#'or at least more of him than scooby or the others'

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

this rewatch of sdmi has been wild because once you start taking the talking animals and their place in the worldbuilding seriously it's just like oh wow this is some real final fantasy plot huh. what do you mean the resident discriminated-against beastfolk are not only descended from ancient otherworldly beings masquerading as gods, and not only driven insane even more effectively than non-beastfolk by a curse because of their heritage, and not only serve as apocalyptically powerful vessels for those otherworldly beings, but are easy to read as having been created specifically because they're more powerful vessels than normal animals, and then abandoned to their own devices (being enslaved) for thousands of years until the next time their creators pop into this reality and want a convenient corporeal form to snatch. which game in the series is this

[evieelyzabethh]

Warmer than a Comforter

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.

warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it

It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.

When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.

You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.

You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.

"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.

"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.

You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."

"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.

"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.

"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.

"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.

"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.

Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.

"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"

"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.

"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.

You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.

As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.

His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.

"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.

"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.

"You know how to fix windows?"

"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.

You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.

He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.

"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."

"What're you gonna do that for!"

"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."

"But would Xander do it for free?"

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.

"You are such a whore, you know that?"

"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.

You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.

"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.

"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.

***********************************************************

Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.

"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.

"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.

Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.

He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.

He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.

"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.

"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."

"Am I that transparent?"

"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.

"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"

"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."

"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."

"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.

Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.

After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.

"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."

" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.

You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.

"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.

Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.

"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.

Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.

He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.

"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.

"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.

He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.

"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.

His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.

"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.

You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.

Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."

He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.

The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."

As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.

Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.

Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.

"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.

Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.

"Are you still cold?"

[bohemianblasphemy]

Never again.

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

A close call whilst on a hunt with the Winchesters causes a heated argument between you and the eldest brother, allowing for feelings that were squashed deep down to be bubbled up to the surface.

Contains: death mention, killing vampires, reader being choked out, canon violence, heated argument, smut, P in V sex, oral (F receiving), the knee thing, tiddy sucking, fluffy at the end ✨

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Requests are open as always xxx

It was supposed to be a simple hunt- a cluster of vampires, nothing that hadn’t been dealt with before. Hunting wasn’t something that was new or unusual for you - however you weren’t as experienced as the brothers.

Your inexperience posed as a risk in hunts, a slip up could cost you more than you bargained for and in this instance, that’s what happened.

The case blipped on Sam’s radar and thought it was a case worth solving, only being a couple of hours away from the motel you were staying at. You were called into the brother’s shared room from your seperate one, getting a run down of the creatures at hand.

“Get this- at least a dozen cows were drained of blood on this farm, but also the farmer was found in his barn with those same bite marks, drunk dry as well. Not the first time this has happened here too.” Dean grimaced at Sam’s words, audibly groaning as the images of cows invaded his brain.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expense. “Can’t handle some dead cows now, Dean? After literally everything else you’ve ever seen?” You teased, earning a playful glare from him. “Shut up, it’s gross.” He chuckled, stealing a glance at you from across the room, admiring the way your eyes crinkled as you laughed.

Dean and yourself had this… something. Longing glances, casual brushes against each other- hugs that seemed to last a little longer than normal. Nothing was ever said or done, but there was always something there.

Sam continued, clearing his throat as he watched you two do… whatever it was that you were doing. “I think we should get in there and y’know, deal with the problem.”

In agreement, you all set out to investigate- piling into the impala for the few hour trip out west. In that time together; Sam and Dean in the passenger and drivers seat, you in the back.

Dean stole glances at you in the rear view mirror as he drove. He smiled to himself, your presence being a ray of light in his soul.

Sam smiled, eyeing his brother’s expression before clearing his throat, which he more than often did when Dean was distracted. Dean could see Sam’s mischievous smirk as he was caught staring, warranting a warning glance to not mention it to you.

Finding the hideout of these vampires was a little too easy- small town with abandoned buildings, it wasn’t hard to narrow down.

“Alright Lost Boys, cmon out.” You muttered, wondering around the secluded Cabin in the woods, the rotted floorboards creaking under you as you and the winchesters snuck around the space.

Dean smirked at your comment. “Yeah, Count Orlok better get his ass out here.” He whispered, earning snicker from you. “Guys, seriously? Not the time…” Sam was on edge, his sense heightened as your trio snuck through the building like the Scooby gang.

