an answer early.

“Yeah, I’m completely okay. It didn’t get close to me,” he replied, sending her a small smile to try and make her feel better.

“Okay, good, I love you so much, Joel,” she told him, and this time she wrapped her arms around the man tightly, not wanting to let go.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel responded, his body instantly feeling less tense at the sensation of her body pressed against his.

Jason Todd would be terrified to hurt you, even by just laying on you, so when he first has the desire to wrap his fingers around your neck, it's instantly shoved aside. The thought is pushed away and away, suppressed every single time he gets the urge because he doesn't want to scare you or hurt you.

If you were ever afraid of him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

That said, when finally does indulge himself, losing his self control during one, extremely enthusiastic evening with you, he can't believe he didn't trust himself enough to do it sooner.

His hand envelopes your entire throat without any problem, not squeezing it even the slightest bit, simply holding it, his thumb pressed to the side of your neck where he can feel your pulse. It's rapid and gets even faster as the night goes on.

Even when you're laying still, holding him close, his hand is still there, draped over the base of your neck, counting the little thumps in your pulse.

He doesn't admit how much he absolutely love feeling your pulse. But it's not hard to tell. Especially since after that night, he wasn't the slightest bit shy about it.

He holds your neck at any opportunity, while standing behind you in the kitchen or bathroom.

He lays with his face against your neck to feel it under his lips.

He naps with his head on your chest, his ear firmly pressed against your heart to let the sound of it beating help him relax.

Even in public, he's holding your hand at lunch or dinner, his thumb pressed to your wrist to feel your pulse under the table.

Anything to remind himself you're real, alive, and his.

Drooling over Dilf Dick Grayson who has gotten a bit chubbier after retiring!!!

Dilf! Dick Grayson: Who gives up being a vigilante so you have peace of mind and he never risks leaving you and your baby alone.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who gains weight rather quickly after retiring once he starts remembering to eat full meals instead of protein bars and only works out once or twice a week instead every single day.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who is so exhausted from taking care of a newborn baby and making sure you're fully recovered that he forgets to shave or cut his hair, leaving him with a bit of stubble and longer locks than usual.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who you catch staring at himself in the mirror when he gets out of the shower, his eyes roaming the slightest softness that he now has in place of the hardened abdomen he had when you met.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who feels guilty for being self conscious when you had just given birth a few weeks ago and now had more red marks, extra skin, and thicker thighs, hips, and breasts.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who tries to make sure you know how much he loves the changes to your body, but ends up being the one praised.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Whose longer hair you gently play with as he lays on you, assuring him it's not ridiculous for him to be unsure of his body. "All those changes are because you stopped being a vigilante. And you did that for me. For us." You tell him, giving him a new perspective when you rephrase it in a way that makes his heart ache. "It's proof you love us."

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who you kiss just as passionately no matter how his body changes after retirement because it was his charming, tenacious, compassionate soul you fell in love with.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who you pamper, squeezing the extra flesh on his stomach, loving how soft and comfortable it makes him feel. "You're an even better pillow now," you tell him, resting your head on his stomach or thighs which have gotten just a bit less lean.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who gets better about letting you see his body, wearing the shirts you like him in again or not wearing one at all when going to sleep so you can trace his scars or lay on him comfortably which he no longer shies away from.

Dilf Dick Grayson: Who you pounce on the second the doctor says it's okay to be intimate again, wanting to prove to him just how badly you still crave him. Maybe even more than before because now you were fully his, your husband, the father of your child. You'd never let anyone else love him as well.

Habits they break for you.

Bruce: His worst habit is the fact that he's utterly and completely unable to stop working for longer than 4 hours. And that's only because that's how long he sleeps each time. Learning to put down a file or let one of his kids handle something kills him at first, but for you, he learns.

Dick: His worst habit is his sleep. It's obscure. Unlike most of his family, who at the very least have some set pattern, he can never fall asleep at the same time two nights in a row. He'll go to sleep at 3 am one night, 6 am the next, sometimes pull an all nighter altogether. Learning to set his alarm and actually get up at the same time each day is frustrating as hell, but it's worth it if you're actually there when he wakes up instead of already at work.

Jason: His worst habit is smoking. Well, really it's the self destructive nature he embodies so well. But second to that, it's how many packs of cigarettes he goes through a week. You hate it. It gets to the point you cough when he tries to hug you. So, despite the withdrawal of it, he quits. And he thinks you don't even notice, at first. But you do. You hold him tighter, kiss him more often, and get to breathe him in without the smell making you wrinkle your nose.

Imagining Jason Todd who got turned into a cat Klarion the witch boy...(This is so random but I can't stop thinking about it???)

Cat Jason Todd: Who naturally got turned into a giant Maine Coon, weighing twenty pounds with a giant tail, bright yellow eyes, and massive paws.

Cat Jason Todd: Who scratched up half his family while they tried to run tests on him before they gave up and nearly broke your door down, throwing Jason on your couch barely muttering. "It's Jason, we're working on it," before leaving.

Cat Jason Todd: Who refuses to eat the cat food you try to give him and instead steals one of your French fries before hiding behind the drapes, giving a grumbling meow when you try to take it from him.

Cat Jason Todd: Who watches you do the dishes while you talk to him, promising him that his family will be able to figure it out and turn him back.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you realize will meow once for yes and twice for no when you ask a question which makes communication easier.

Cat Jason Todd: Who instinctively tries you make biscuits on your legs while laying next to you on the couch and immediately feels bad when he remembers he has claws and realizes he's hurting you.

Cat Jason Todd: Whose tail flicks in annoyance when you threaten to put a collar on him or give him a bath for scratching the carpet or stealing your favorite hair tie.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you struggle to pick up because of how massive he is in cat form, wrapping your arms around his fluff.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you pull close to you, petting him at night and laughing each time he purrs which he hates but can't help.

Cat Jason Todd: Who is humiliated by how much he enjoys having you hold him, scratching under his chin.

Cat Jason Todd: Who falls asleep purring, your hand still resting on him.

Jason Todd: Who wakes up as himself and feels relieved to be able to wrap his arms around you in the morning.

Jason Todd: Who presses a kiss to your forehead, thanking you for taking care of him, even if you did try to feed him tuna.

Pondering the idea of Single Dad Clark Kent (Either divorced or widowed.) (Massive age gap, but legal.) (Marry Christmas to those who celebrate!)

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who focused all of his energy into raising his kids to avoid thinking about his lack of a love life and was quite good at it until they all went away to college leaving him to think a lot about how lonely he is.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who is elated when his kids come home from college for breaks— even the short ones for Thanksgiving— and adores having them home for Christmas.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who was happy to host you for the holidays, who he'd heard quite a bit about over the past few months during phone calls to his kids because you were his adopted daughter Osul's roommate, but was shocked to see you were nothing like the person she'd described.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't help but let his gaze linger a bit on you, more so than he'd like, and pays extra close attention when you speak, chalking it up to being polite to make a good impression for his kids, especially Osul.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who finds you sitting in the kitchen sometimes, and talks with you, the conversation being easier with you than with half the dates his kids forced him to go on recently.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who listens intently when you explain why you don't want to go home for the holidays and feels sympathetic towards you for having to deal with your parents fighting.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who reminds himself every single day for two weeks straight that you're his daughter's age, not even old enough to drink, while he'd already had multiple kids, not to mention got married before you were even born.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't bring himself to stop imagining how soft your lips are every time he sees you sipping on a cup of Cocoa or biting into a gingerbread cookie.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who actually feels interested in someone for the first time in years, but won't allow himself to act on it because he's sure you'd think he's horrible for pursuing someone your age.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who convinces himself it's his imagination, even when you're blatantly flirting with him, even calling him handsome on more than one occasion with varrying degrees of humor in your tone.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't restrain himself anymore when the whole house is asleep and you're sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping on some hot chocolate.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who wipes the whipped cream off your nose, causing you to blush in a way that makes his heart leap and gets very quiet when you stare at him without speaking.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who leans in, waiting for you to stop him, giving you every opportunity for you to push him away, only for you to stay completely still until he finally kisses you.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who tastes the chocolate on your tongue and is immediately done for, already addicted to your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck while he stands in between your legs.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who has no idea how he'll look his daughter in the eyes tomorrow, but tells himself he'll worry about it in the morning because for now, he's putting himself first and finally indulging himself the way he'd wanted to do simce he first saw you.

Clark Kent who can't get hickeys or scratches but loves letting his partner try anyway.

He loves (half) watching a movie while you straddle his lap, your arms hooked around his neck, combing through his hair as you kiss and bite his neck. You like the feeling of his pulse under your lips, the slight shift in his breathing and the occasional groan when your teeth scrape his skin.

He'll turn his head slightly, still (sort of) paying attention to the movie while running his hands up and down your thighs or pushing your shirt up a bit to trail his fingers up and down your spine. It absolutely gets him worked but he tries to control himself as best he can.

For the most part, he's pretty good at it, but he'll still shift you slightly every once in a while when you accidentally rub against him too much, keeping you from eliciting any more unsolicited grunts from him.

But then, after about half of the movie is over, he can't help it any longer and always ends up letting it fade into the background, pulling your shirt all the way off and offering to "Show you how to correctly leave a hickey" as if you wouldn't give him dozens if his skin would take them.

In an instant all the anticipation that had been slowly building in him snaps and you're horizontal on the couch with him hovering over you, leaving bruises on your chest, trailing them down your stomach while you threaten to "Try leaving scratches on his back." Which sends a chill down his spine and brings a smile to his lip as he not only gives you permission to try, but encourages it.

He knows you can't break skin, even if you tried your hardest you couldn't possibly. But it definitely turned him on to think about letting you try.

Guys! Clark has started to invade too!!! Anyway, today I was thinking about Smallville Clark Kent (personal go to when thinking about the character) with a new neighbor from the city...

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Clark Kent: Who sees you by the fence, petting his family's horses, and doesn't recognize you, which is odd because he recognizes everyone in such a small town.

Clark Kent: Who quickly realizes from the way you dress to the lack of an accent that you're not just new in town, but from some larger city that probably has apartment buildings with more tenants than the entire town has people.

Clark Kent: Who brushes off your apology for petting the horses, which you'd only done because you've never seen any in real life and couldn't resist how sweet they looked.

Clark Kent: Who watches you insist on going home to unpack instead of keep talking, but runs into you at school the next day and offers to show you around.

Clark Kent: Who you offer a ride home in your car as a thank you for being an extremely patient tour guide.

Clark Kent: Who accepts, under the condition that you let him show you the town too and when you tell him you pretty much have with how small it is, shakes his head and tells you there's a lot of places people don't know about aside from him or a few other kids.

Clark Kent: Who not only shows you his favorite places the next time you're both free, but also says he would be glad to teach you to ride, if you ever wanted.

Clark Kent: Who is thrilled when you take him up on it and spends several hours on a trail with you at a calm pace, keeping close in case anything suddenly spooked your horse. Although they were incredibly good horses so there weren't any problems.

Clark Kent: Who was fascinated by watching you slowly get more accustomed to the town—wearing clothes that were from a local boutique instead of a designer brand, engaging in the rather silly but beloved town traditions, even cutting off some of the friends from the city who you realized weren't really your friends at all after they once visited and immediately started making fun of Clark and his friends.

Clark Kent: Who was surprised at first, when you showed up at his family's door one day asking to help with the animals, but quickly got used to you coming over to help him feed or bathe them, which you claimed was your way of thanking him for the riding lessons but he suspected you just wanted an excuse to be with the animals.

Clark Kent: Who knew you'd fit in with his friends after they got over their own prejudice of you being rude or pretentious because you're from the city and likes hanging out with you with them but likes it just as much, maybe more, when everyone leaves and you're able to stay a bit longer in the barn.

Clark Kent: Who leans out the window next to you, enjoying the breeze as the sun sets and tells you he's glad you moved to Smallville.

Clark Kent: Who sees you shudder from the cold and instantly wraps his jacket around you, conveniently ignoring your blushing cheeks in case he was misreading the situation.

Clark Kent: Who still carefully tucks a piece of hair out of your face—while the voice in head screams not to ruin things—just to see it better and wets his lip while staring at yours.

Clark Kent: Who leans in slowly, waiting for the moment you'd slap him and walk out for daring to try something with you, but only sees you leaning in too.

Clark Kent: Who kisses you for the first time while you're in the barn, wearing his jacket, but promises himself then and there that it wouldn't be the last.

thinking about pervert!clark kent and my brain is allll fuzzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫

pervert!clark . . . would definitely use his x-ray vision to peek under your clothes and see your lingerie, he can’t help himself, you always have the cutest lace sets, it’s like you do it on purpose just for him. delicate lace hugging your soft skin, sheer fabrics barely covering you, tiny little bows and intricate details that he knows you chose carefully. he’s memorized every lace pattern, every bow, every strap placement. that he could sketch them blindfolded, that he knows which sets are your favorites, which ones you wear when you’re feeling confident, playful, soft.

pervert!clark . . . would use his heightened senses to smell everything about you. from the soap you use, perfume, even your natural scent. it’s addicting to him and he can’t get enough of you. he’d always be standing just a bit too close, savoring it all. he might even smell areas you were just sitting or standing just to inhale the vanilla warmth of your lotion, the floral sweetness of your perfume, the fresh, clean scent of your shampoo.

pervert!clark . . . would listen in on your private conversations or alone time. he’d overhear you sharing secrets to your friends, possibly about him. your voice dropping into a hush, playful, teasing, as you talk about him. about how he’s so tall, broad, strong. about how his voice does something to you, how his hands are so big, how you can’t stop thinking about him, how you wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him—

pervert!clark . . . he’d overhear your intimate time, listening in on your moans as you touch yourself to thoughts of him. those soft little gasps, the hitch in your breath, the way your sheets rustle, the way your voice catches when you try to stay quiet. the way you whimper his name, the way you sigh, the way your heartbeat spikes. he’s already rock hard, just listening to you fall apart for him—without him even being there. even while you’re in the shower, he’s outside the door—listening, the soft hum of a song you don’t even realize you’re singing, the sighs of relaxation when the heat soaks into your muscles, he’s probably getting off too as he uses his x-ray vision to see through the walls. and he tries not to. he really does. but then you sigh, body shifting under the heat of the water, and he caves. his x-ray vision flickers on. and there you are—completely bare, steam curling around your skin, water tracing paths down every curve. you have no idea. no idea that clark is right outside your door, stroking his dick, his grip tight as he chases his orgasm, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. no idea that he’s watching you, hearing you, soaking in every fucking second. that if you even cracked that door open, you’d see him standing there—flushed, panting, wrecked just from looking at you.

pervert!clark . . . with his super speed could disappear right before your eyes, and you’d never know he was there. he’d be in your room, possibly watching you sleep as he fucks his fist in the dark corners of your room. it’s too easy to be right here, in your space, watching over you while you’re completely unaware. and fuck—you look so soft. so peaceful. so vulnerable. he’d probably open up your closet or drawers needing to feel a piece of your clothing between his hands, even the smell of you, he’d hold the shirt up to his face, palming himself through his sweats as he breathes you in, again and again, inhaling the sweet smell as it conveniently muffles the desperate little moans slipping past his lips.

pervert!clark . . . would sneak into your room while you’re gone, running his hands over your blankets or pillows. the satin sheets feeling like liquid under his fingertips. then he does what he always does—he buries his face in your pillow, inhaling deeply, letting your scent fill his lungs like it’s something he physically needs to survive. would you feel his presence in your sheets when you slide into bed tonight? would you toss and turn, restless, wondering why your skin tingles, why your breath comes just a little quicker?

clark hopes so….

a/n ; i have so many thoughts for this cause our boy ck is already a bit of a freak and i’m alr thinking of a part two 🫣 lmk if you guys like ! show me luvv 😚

you had how many kids? (141 + more)

long post - sorry!

captain john price -

the first time price sank his cock into you. it was game over. you are probably going to end up with at least six kids running around a big piece of land in the center of the british isle. equal split between three girls and three boys. the price genes must be strong because they all look like spitting images of their father.

price loves his wife though, he just thinks you're the sweetest thing since honey. after you put the kids to bed and you're in your bedroom, your darling husband can't help but hold onto you by the hips and maybe rub up against you. your softness, so motherly. it almost makes his mouth water. he tries to convince you for baby number seven but you just tell him that there's no way that's happening. but price is a cunning man and maybe a few mind blowing orgasms will change your mind.

simon 'ghost' riley -

your daughter was an accident. it was simon's last night at home before he got deployed again. and he spent that entire night sunk into your sweet cunt. you'd find out a month into his deployment that you were pregnant. worried about telling him, you kept it to yourself. you were anxious about the news throwing him off his game and him getting hurt. he needed to come home alive.