It wasn’t long before your presence was made known to the blood suckers; ambushing you as you descended into the dank cellar below the rotted building.

You were outnumbered- five vampires to your three. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you posed an even chance of eliminating them. Hatchets, vamponite- you name it. If it killed vampires, you had it on you.

Three were down, two more to go- you having killed Vamp number three. Sam had his hands on one, Dean was backed into a corner by the other. The being baring its ugly teeth as he attempted to bite into deans flesh- you could see a glint of fear in his eyes as he tried to hold the creature back with his bare hands.

The panic inside your body settled in, without hesitation you had lunged yourself at the vampire to throw it off balance, weapon at the ready- giving Dean enough time to move.

It was then as the creature turned around and dodged the swing of your machete, taking the opportunity of your moment of weakness as you recovered from the swing to grab you by the throat, pressing your body against the hard surface of the concrete flooring.

The deafening screech of the disgraceful creature rang in your ear. Its grip on your throat constricted your airways, watching you squirm and try to release yourself from its strength but it was no use.

Your breaths began to falter, vision becoming blurry - furthering your consciousness into the darkness of oblivion. The echoes of Dean yelling of your name and his frantic footsteps toward you were the last things you could hear, before everything faded to black.

Dean scrambled to inject the vampire with Vamponite, the creature perishing as the elixir spread through its body, throwing the corpse off of you.

“Sweetheart- fuck, can you hear me?” Dean mumbled shakily, his palms shaking as he stroke your face. Sam bent down at your side, shaking your shoulder gently and calling your name. Dean took a shallow breath as he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, checking your pulse.

He felt that soft throb in your veins, a jagged sigh of relief fell from his lips.

“She’s still here.” he choked out softly, before he cleaned his throat and sniffled hard, reeling back those tears that threatened to fall.

He was relieved that you were alive, God knows what he’d do if you had slipped through his fingers like that- but he was livid.

He didn’t want you doing something like that, something he’d consider so idiotic- putting your damn life on the line for him.

It was a deafeningly quiet drive back to the motel, the brothers dragging you out of the damned den of vampire corpses. You were laid out in the back seat, Dean cradling your head in his lap and petting your hair as Sam drove the impala.

Deans eyes never left your face, the flurry of emotions that rattled his head never faltered, monitoring you on the journey back to the dingy motel.

It was a good few hours after arriving back that you awoke, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow of the side lamp that lit the bland room. A dull pain came over your body as you slowly sat up, a soft groan escaping your mouth.

That quiet sound alerted Dean awake, who was sitting at your bedside in an arm chair to monitor you- but his own exhaustion; a mixture of physical and emotional stress had taken over.

He looked over you, seeing the discolouration on your neck where the vampire had you made his heart tighten- but remembering the act of putting yourself on the line for him made his anger and frustration bubble up inside him again; his brows furrowed, those green eyes darkening and those perfect lips turned down in a scowl.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” His tone could’ve stopped time itself. Those words that came out of his mouth was a shock to your freshly awakened system, taking a minute to process them.

“I wasn’t going to let it kill you, Dean.” You replied quietly, looking at him as you swung your legs off the side of the bed slowly.

“how could you be so- so reckless?! I had it under control, I had Vamponite- I needed it to get close to me to kill the sonuvabitch.” His nostrils flared, his stare was on you as he watched you attempt to get up out of the squeaky bed, causing him to stand up as well.

“I-it- it got me at a weak moment and-” You argued back before he cut you off.

“No. That’s not the point, you made yourself bait for fucks sake- you put yourself in danger. That was stupid, so fucking reckless.” His voice raised in volume, standing up and facing you.

“I saved your ass Dean. hell it was a massive risk but I took that chance. I’m alive, Sam’s alive- you’re alive.” You rasped.

“Listen to me DAMMIT!” He growled. “God stop acting so feckless about this! You could have DIED.” He was fuming, if it was humanly possible, steam would be coming out of his ears.

Your face changed into a scowl of frustration at his tone, stepping closer to him. “I couldn’t stand and watch it happen, I couldn’t not do anything! I will not watch you die, Winchester.”

“You don’t get to decide to be some damn sacrificial lamb. You- you can’t just do that to me-“ his words got caught in throat like a lump, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath in through his nose. “I couldn’t live with that, not without- without you.”