when he came home, he made sure he treated his missus right. while the pregnancy was a bit of a shock, he made sure he made up for lost time. and while that often had you on your back. it almost meant being spoiled by your husband. your daughter was close to being the biggest the hospital had delivered. you two would be content with your daughter, who took mostly after you. but within five years she would be going around proclaiming that she was going to be a big sister!

john 'soap' mactavish -

oh johnny was a smart man. he knew what he wanted and he got it with ease. he wanted to take you back home, settle you down in a night place in edinburgh. he was thinking in the stockbridge neighbourhood, where you and him could raise your kids in peace. the first time he held you in a mating press he knew that he wanted to be the father to your (many) children. he'd take care of ya, never let the mother of his children be without. he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips, a seal of his promise. you end up with two boys, only eleven months apart (the look you got from your doctor when she found out you were pregnant so soon). they were mactavish boys that was for sure. their father's dark hair and he winning smile.

johnny does want a daughter however, he imagined she'd be a spitting image of you. while he loved his boys, there was no question about that, he thought a daughter would complete your little family. curious eyes like yours, that beautiful smile. as he kissed your neck and dug his fingers into your soft hips. maybe he could convince you in a few years to try for one.

kyle 'gaz' garrick -

kyle never thought that he would've ever been a father. when he signed up for service, he didn't expect to be done with that role well beyond when it would be suitable to be a father. so your son was an accident. he could almost pinpoint the night of his conception. he was home from abroad and the two of you spent the entire night (and the following morning) becoming requited with your bodies. you giggled when he showed off his more toned muscles and his fingers got tangled in your hair. his dark eyes felt familiar, like home, under the soft light of your bedroom. The resulting time together produced his son.

you don't end up with a big family, while you two live in a decently sized home just outside the city he is content with it just being the three of you. he'd rather be the best parent to one then worse off to more. he was a good father to his son, proud of the little baby. even when he woke you both up at all hours of the night. it was life and kyle was happy. but when your son turned five, you had something to share with kyle. you were pregnant again. he had to admit, after that, the idea of having a few more kids wasn't a bad idea.

bonus! bonus! bonus!

phillip graves -

oh phillip wants a full house. he didn't buy that nice piece of land outside of houston for show. big yard, white picket fence, in a safe neighourhood (can't have you getting hurt!). he'd be living out his all american dream. so when you ended up pregnant five months after marriage with twins, he was beyond happy. he thought your pregnant body was beautiful, even well into your second trimester he was fucking that sweet cunt of yours. telling you how good of a mama you were.

phillip thought you were the best thing since sliced bread. even when the aches and pains of pregnancy come and go, he'd making sure that his wife is good. if he can't be around, he sends his shadows to make sure that you and the kiddos are alright. so expect a big, loving all american family. you'd never thought you'd be spending your twenties caring for almost five kids!

col. alejandro vargas -

alejandro wants you safe. and you being pregnant can cause some issues. it makes you a target, so you packed up your life and headed somewhere more quiet. most information about you was redacted from public and private records. he even went as far as to change your name and identification. it was for you, for him and for the daughter you eventually had. but despite that, when alejandro returned home. he was the shadow to your daughter. she knew who her daddy was. eventually when he can get out of the snare of the military, he was home. your little place in the middle of nowhere, he promised to protect you and your little bundle.

the times he visited while you were pregnant though. he loved to run his hands up and down your swollen middle. he smiled at you, almost proud of what he did to you. while you'd in the end have only your daughter, it was a complete home. and don't worry, after your daughter's birth he is more than willing to show how much he loved his sweet wife.

rodolfo "rudy" parra -

oh rudy, sweet rudy. he couldn't help himself. the first time you fucked, or rather made love, he knew he wanted to breed that pussy of yours. he was using a condom, but he could picture himself doing it bare backed. the feeling of your slippery cunt tight around him. nothing protecting you from accidents. he'd often daydream on his off time about the three kids you had. he had even picked names out for them, but he'd get your input on it as well. after all you were the beautiful woman who was carrying them. such a good wife to him.

he left the military when you got pregnant, as did you. life became less about the violent conflicts and more about raising your son. he was a quiet baby, and rudy adored him. he also adored his beautiful wife who worked so hard to give him his son. he reminded you of that often. you do end up with those three kids within a five year gap and rudy couldn't be happier.

könig-

oh, könig. he knew that you'd be carrying a big baby. like look at him, he towered over you and could easily bench you in your third trimester. so he wasn't expecting a whole army of children. one very large boy was enough for him. the 99th percentile. but he was there the entire time, he made sure that you were taken care of. he felt safe having his larger body up against yours, protecting it. he'd rub your belly with his large hand. even if you were very pregnant, you still were small compared to him.

he loves his son, obviously. the first time he held him, he almost cried. he was a father now. he had a wife and a child, a home to call his home and a place to feel safe. he was an attentive father, he was used to being up early. so you got to sleep in while he checked in on your son. he made sure to teach him german, english and a few of the other languages he had picked up. he was going to make sure his son knew all about the world. he was a proud father!

Hello! Since I read your Yandere stories, my head began to ask these questions, how many children do our yanderes want to have for us? Would they get a little jealous when our babies are feeding from us?

Hii Dear Anon!

First of all I'm glad you liked my content, thank you! And secondly, your question is very good Anon, although this will be a bit short, I hope you like it! 🖤

How many children would the yanderes have with reader? Would they be jealous of their children?

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Masterlist

Yandere Farmer Link

This man definitely wants lots of kids, five or six at the very least and about nine or ten at the most, I think he'd mostly prefer to have boys (since he thinks they're easier to handle) but he wouldn't mind having one or two girls, he has a big farm so he doesn't worry about space and he makes enough money from the cattle and crops to support them all.

As for being jealous of his children when they're breastfed or jealous in general, I don't think so. I honestly don't think he's the "Stay away son, she's mine" type but he also wouldn't let you have much time with the kids especially if they're boys since if you spoil them too much he thinks you'll make them "weak" and "mama's boys" which he doesn't want, so when they learn to walk he'll take them with him to do the farm chores.

"The kids are coming to work with me today. What if they're three and four? That's the perfect age to start getting to know everything, don't question me."

Yandere Cowboy Link

He would want at least 3 children, two boys and a girl, although he might want more, depending on his mood.

And regarding getting jealous when watching his child eat or in general, I think he would get a little jealous, although he would try to be playful and downplay it, saying things like "He's a little chubby, don't you think you feed him too much?" Or "Look, it's 1 PM, isn't it time for a nap? Come on, son, it's time to sleep." Of course you don't let him take the baby away, it's not his bedtime yet.

"Baby doll, when I was a child I was fed and put to sleep at any hour even if I didn't want to, and look at me, everything turned out fine!"

Yandere Dilf Link

This poor man wants to have two girls, two little princesses that look like you, he already has one son so you'd rather have girls but he doesn't care if one is a boy or if they both end up being boys (although not having a daughter that looks like you would break his heart) he's one of the few yanderes that promises to have only two children and keeps it. He doesn't force you to have more even if the ones you give birth to aren't the gender he wanted.

Well now I don't think he would get jealous of his children while breastfeeding, rather I think he would touch the baby's head while breastfeeding even leaving kisses on its chubby cheek, although seeing you breastfeeding might excite him a little (he has a thing for tits and milk, okay?) but he wouldn't try anything at that moment on the contrary he would try to hide it.

"You're so pretty little girl... look at that little nose and those round cheeks... you're so precious sweetheart... just like your mommy"

Yandere Sugar Daddy Link

Another one who wants to have two kids, only he wants to have a pair a boy and a girl, no more kids, just two. Not one more, not one less. I think he would have favoritism with his girl and the boy would be more attached to you as a result.

He would get jealous, he doesn't even want to hide it, although he would be more mean if the one you were breastfeeding was the boy, he would stare from the leather chair right in front of you, watch you rub the baby's head while he eats and make comments like "You don't rub my head when I suck on your boobs, don't rub his head either" or "You know there are high end milks on the market made from breast milk, why don't we try giving him that instead of your milk?" if you scold him or look at him the wrong way he would throw up his hands in surrender and say in an offended voice.

"Hey! Don't look at me like that! You should be grateful that I care, that brat will make your tits sag!"

You know, Tangerine would absolutely love having an innocent gf that he can be all protective of, he’s an assassin but we all know he’s secretly a big ol softie that wants to be loved and is touch starved 🥹 Like he’d so love that she feels safe with him and he would end anyone who so much as made her cry🥹

sorry for responding so late babes! but YES. 🥹

˚｡⋆୨୧˚ tangerine is such a protective mf, and I feel like he likes that balance of having someone to protect and love outside of his job <3

˚｡⋆୨୧˚ he takes protecting you/taking care of you very seriously. you do everything else for him, let him do this for you kinda deal! he adores you, and he wants you to be as comfy and happy as you could be.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚ he lovessss his gf because like you said, he loves the attention and care that you give him when no one else (‘cept lemon ofc) has given him such love.

˚｡⋆୨୧˚ it’s shocking to him how much he longs for your touch when he’s away. because he was so hesitant for you to even touch him at first, hesitant to let you love him. But after time, it got better, and he was shocked at how much he missed it all when he had to leave! man’s never realized just how touch starved he was

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Yandere!Count Vronsky x F!Reader!Wife ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Anna Karenina ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 3.6k ✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ This was given to me by the lovely @bettytaylorversion || Okay, okay I'm lately obsessed with yandere Count Vronsky, so how about yan Vronsky suspecting that his wife is seeing someone or like in love with someone and it doesn't help when his mother keeps feeding his suspicions so he ends up locking the wife/reader up in their house in countryside/ another country house where no one can reach them and where he makes sure his beloved wife knows exactly how much he loves her. ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Dead Dove Do Not Eat | Yandere Count | Possessive Count | Aggressive Count | Stalker Count | Demanding Count | Accusations of Cheating | Toxic Mother | False ideas | False Suspicions from mother | Toxic Marriage? | Isolation of Reader | Slapping | Pushing or Shoving | Yelling | Slamming doors | Gripping readers throat | Passionate making out | Throwing reader on bed | Stripping reader | Unprotected PiV | Aggressive sex | Reader fights a bit but stops fighting | Dub-Con? | insinuated Cream Pie | Crying Reader | Fluff | Reader questions if she loves him at the end | Relationship conflictions | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I've been wanting to write for him for a long while! Thank you love for this request! I hope this is along the lines of what you were hoping for... Sorry if it doesn't hit exactly what you're looking for but I tried!!! Anywho.... I hope this brings you some joy. ✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ TIME PASSER DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @voxmortuus ✧*̥˚ IMAGE CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @peachyspaceslvt ✧*̥˚ ATJ TAGLIST: *̥˚✧ @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It was this gnawing feeling, this feeling of dread, sorrow, a pain in his gut he couldn't shake. Watching you go as he leaned against the window frame, he knew where you were going. He knew, he just had this gut feeling that he couldn't quite shake. It ate at his heart, it ate at his brain, it was like these cogs and wheels working, but not in a way of rationality. His thoughts were completely irrational. Looking out that window as your carriage vanished into the thick fog of the dawn, he felt so lost, so angry. He wasn't happy, and not happy may be quite an understatement.

Placing a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips he grabbed a match from the fireplace and lit it. The smoke bellowed above, tossing the match into the fire he turned to see his mother sitting at the table.

"She does not have love for you anymore, Alexei." She stated. Her tone appeared caring, honest, maybe even having pity, but it was just because she didn't like you.

"She must love me. That is my wife, she must." He stated he didn't seem demanding about it, he seemed sad, heartbroken even.

"But she does not. She will never love you as she loves him. What married woman is happy with her husband? She has grown bored of you. Had she not she would not go to him as she does." She points out.

His heart, if it was a glass a cat had pushed off the counter it would have shattered. He only hoped that you were as enraptured by him as he was about you. He looked up at the wall, the painting of you seemed to be watching. He closed his stormy blue eyes and looked back at his mother.

"She does love me. I know it to be true. You speak lies, like a snake in the garden." He snapped and walked to the table and had taken a sip from the slightly sweetened tea he had poured only moments before your leaving. Sitting there he tapped his smoke against a small crystal ashtray and his mind became overrun, thinking of everything his mother had stated. Thinking of those possibilities. What were you doing? Were you spreading your legs for him? Was he satisfying you? Were you unhappy with him? Did you not love him? Did you grow bored of him? He rubbed his lip a moment as he took another drag before looking at his mother.

"When she comes home, I will settle this." He stated. Taking the cup and his almost-gone smoke and had vanished to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed after putting the cup on the bedside table and looks over your side of the bed. It was too much, these feelings he had, it was like they were just bubbling up, ready to overflow and put out the fire that kept the pot lit. Feeling the stinging in his nose from the slight anger he ran his hand through his curly blonde locks and his jaw clenched as he put his smoke out in the ashtray and grabbed his clothes for getting dressed before he slammed the bedroom door.

His mother had heard the slam and had made her way to the room. Letting herself in she looked over him and sighed. "I just want what is best for you."

"I said I would take care of it. I do not need your help. She is my wife, not yours." He sort of snapped.

"You are right, she is your wife. And your wife is off with another man, spreading her legs and enjoying her time away from you. So how are you going to handle that Alexei?" She asked.

"I will take her away from here. I will take her far away from everyone. Including you." He snapped. "Now if you do not mind, I am getting dressed. Go find something else to bother." He snarled slightly as he escorted her out of the doorway and closed and locked the bedroom door.

Looking out the bedroom window and looking over the garden, he watched the flowers bob from the heaviness of the heads that were filled with the morning dew. It was something so simple, and yet even looking at their beauty, he saw you, he saw your smile, your smooth skin, your curves, he saw how your hair fell, that glow in your eyes when you were happy. You had to love him, why was he questioning it? Why was he standing there, looking out on those flowers questioning if you loved him?! With a clenched jaw and a knitted brow, he threw open the closet door and grabbed his attire for the day.

After fastening the last button on his coat, he makes his way back to the kitchen- it's like he doesn't want to acknowledge the other parts of the home without you here. Feeling lost, and one track minded. He didn't like that you were gone, it loomed over him like a dark cloud heavy with rain looms over the dirt countryside roads. He needed to know where you were going. He needed to know what you were doing. He needed to know what you were saying. Were you tired of him? Were you unhappy? It just gnawed at him like a beaver gnawing on a log.

Why was this even a feather of a thought? It's not that he didn't want you to have friends, it's just, why did they have to be male friends? And even then, it wasn't the idea of male friends that bothered him, it was the embedded, plated thoughts from the snake in the garden that made him believe that you were unhappy, that you were not in love with him any longer, that you were looking for a way out of this relationship. Well, that was going to be nipped in the bud right away. There was going to be no second-guessing it, not after this.

He decided to gather himself a little more and decided to head out to find you. He had these questions that needed answers. He turned to look at his mother who was still there. "Watch the house while I am away. We will be gone for a while." He states. His mother went to speak but before she could retort with a comment he was out the door and off to the stables.

After a few hours of looking and getting a general idea of where you were he stopped, getting off the carriage he approached, standing a good distance behind as you stood there, talking to another man. Oh, this did not sit well with him, but he watched and observed. With a lick of his lips and a look of heartache, as you touched the other man's face, he couldn't help but feel that slithering snake of a mother of his was right.

The more he watched, the more you laughed, the closer this man seemed to be getting to you, and the more it climbed up him like ivy claiming lattice fencing. This green envious monster coils around his every nerve, his nostrils flair as he walks toward you and clears his throat, but you don't pay much attention until he grabs your arm and pulls you to him.

You gasp and look over his face. "My Love, what are you doing here?" You ask him.

"I could ask you the very same." He states. His stare was cold, his stare pained, and his stare… it bore into you like a hot glue gun into plastic.

"I am just out with a friend, we do this every week. It means nothing." You state honestly.

"Does it? Does it really mean nothing? You were touching his face, and laughing with him like you do with me. Do I not make you happy anymore? Have you grown bored and weary of me?" He asks you with a small shake in his voice almost as if holding back tears.

"Of course you make me happy, why would you ask such a thing?" you respond back looking into his stormy blue hues.

His jaw clenches and he looks at your friend and back to you. "We are leaving." He states as if dismissing you from your date with your male friend.

"What? No. Alexei, no." you stated.

"I do not know him, nor do I like how you were touching him, we are going somewhere. You'll like it. Get in." he states and gestures to the carriage.

"Alexei, no." You state firmly.

He clenches his jaw and looks over you. "Do not make me put you in there myself. Now. Be a good wife, and get in the carriage." He snarls lowly.

Licking your lips you look over his face and let out a slight breath before getting into the carriage. Feeling the shake of the carriage from the door closing. Placing your hands in your lap you look down, studying them a moment before you close your eyes almost in defeat, and wonder where he is taking you. It was clear he wasn't taking you home. Why was he suddenly acting this way? What was it that made him feel like you were unhappy? You began to study yourself, you even began to question yourself. But why? His actions alone.