As his eyes opened again, he saw the softened glance that you gave him- the look in your eyes that had a glimpse at the softer side that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“Dean-“ He shushed you softly, bringing his palms to your jaw- the touch sending a shock down your spine, closing your eyes at the somewhat soothing touch as your lips parted to release a soft breath.

“No, no. Look at me. Please…” Deans voice was softer now, his tone almost… pleading, looking for your pupils.

His instruction was promptly followed as you opened your eyes, the tension between the two of you thickening in that very little space between you two.

“You can’t just throw away your life like that, not for me. Not for anyone.” He muttered, his voice was full of emotion, the hardened walls that preserved this side of him starting to crumble.

His thumbs that were on your cheeks started to stroke the soft skin, more so to comfort and ground himself than anything as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You scared me, really scared me.” He breathed. “Please promise me, don’t do that again. I’ve lost too much already… it would be the end of me if you were gone.”

“I need you sweetheart, more than you know.”

Deans words struck in your soul, knocking the wind out of you. All you could muster was a longing gaze, a slight brush of the tip of your nose against his.

After a few moments, you piped up.

“I need you too Dean, so much…”

That sentence alone let dean release a breath, the hot air splaying against your lips.

“I-is this real?” You whispered, smiling softly at him.

“As real as it gets, sweetheart.” He grumbled, his thumb moving from your cheek to your bottom lip, lightly grazing across it- his green eyes looking between yours and your lips.

“Can I?” Dean purred, pulling your lip down playfully - making your body shiver once more under his touch.

“Please…”

No further hesitation was necessary, pressing his full lips to yours - savouring the warm and gentle sensation.

Deans arms snaked around you, one around the middle of your back and the other creeping up between your shoulders to cradle the back of your neck- backing you up to the bed cautiously before your legs hit the frame, slowly lowering you down amongst the worn in mattress as the springs squeaked underneath you both.

He made sure you lay back comfortably, gazing down at you from above. “So beautiful…” he whispered with his signature smile before leaning down to capture your lips again as he settled on top of you.

Deans knee crept up between your thighs, pressing up against your clothed core. A soft sigh vibrated off your lips to his as you began to move your hips against his knee, relieving some of the arousal that was pooling inside of you. “Yeah sweetheart… grind on it baby, take what you want from me.” Deans voice was low and gruff, laced thickly with want.

You moaned his name, it falling deliciously onto his ears. “God I could get used to hearing that.”

Fingers reached the hem of your t-shirt, slowly raising it to slip off your torso to expose your warm skin to him. Dean took a moment to admire you again, glowing with adoration for you. You suddenly sat up, reaching around to unhook your bra- struggling to undo it. “Dammit…” you had muttered before deans hands moved behind you, unhooking it for you. “I’ve got you…” he smirked.

His index fingers hooked under your straps, pulling the material away as your breasts fell. Dean couldn’t help the breathy moan erupting from his throat, slowly pushing you onto your back.

His lips attached to your neck, breathing in the faint smell of your perfume and natural scent- an addicting feeling that made his eyes roll into the back of his head. They trailed down your collarbone, toward your chest.

His face was level with your chest, hot breath fanning over one of your breasts as he pulled your nipple into his mouth. “O-oh- Dean…” you gasped, feeling his tongue swirl around the now hardened nub. “so good baby…” he struggled to say, his mouth occupied with your nipple.

Dean repeated the same along your other tit, relishing in the sounds of your moans as you continued to move your core along his jean cladded knee. “Wanna taste you… please baby.” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

God, he sounded so desperate… so needy- you couldnt help but whimper. “Y-yes, I want it…”

The kisses along your torso never ceased, his fingers moving lower to work on untying your sweatpants and tugging them down your thighs. He reluctantly removed his lips from your skin as he sat up to remove the last few garments on you, throwing your pants and underwear to the ground in the corner of the room.

Scooting down, Dean settled between your legs- his large hands gripping on the outside of your thighs. “So pretty baby… all f’me.” Soon his lips met your skin again as he left wet open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs- his eyes never once leaving yours as he reached the apex of your thigh.

There was no resisting some teasing, his tongue barely touch the skin around your pussy, making your hips buck and try to chase after it.

“Please, don’t tease me Dean, I want to feel your mouth on me…” you whined, his lips just a breath away from where you wanted him most.