His actions just then made you question if this was really where you needed to be. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that maybe he was seeing something you were not seeing. Were you really happier with your friend than you were with him? Was he not seeing how much you loved him? Were you really doing something bad? You turn back and look at him as he stops the carriage and climbs into the back of it with you as someone else takes over. Someone he had paid to drop you both off and take the carriage back to the house.

You sit there, in silence, and you study him, you study his face, his eyes, how his jaw twitches, how his brow knits, how his eyes seem to be full of sorrow, and maybe is that hate? You look down, and you think about all you've done, but you can't help but shake your head. You love this man, and he was blind to false things. Was there a way to fix it? Was there a way to get him to see that you love him just as much as he loves you?

"Where are we going? There is nothing for miles." You point out looking out the little window of the carriage door.

"We're going someplace secluded." He states.

"Secluded? Whatever for?" You ask with a slight bit of worry in your tone.

"Enough with the questions, you will see when we get there." He states, short in his tone.

You lick your lips and hike a brow before looking back down at your lap and letting out a slight sigh. You feel this could get problematic.

By the time you get to where you were going, the sun had already set and come back up. You look over his face as he offers to help you off the carriage. Your jaw clenches and you shake your head.

"Are you serious? Why are we here? We are days away from home at this rate Alexie." You point out.

HE shakes his head and looks at you and looks over the country home before looking back at you. "You will survive. This is for a reason."

"THIS IS ABSURD!" You scream. The only thing you cause to stir is birds out in the field. Your jaw clenches and you look over him shoving past him and heading toward the inside.

He sighs slightly and shakes his head, he isn't expecting you to understand. Rubbing his brow a moment he looks up at the gray skies and then over on the vast rolling fields of nothing. A small smile creeps across his face as he listens to the front door being slammed. Another soft sigh escapes his lips as he heads toward the house.

Upon walking in he looks around and spots you standing there in the living room. As he walks toward you to join you, you turn and look at him.

"What is all of this about?" You ask.

"You need to see how much love I have for you. I cannot do that back there." He stated honestly.

"So you isolate me?!" You raise your tone.

"Yes! It keeps you away from another man touching you!" He snaps.

"NO ONE ELSE IS TOUCHING ME!" You snap back.

"HOW DO I KNOW?!" He steps closer to you.

"No. You don't get to ask me that question! How do you not see that I love you!? I have always loved you!" You snarl as you step forward challenging him.

"Well, I suppose now you can show me just how much you love me as I show you how much I love you." He stated coldly.

"Don't be so pigeon-livered." You growl to yourself. "You're being a floozer Alexei. What has ever gotten into you?" You ask him.

"Are you really going to throw insults at me? Pigeon-livered? Floozer? Do not." He grips your arm and pulls you close. "Do not cross me."

You shove him and look over his face. "Or what?" You ask with a tightly knitted brow. "What are you going to do?"

Stretching his neck from left to right he licks his lips and his jaw clenched.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!" You snapped.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!" He snapped back. He began to pace. "All I ever do is shower you with love and attention, I do nothing but prove to you how much you mean to me. I make sure you always put your best forward. And you do this. Run off with another man doing god knows what." He states.

Crossing your arms over your chest you stare at him a moment and blink a few times. "Are you blinded by your own selfishness right now? Can you not see past your own nose? I am not laying with another man Alexei! I have never laid with another man!" you snap.

"HOW DO I KNOW THAT?!" He snaps. "How do I know that?" He asked you. A complete and utter look of defeat sprawled across his features.

Walking to him you slap him across the face. Not once, but twice. Reaching forward he grips your throat and moves you through the house. Kicking open a door he shoves you into the bedroom and starts to unbutton his jacket. Looking over you his eyes hungry. His snarl was fierce, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear the bones grinding and you could feel the flex of his jaw. You try to shove past him but that wasn't happening.

"What are you going to do rape me Alexei?" You ask.

He scoffed and looked over at you. "Do you think that little of me? Strip." He demands.

"No." You cross your arms. At this point, you were fighting him to fight, how far could you push?

"I said strip!" He demands again. Walking to you he spins you around and starts to untie your skirt.

Layer by layer you fight, until you are both stripped down to mere thin layers. Tears staining your face, you look over him and shake your head, a small thumping sound of your heart feeling like it was echoing in the room.

"All I have ever wanted was for you to love me. You have to love me, you must love me." He states. He steps closer to you, looking over you he grips your face and pulls you near. "You will love me. You will." He states firmly.

Scared at this point you cannot find your words. He presses his lips to yours and at first, you give in, you cave, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply, lovingly, longing for that affection he wanted to give you, but then you start to push away, saddened by the fact that he couldn't believe you, that he had no trust in you.

"No…" You start to push away, but you didn't want him to at the same time, it was this conflicting feeling.

"Do not tell me no, you want this…" he points out as he listens to your breathing.

You have no means of responding.

"I'm not taking that as a no." he states.

You give him a cold stare, looking over his face, his lips press against yours and you shove him back, and he throws you to the bed. You bounce once before he climbs on top of you and looks you over. He tilts his head and looks over your face and takes your wrists and places them above your head and looks over your face intently.

You attempt to wiggle free but he hovers over you, his body pressed against yours. In one hand he has your hands gripped together, in the other hand hikes up your skirt, he looks over you, and he leans in and nips at your lips. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you close your eyes. Shaking your head you begin to breathe heavier. It felt good, his hands on you, it always felt good, but there was this sense of fight that also washed over you.

As his lips found your neck he kissed up your neck to your jaw, finding your lips. While you loved his affection, you were terrified. Literally scared of him.

"Get off of me." you demand.

"Let me show you. See how much I love you." He takes your hand and places it on his hard cock. "This is how much I love you." He states.

You pull your hand away and turn your head in another direction. His senses overwhelm him, and unable to control himself he groans softly as he presses himself against you. You turn your head away from him, maybe checking out, but at the same time ever so present in this moment. As he thrusts himself into you you take in a deep breath. A whimper leaves your lips as a groan leaves his.

Looking over you he observes your features as he turns your face to look at him, leaning in he kisses you again. And it was then you cave, just a little. Your lips pressed against his, your hand moved up his arms to his hair and you pull him closer. Your hips roll against his thrusts and you begin to whimper against his lips. The feeling of him against you was something you always loved. Truthfully you never questioned this man's love for you. But you were conflicted because of how he was coming at you. You didn't know if you should fight him, or cave to him a little more.

The more he thrusts the harder he becomes in his motions, the more you fight. But the more you fight, the more he growls, it was a conflicting feeling all over again and you aren't sure what to do, it was overwhelming. You push him away, shoving him but he pulls you closer.

Feeling your body flush against his you let out another soft whimper. You move your hands to his shoulders as you feel him thrust deeper into you, your moans escaping you were almost pained but yet pleasure-filled. Your hips rolled against his as he continued to thrust with a fever. He pulls you even closer to him, pulling you into his lap as he guides you along his stiffened cock, nuzzling into you, nipping and biting at you.

The moans fill the bedroom, bouncing off the windows and the walls, and while you might be fighting him because of his choice of actions, this man was your life. You kiss him deeply as you both moan in pure pleasure. Your bodies collide in such a raw motion. Thrust after thrust, grunt, and groan after grunt and groan, screams of pure euphoria leaving you both. It all came to a halt with a trembling body-shaking finish, feeling as his cock twitched inside of you as hot ribbons of seed coat your velvet walls. He snarled against your skin, and you bring a hand across his face, and you begin to cry.

Holding you close, he looks down at you, smoothing your hair he presses his face against you.

"Shh… now now, everything is alright. I love you, so much." He whispers. "You have to love me back, you just have to." he says softly.

"I… I do love you, Alexei. I do. I wish you would see that." you say between sniffles.

He holds you close, nuzzling against you. "Shall we draw you a bath?" He asks.

Nodding your head he looks over your face and nods. "I shall draw you a bath. Think about what I said." He states.

"Are you isolating me? From everyone?" you ask as he gets up and slips his pants back on.

With a firm stare, he looks over you. "I am, and it's for our own good. You won't be seeing him, we will stay here as long as it takes." He states truthfully.

And like that, your heart becomes conflicted, you love this man, but you feel scared of this man… but then you look at him, and you don't feel afraid anymore. You just want him to see that you do love him. It's conflicting, and it's terrifying, you love him, but is it true? Staying here, you're only choice is to grow to love him. But that's been his goal all along, for you to love him, and for him to show you in so many ways how he loves you.