“Since you asked so nicely…”

He never thought he would experience heaven, but the taste between your thighs would’ve been what he’d consider close to it. The tip of his tongue circled around the tender nub of your cunt, dragging it down to prod at your sopping entrance- manipulating your sinful sounds to fill the room.

Your hands reached to find his hair, tugging at his short brown locks. “you feel so fucking good…” you praised as you pulled at his hair, earning a moan of satisfaction from him. “Do that again, pull my fucking hair…” he groaned, his tongue continuing its assault on you.

It was overwhelming, the knot in your hips was beginning to unfurl as your orgasm started to wash over you- a final call of his name as your fingers tightened their grip on his hair as your pelvis rolled back into deans actions against you.

He groaned as he continued to lap at you, greedily taking every last bit of your wetness on his tongue. “So sweet…” he praised, placing one last kiss to your core.

“D-Dean, I want you- I need you to fuck me, please…” you whimpered. A wolfish smirk appeared on deans face as he stood up, whipping off his Led Zeppelin shirt in one swift motion before working on his belt buckle.

You sat back and enjoyed the view of his stripping off, seeing his soft tummy and broad shoulders, the anti possession tattoo on his collar… it was as if he was created by the gods himself. The time came where he stripped himself of his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free of all restraint.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” His voice laced with a cocky tone, crawling back onto the bed to resume his position on top of you.

“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t like it…” you replied, giggling softly as you pulled him in for a deep, slightly sloppy kiss.

Dean moved to position himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock sliding along you teasingly- the both of you letting out soft breathy moans into your mouths, before he couldn’t take it anymore- he had to feel you, to fuck you, make you his…

“Oh fuck- yes-“ Dean gasped, his cock pressing inside of you- the feel of your nails digging into his back making the sensation all the more euphoric. His hips started to move slowly against yours, coaxing more of those delicious moans he longed to hear from you.

“Dean!” You were loud, the sounds of your moans, deans grunts and the squeaking mattress springs filled the room- leaving no room for doubt of getting complaints from the neighbouring residents in the other motel rooms.

“God sweetheart, you’re so- so good, so good for me.” He groaned as he felt your thighs wrap around his hips, his cock pushing deeper inside you now, the pace of his thrusts becoming stronger.

He watched as you writhed below him, as your expressions contorted in its pleasured state- taking one of his thumbs to circle around your clit, heightening your pleasure as your back arched. “Fuck! Yes, don’t stop-“ you pleaded, your nails digging harder into his shoulder blades.

The way you looked and sounded to him brought him closer, the thrusts becoming sloppy as he near reached his peak, his fingers still working along your clit. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his head falling forward into your neck as he came, his thick hot cum coating your delicate walls.

Your breathing was sharp and fast as another orgasm fell over you, your thighs quivering in ecstasy and exhaustion.

Dean pulled his head from your neck, kissing you tenderly. “You have no idea… how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispered, rubbing his nose along yours. “Could say the same with you…” that comment made him smile widely, pecking your lips once more before pulling out of you, lying down to curl into your side.

It was silent for a good while, the jagged breathing between you both as you came down from your highs being the only sound breaking the silence. It was comfortable, blissful even- just being in each other’s arms after such intimacy.

“Promise me something?” Dean spoke quietly, placing a soft kiss on your neck as he buried his face into it.

“Yeah?” You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close to you.

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger again… please.” His tone was soft but serious, his hand reaching out to hold your free palm.

“And not get railed like that again? Damn i might have to think about it.” you teased him, massaging his scalp as he gave a sleepy chuckle.

“No need to get hurt again for that, just gotta ask me and I’m at your beck and call. You’re mine now after all.”

“Oh I’m yours now huh?” You giggled, the laughing being cut off by Dean sucking on your neck, a low mewl escaping your lips.

He smirked against your neck, pulling away to admire the growing red love bite that formed against your skin.

“Yeah, you’re mine now sweetheart, can’t get away from me now.”

Tags <3: @bluemerakis

[winchesterszvonecek]

could i please request ‘sex in a pool/hot tub’ for rafael barba

fem!reader :)

Hot Tub - [ Rafael Barba ] 18+

Prompt: Sex in a pool/hot tub

Word Count: 2678

Warnings: female!reader, smut - [vaginal fingering, semi-public masturbation]

A/N: this is my first oneshot in a while so yk, be nice :) also it’s my first one for rafael too, both in general and with smut so yeah… i wasn’t even going to post it but i figured why not? it might not be that bad so maybe yall can still enjoy it

Masterlist | Rafael Masterlist

After a long day spent on the icy slopes of Switzerland’s most famous ski resort, you were in desperate need of relaxation. 