Another f1 text au! This one was actually quite fun, it's f1 drivers reacting to you using memes of them in your chats.

BY THE WAY NO SLANDER TO PEOPLE WHO COMMENT FREAKY STUFF ON THE DRIVERS POSTS LIKE YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT NOT MY PROBLEM YOU DO YOU 😭

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

omg did you see Steven's new Instagram post?

the comments seem to think he cut his hair but I think it looks like just in a ponytail. only time will tell though and, with how little he posts, idk if we ever will find out if he cut it

but!! even if he did, look how adorable he is! ♡

I wish i was that girl :'(

the lion and the golden retriever snippet

would you maybe be willing to write a lance stroll x fem! reader where she’s a driver and at some gala everyone is all dressed up and they’re like “how did he pull????” but they’re just so in love he doesn’t care! ty! never requested anything before lol!

Lance stroll x driver!reader

a/n: as i was writing this i fell in love w the concept so I’m going to be writing a longer imagine for this AU

—-----------------------------------------

The relationship between you and Lance was something that a lot of people just couldn’t understand. Lance was chill, not one to stir the pot, usually keeping to himself. You were loud, always in the media chirping another driver, always wearing something borderline inappropriate when the paparazzi caught you on a night out. You should have been with someone like Lando, someone who matched your energy but the second you made the jump to F1 and met Lance, you decided that you had to have him. 

He was quiet around you at first, always letting you do the talking and wondering why you wouldn't leave him alone. It took Fernando finally taking pity and enlightening him on the fact that you were definitely into him. The next time he saw you, he mentioned maybe grabbing something to eat, and the rest was history. He was your polar opposite in every single way, but it worked - he balanced you out perfectly. 

Tonight was the F1 75 launch event and you were dressed in a floor length navy dress posing next to Lance on the red carpet. The dress was definitely cut too low and the slit too high up your leg, but the way Lance’s eyes darkened when he saw you made it worth it. 

"You're going to kill me in that dress," Lance whispered against your ear as you posed for another photo, his hand resting possessively on your lower back.

The room sparkled with crystal chandeliers, the elite of Formula 1 mingling in designer suits and gowns.

You caught the stares immediately—the raised eyebrows, the whispers behind champagne flutes. Lance Stroll, heir to billions, with the paddock's wild child. Fernando winked at you from across the room while Charles and Pierre exchanged glances that screamed "how did that happen?"

"They're all looking at us," Lance murmured, his lips close to your ear.

"Let them look," you replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one to him. "I like being the most interesting thing in the room."

Lance chuckled, that private laugh that only you could pull from him as he gazed down adoringly at you. You saw your teammate, Yuki, wave at you so you turned to Lance, promising him to be right back. 

Lance watched as you walked away, barely noticing as Lando came up to him. 

“To this day, I still don’t know how you bagged her,” Lando teased, shaking his head. Lance laughed, tearing his gaze away from you. 

“You and me both man,” he answered honestly. 

As you chatted with Yuki about setup changes for the upcoming season, you felt Lance's eyes on you from across the room. You caught his gaze and gave him a little wink, causing him to blush slightly. That shy reaction, even after months together, still made your heart skip.

"You two are disgusting," Yuki said, rolling his eyes but smiling. "Like, actually sickening."

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you," you teased, bumping his shoulder playfully.

Max sauntered over, champagne in hand. "The paddock's princess and the billionaire's son. You have to admit it's like something out of a Netflix series."

"Maybe they'll give us our own show," you quipped. 

Lance and Lando made there way towards your little group and you instantly moved into his side, leaning your head slightly into his chest. By now he was used to your insistent PDA, even though he personally didn’t care for it. 

“Did you know I asked y/n at least five times before you guys started dating?” Lando asked Lance, causing you to roll your eyes. Lance gave you an amused look, not taking Lando’s bait to get jealous. 

“I’m not surprised,” he said, tracing his finger along your waist. “She is the most beautiful driver by far.” 

“I think Charles might have me beat,” you said with a snort. “You’re too crazy Norris, it never would have worked.”

“I’m too crazy?” He said, shocked. “There are literally pictures of you skinny dipping last week in the press right now.” 

You shrugged, “Exactly. We would have caused the end of the world.” You looked back at Lance, your gaze softening. “I wanted calm.” 

Lance smiled, pulling you a little closer. “And I wanted chaos,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess we even each other out.”

Lando groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “This is unbearable. I need another drink.”

Max smirked. “I think it’s sweet. Weird, but sweet.”

Yuki rolled his eyes. “It’s terrifying. Like watching a lion fall in love with a golden retriever.”

You laughed, leaning fully into Lance’s embrace. “If anything, he’s the golden retriever.”

Lance just shrugged, unconcerned with the commentary from your friends. “Doesn’t really matter what any of you think,” he said simply, his hand smoothing over the fabric of your dress. “She’s mine.”

The conversation stilled for a second, Lando pretending to gag while Max smirked in amusement, but you just tilted your chin up at Lance, a teasing smile on your lips. “That I am.”

For all the questioning glances, the whispered how did he pull that? remarks, Lance never wavered. He never let it get to him because at the end of the day, he was the one taking you home. And no amount of curiosity or speculation would change the fact that you were his, just as much as he was yours.

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

—---------------------------------------------------

Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it. 

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you. 

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table. 

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?” 

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around. 

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them. 

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. 

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely. 

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle. 

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.” 

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you. 

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.” 

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before? 

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him. 

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort. 

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up. 

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head. 

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger. 

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.” 

“You’re insane,” Lando said. 

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off. 

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up. 

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him. 

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained. 

“Not that far,” he said amused. 

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled. 

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact. 

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in. 

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out. 

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer. 

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat. 

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate. 

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused. 

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible. 

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?” 

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.” 

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”  

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game. 

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track. 

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking. 

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted. 

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied. 

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face. 

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.” 

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.” 

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.” 

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing. 

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy. 

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed. 

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed. 

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment. 

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward. 

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you. 

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers. 

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track. 

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.  

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you. 

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.” 

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators. 

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?” 

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked. 

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed. 

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around. 

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on. 

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on. 

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.” 

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?” 

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos. 

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed. 

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that. 

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.” 

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.” 

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded. 

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.” 

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep. 

WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE.

pairing. Pedro Pascal x younger! fem! reader

synopsis. you and Pedro do the we listen and we don’t judge trend.

warnings. mention of age gap (late 20s/late 40s), short fic.

babs’ notes. guys ik this trend isn’t trend anymore but i just had to write it

EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT IT, you were a chronically online person. You weren’t particularly proud of it, but the constant stream of trends on TikTok was enough to keep you entertained for hours.

You loved to post mini vlogs and grwms videos on TikTok. It was fun to do, and the bonus money it brought in was a welcome perk. The creative process of filming, editing, and sharing snippets of your life with the world brought you a sense of joy and fulfillment.

On the other hand, Pedro was content with simply posting stories on Instagram. Being an older man, his Instagram was a bit chaotic, yet endearingly so. He mostly posted pictures with you, capturing beautiful moments and showcasing your love and adventures together.

So when you saw the TikTok trend We Listen and We Don’t Judge, where partners share little, harmless secrets, you just knew you had to do it with Pedro.

To your surprise, it didn’t take much to convince him; he was always up for these kinds of fun. What took longer was explaining the trend to him, but somehow, you managed to get through it.

You pressed record, and both of you said in unison, “We Listen and we don’t judge.” You couldn't help but notice Pedro's adorable expression on the phone screen; he looked so happy to be there.

“Okay, I’ll start,” you said, turning to look at your boyfriend. You took a moment to think of what to say first. “I can hear you when you’re singing in the shower, and it sounds terrible,” you said, trying hard to hold back your laughter.

Pedro narrowed his eyes at you, a mix of mock indignation and amusement crossing his face. Deep down, he knew there was a bit of truth in your words. “We listen and we don’t judge,” you both repeated in sync, and now it was his turn.

Pedro took a deep breath and grinned. “When we first met, I thought you are a bit of brat,” he admitted.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. You hadn’t expected him to be that blunt. But, as the trend dictated, you couldn’t judge. You managed to keep your expression neutral, despite your surprise.

Pedro chuckled, noticing your reaction. “I know, it sounds horrible, but that’s what I thought at first,” he said, his tone softer.

You ignored him with an eye roll, “We listen and we don’t judge.”

“Sometimes you get me so upset when you forget something,” you confessed, scanning his expression on the phone screen. “But I always remind myself you’re just an old man,” you chuckled, looking at him.

Pedro took this secret well and just shrugged. “That was obvious, I am an old man,” he said with a smile.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

Pedro's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in closer to the camera. “Your Spanish is bad... like really bad,” he said with a smile, clearly enjoying the playful banter. It really sounded like he came just for the hate, but you smiled, ready to dish it back.

“Well, your French isn’t good either,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

“I hate when you fart and blame it on me,” you said, the words barely escaping your mouth before you both burst into laughter. Pedro's eyes widened in shock, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ Y/n, you can’t say shit like that to people,” Pedro exclaimed with laugh, trying to calm himself down. He had expected many things, but not this.

Your laughter was infectious, and Pedro couldn't help but join in, his body shaking with mirth. “Well, it's true!” you said, still giggling. “You do it all the time.”

Pedro wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. But we listen and we don’t judge, remember?”

You both repeated, “We listen and we don’t judge,” in unison, still grinning from ear to ear.

"When I was filming Gladiator, some lady asked me if you're my daughter," Pedro chuckled, referring to your age difference. The memory seemed to amuse him greatly, and the twinkle in his eyes made it clear he found the situation hilarious.

You gave him a knowing stare. "We listen and we don't judge," you said, the words almost automatic now.

"I love when you wear glasses, it turns me on so bad," you said with a smirk, your voice dropping a notch. It was a bold confession, one that you knew would get a rise out of him. You couldn't help but think about your PR manager, already dreading the phone call you'd probably get after posting this video.

Pedro's smirk matched yours, his eyes filled with a mix of confidence and affection. "Knew that," he said confidently, his gaze locking with yours. His playful tone, combined with the way he looked at you, sent a shiver down your spine.

Of course, you did have to cut out some parts because Pedro could be a dirty bastard and truly had no filter. His unfiltered remarks were hilarious but perhaps a bit too much for the fans and especially your PR managers.

você e Enzo, fazia tempão que não escrevia sobre ele fazia tempo que não escrevia no geral hihihi

Daddy's Friend

Verão.

Férias.

Duas semanas.

Duas semanas numa casa de praia grande luxuosa lotada com os amigos do trabalho do "papai". Seria legal, sem contar os velhos com as piadinhas prontas e sem graça, praticamente caindo de bêbados.

Sem contar suas esposas tediosas e botoxadas.

Sem contar as crianças birrentas e mal-criadas que corriam pra lá e pra cá - uma delas inclusive, derrubou seu celular na piscina no primeiro dia, ou seja, só o teria de volta em duas semanas e olhe lá.

Sem contar que teria que dormir em um dos sofás grandes na sala de estar pois não havia mais quarto, nem cama, para você.

Mas não era de todo mal... pelo menos, havia Enzo Vogrincic.

Ele era o mais jovem da empresa e foi uma surpresa para você quando ele aceitou o convite de seu pai para participar da viagem. Você nem sabia que ele ia, afinal todo mundo já havia chegado entre o primeiro e segundo dia, mas ele não.

O moreno chegou no litoral no terceiro dia de manhã cedinho.

O som do motor da moto dele fez com que todo mundo fosse animado até a porta de entrada para recebê-lo. As crianças o rodeavam gritando, os homens levantavam suas cervejas em cumprimento e as mulheres ajeitavam os peitos siliconados nos biquínes com um sorriso indiscreto.

E sinceramente? Foda-se toda aquela palhaçada, pois antes de tirar o capacete preto num estilo bem hollywoodiano, ele caçava você com olhar, se perguntando porque você não estava no meio da maçaroca de gente ansiosa para vê-lo. E sabendo que você -  e só você - era o verdadeiro motivo da vinda dele para aquela casa de praia.

Ele não é bobo, nem inocente.

Vogrincic sabia muito bem o que estava fazendo, ao se inclinar sobre você - que estava com as mãos ocupadas descascando batatas cozidas para a maionese do churrasco do almoço, de costas para a porta - e depositar um beijo em sua bochecha como cumprimento assim que chegou.

Vogrincic sabia muito bem o que estava fazendo quando estavam na praia naquela tarde, e ele comprou o conjunto de biquíne que você mais gostou do moço que passou com um carrinho vendendo itens superfaturados. Depois meteu um "vai ficar linda" ao te entregar a sacolinha.

Vogrincic sabia muito bem o que estava fazendo, quando disse para o seu pai que "Não se preocupe, senhor, juro que não tem problema dormir na sala também", pois não haviam mais quartos disponíveis. O sofá dele era em outra sala, apenas a alguns passos da sua e da cozinha.

...

- Acordada a essa hora? - Enzo perguntou invadindo a cozinha em conceito aberto.

Você tomou um susto e se virou para ele terminando de engolir a água geladinha que tomava.

- Que susto, porra!

Uma risadinha foi ouvida... e não foi dos seus lábios.

A porta da geladeira atrás de você ainda se mantinha aberta, sem que você se desse conta,  o que deu a oportunidade para o moreno se aproximar com passos lentos e se posicionar bem a sua frente.

Seu coração acelerou em expectativa. 

Ele estava tão perto, tão cheiroso, tão bonito, tão sombrio.

Seus olhos arregalados eram as jóias mais raras para ele.

- Licença?

- Ah, sim, claro! - respondeu saindo da frente da porta e dando espaço para que ele pegasse uma garrafinha de água também.

Você se encostou na ilha de mármore no meio da cozinha, e aproveitou para observar a cena cinematográfica em que o protagonista gostoso se delicia com uma bebida gelada em câmera lenta. Sorte sua que ele não viu sua boca levemente aberta e olhos gigantes carregados de tesão, pois se tivesse visto... quem sabe o que poderia acontecer naquela cozinha.

- Não sabia que você vinha - Enzo disse se aproximando ao mesmo tempo em que fechava a garrafinha. AH, MAS ELE SABIA SIM! Era algo que seu pai orgulhoso falava. A filhotinha perfeita dele voltou da cidade em que fazia faculdade para visitá-lo.

- Não sabia que você vinha. - respondeu virando de lado para encará-lo.

- E gostou quando descobriu? - disse baixinho, com a voz rouca e seduzente.

Você soltou um sorrisinho irônico e saiu da cozinha, sendo seguida pelo moreno.

Ele era mestre na arte do flerte. 

Vocês dois sempre se cozinhavam nas festas da empresa em que iam. Conversavam um pouquinho, se olhavam demais da conta, mas não faziam nada. Ali era a chance, ali era o lugar.

- Como vai a faculdade? - insistiu em outro assunto, sentando ao seu lado no sofá grande (sua caminha pelos próximos dias) de frente para a sacada aberta e iluminada pela lua.

Você respondeu colocando as duas pernas sobre o estofado, ficando mais confortavel para olhar para ele.

- Hm. E aquele seu namoradinho?

- Qual?

- Seu pai que contou - o moreno mentiu, jogou um blefe para levar ao assunto que ele realmente queria.

- Papai mentiu então.

- Não está namorando?

- Não, Enzo. E você?

- Não namoro, gatinha.

Você revirou os olhos. Tinha que ser.

- É claro que não.

- Ei - ele ergueu os braços em sinal de rendição - Não me deixou terminar.

- Hm.

- Não namoro, gatinha, estou esperando a pessoa ideal - disse de uma forma engraçada que você não conseguiu evitar a gargalhada altíssima, tapando a boca logo em seguida para não fazer barulho. Acontece que ele fez exatamente a mesma coisa que você.

Numa velocidade assustadora, Vogrincic meteu a mão dele sobre a sua e estava com o corpo coladinho ao seu no sofá.

- Shhh, não quer que eles venham ver se ta tudo bem, não é? - sussurrou e porra, ficou molhada e arrepiada. Mal conseguiu responder, só fez um não com a cabeça. - O gato comeu a língua, foi?

Poderia ter sido ele o gato.

Você colocou sua mão delicadamente sobre a dele e a abaixou, sem quebrar contato visual.

A cena era mais que erótica.

Tirando a mão grande dele da sua boca... para por em seu peito.

- O quê é isso? - ele questionou baixinho e um tanto desacreditado, mas você não queria perder tempo e o beijou.

Entre os beijos intensos, mãos bobas e pausas para respirar, sentiu a boca dele erguer em um sorriso convencido... afinal, a mão que apalpava seu peito tinha deixado os mamilos excitados.

Só que ele não estava muito diferente... quando montou no colo do mais velho, sentiu o membro rijo e latejante, ansioso parar estar dentro de você. Aproveitou para rebolar para frente e para trás, a boca dele escapou para seu pescoço.

- Gostosa.  - sussurrou.

As mãos dele em sua cintura, as suas percorriam o peitoral forte, subiam para o pescoço e brincavam com a parte de trás, onde o cabelo sedoso estava crescidinho.

E então as bocas estavam unidas novamente.

Não demorou muito para que o shortinho do seu pijama ficasse encharcado do seu tesão, afinal estava sendo movimentado para frente e para trás no volume dele. Era inconsiente. Só... precisava fazer aquilo. Se esfregar nele como uma...

- Putinha - ele sussurrou contra seus lábios. Você afastou sua boca da dele, deixando levemente aberta para soltar um gemido.  - Gostou do que eu disse, é?

- Aham - gemeu manhosa - Quiero que me folles, por favor.

Enzo parou os movimentos, segurando bem forte em sua cintura e então no seu pescoço. O pau dele latejou ao ouvir sua vozinha implorando para ser fodida. O sorriso sacana que ele te deu em seguida foi impagável. Você desejou ter uma câmera ali e agora para capturar aquele segundo.

As bocas se conectaram novamente, só que dessa vez, mudaram de posição. Vogrincic estava sobre você e as veias nos braços ficaram proeminentes, pois ele não deixava o peso todo sobre seu corpo.

Da boca para o pescoço.

Do pescoço para os mamilos durinhos.

Dos mamilos durinhos para a barriga à mostra.

E da barriga, cheirou, beijou e lambeu por cima do shorts.

Você se contorcia querendo e precisando de mais.

Enzo tirou os shorts com as mãos e a calcinha com a boca. E então, chegou ao alvo principal. A língua quente e macia entrou em contato com sua entrada quente e molhada. O moreno deu um tapa no clitóris inchado, depois começou a chupar enquanto metia apenas um dedo.

Aí dois.

Você colocou a mão na boca para gemer e a outra segurava o cabelo dele.

O som das ondas era fraquinho, comparado à da sua bucetinha molhada. E ela parecia um banquete exclusivo dele. Enzo se esbaldava, levou uma mão ao pau. Tocava você, tocava ele. Até que você atingiu seu ápice e se derreteu na boca dele.

O gemido saiu alto demais, com tesão demais, depois que percebeu levou a mão aos lábios e arregalou os olhos. O moreno sorriu.

- Shhh, não grita, se não a casa toda vai saber a putinha louca por pica que você é. E eu não to afim de dividir essa bucetinha gostosa com mais ninguém. - depositando um tapinha no clitóris sensível.

Em poucos segundos algumas luzes acenderam no andar de cima, portas se abriram e passos foram ouvidos.  As vozes sussurravam "O que aconteceu?" "O que houve?".

Você teve poucos segundos para raciocinar:  colocou o shorts novamente e foi correndo para o seu sofá. Deitou. Se cobriu com um lençol levinho a medida que os passos se tornavam mais altos. Três? Quatro pessoas? Não saberia dizer.

Quando percebeu que haviam mais pessoas no cômodo gritou novamente, com mais medo do que dá primeira vez.

- Ela está tendo um pesadêlo! - disse seu pai com um toque de humor, ele estava aliviado que a filhotinha dele estava bem. O coro de vozes atrás dele suspirou aliviado, pelo menos não era um invasor.

Enzo riu.

- É... deve estar.

Vogrincic estava voltando para sua sala, os outros adultos subindo as escadas quando seu pai virou para trás e o chamou.

- Ahm... Enzo, se importa de dormir nesse outro sofá mais próximo dela? Achei que alguém tivesse invadido a casa, desse modo, ficaria mais seguro de deixar minha filhinha aqui embaixo.

- Sem problemas, Sr. S/S. - com um sorriso malicioso que não pode ser avistado na penumbra do corredor.

Hey there! Hope you're having a good day! If you don't mind, could I please request non-native english speakers (alejandro, rudy, makarov, konig, and any other ones you want) reactions to their s/o surprising them by reciting their wedding vows in their native language? Alejandro's s/o saying her vows in spanish, makarov's s/o saying them in russian, etc. Thanks so much!

this is a really good idea! thx for suggesting it <3

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Saying Your Vows In Their Native Language

𑣲 Alejandro, Rudy, Makarov, König, Horangi, Nikto

𑣿 Alejandro would have dropped to his knees and asked you to marry him if you weren't already getting married. He had heard you speak a few words in Spanish here and there but never full on confidently speaking it from your heart. He wanted to embrace you, but knew you'd lose your concentration and he really wanted to hear everything you had to say. So he tried his best to hold back, and just smile as he gazed at you lovingly. The man couldn't find what to do with himself, he was already head over heels, anymore and he might have been considered a madman. The things love made him do, such fiery passion within him that with the smallest of your actions could make him act as if unbridled. After you finished, he glanced at the audience, looking at them as if wanting them to see the type of person he was marrying. He wanted to show you off to the world, and he truly felt like he triumphed that day as he placed the ring on your finger.

𑣿 Rudy got lost in your eyes, hearing you speak Spanish. It made it all so much more meaningful that you had gone as far as to not only learn his language but to recite the words from memory. Halfway through, he just couldn't help but to reach out and cup your cheek, and you had use all your inner strength to not choke up and start crying uncontrollably from how much you loved this man. The onlookers in the crowd were moved as well, most using tissues to dab their eyes. It was a beautiful moment and luckily enough, it was caught on camera too. This moment made Rudy wonder what he had done to deserve you, surely you'd break the man with your gestures of affections, and this was only the beginning. He couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, vowing to make you feel the same.

𑣿 Makarov is not usually a sentimental man, he rarely lets emotion take the greater charge of decision within his mind, especially in front of others. It was only in the utmost secrecy that he had met and loved you, and it was that way he had learned to keep things to a minimal. He didn't require effort from you, because he was always seeking to do more for you. He never imagined something that seemed insignificant to others, but knowing how much effort you had put in, would move him so much. In his heart, he had resigned to feel as little as possible, yet, you had somehow found and tugged at the still tender heartstrings. He felt it blossoming in his chest, the flower that you had so gingerly tended to, cared for with your amour and time. It was hard for him to keep his composure, but so ardently did he feel a flame burn in his chest. Who could have known he'd feel this one day?

𑣿 König faltered, thinking he had misheard your words. You weren't speaking German, were you? He hardly believed it, and couldn't get over it that he didn't really listen to the meaning of your words. If asked, he couldn't remember exactly what you had said, he could only tell of the emotions he'd felt in that moment, some that he couldn't even identify. His heart raced and he simply looked at you in awe, with soft hints of adoration in his eyes. He would hold this memory dearly, just as much as he wanted to hold you. You looked angelic in your wedding attire, like a blessing he cradled in his hands, one he vowed to never forget to care for. Oh and when you smiled at him after concluding, he could have melted from seeing your eyes flicker up at him. He loved how you talked to him, looked at him, touched him, kissed him and he'd spend an eternity wanting to make you feel the same way about him and even then never feel like it was enough.

𑣿 Horangi had certainly not expected it. You never gave an indication of you studying Korean, you had been interested in the language but the grammar had quickly discouraged you from advancing and he assumed you had left it at that. Unbeknownst to him, you had even hired a teacher to help you get through the difficult parts of writing your vows. You wanted to show how much he meant to you, you worked on it day and night and didn't stop until you were satisfied with how it sounded. You knew exactly what to say that would touch his heart and mean the most to him. Horangi couldn't have imagined a more perfect moment than this one. Those words permanently marked in his mind for the rest of his life, forever hearing you speak in his tongue. He wished to be alone with you, none of the others there deserved to be there to hear words that were only meant for him.

𑣿 Nikto had no problem with the fact that you didn't speak Russian, he understood English well and was able to communicate just fine. He had caught you studying Russian a few times, trying your best to pronounce the words to form sentences, and he had only smirked, amused at your attempts. When you explained that it was because you wanted to be able to communicate better, to be able to tell him in his mother tongue how much you loved him, he only laughed it off. He thought it was silly, he understood your feelings and intentions just fine in English. But he was unprepared to hear how fluently the words rolled off your tongue at the altar. Nikto had underestimated how impactful it would feel to hear you talk to him in a language he knew so well. Just hearing you speak in Russian was already hitting him in his soft spot, not imagine when he got over his initial shock and actually tried hard to listen to what you were trying to say.