It wasn’t easy at times, keeping up with Rafael. Of chasing his constant need for adrenaline and following through on the utter thrill of hitting the ramps, landing with perfect grace in the thick snow each and every time. To be honest, it was rather frightening. You’d never skied before in your life and the entire time you were too afraid to hit any jumps that were higher than a foot or too. Most of the time you just sat there, making small snowmen in the snow as you waited for time to tick by.

Rafael didn’t mind though. He knew the only reason you’d come here was because of him, so he was more than happy to let you stay in your safety zone whilst he got the chance to show off around you — something you’d rolled your eyes at in the beginning but by the second or third day, had secretly grown to love. And he knew it. It’s why he kept going the rest of the day, gliding and zipping through the air like a damn expert and finding amusement in the way you’d dramatically roll your eyes each time he did. 

To tell the truth, you didn’t like skiing one bit. It was scary, and dangerous, and you, for some reason, kept imagining that the Abominable snowman from that one Scooby-Doo movie was going to rise from the ground and kidnap you. It made you shiver just thinking about it. About some giant snowman's hands picking you up and carrying you away. 

Terrifying, honestly. 

But really, the only true reason you kept shivering was merely because it was freezing. It was so utterly cold as the snow fell around you that your nose was always red, you couldn’t even feel your ears and most importantly your skin kept stinging even beneath your snowsuit. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and all you ever wanted, from the moment you woke up, was for the day to be over so that you could finally get back to the cosiness of your cabin and slip into the blazing heat of the hot tub. 

It may have been outside as well, and it may have been rather chilly as you ran to it but once you slid into the bubbles, it was like ascending into heaven. Or hell, given that it was warm, but whatever. It was simply perfect, and even more so when Rafael’s arms wrapped tightly around you, allowing the two of you to do nothing but bask in the comforting heat of the bubbles as you relished in each and every touch he would grace you with. 

Only tonight, as you sunk happily into the cosy warmth of the water and felt the first sharp shiver of the goosebumps that riddled every inch of your skin at the sudden change in temperature, you got an idea. A far, far better idea of how to warm yourself up — Of how best to warm yourself up, and without the sole use of the jacuzzi’s bubbles… as by the time you’re done, they’re gonna be the very last thing present on your mind. 

“Mi cariño, what are you doing all the way over there?” Rafael asked, tilting his head curiously as he watched you settle yourself opposite him, which was unlike any other night before when you had practically placed yourself on his lap and sucked all the heat from beneath his skin.

“There’s better jets on this side,” You said plainly, biting down on your bottom lip as you spread your legs as wide as you could. 

He couldn’t see you clearly though, it was too dark. The bulb on the porch didn’t provide much actual, usable light but the two of you never really cared. You were always close enough for him to see, yet tonight he simply couldn’t see anything but the partially darkened shape of your figure sitting there quietly. He couldn’t see the small quirks of your mouth at the forceful brush of the jet against your sweet spot, the one that made you bite down hard on your lip in order to keep quiet. He couldn’t see the scheming glint that got lost in the lust that swallowed your eyes as you watched him, that one, small ray of light cascading over his face perfectly and allowing you to see the utter confusion that riddled his eyes.  

He hadn’t figured it out yet, that much you were certain of. He didn’t know what your agenda was. What you were planning. It was all completely unknown to him, and quite frankly it was completely unexpected too, given your job. You were a sex crimes detective. You were well aware of the consequences of public masturbation and public sex, and never once would Rafael have ever thought you would risk your career to simply try it. But if you were being honest, that innocence he thought you had… That shyness you gave off mixed with your secret rush for knowing what it would feel like to tick public sex off your bucket list only made you that much more hot under your metaphorical collar and you couldn’t stop yourself from expressing it.

You spread your legs further, allowing the brute force of the jet to hit so right… So toe curlingly perfect against your sensitive clit that you threw out your arms to grip behind you, splashing water over the edge of the hot tub as you leaned your head back, letting the sweetest, most breathy, most arousal inducing moan pass over your lips. 

Rafael was by your side in an instant, the water shifting so furiously around you that your body jerked back against the hard surface of the tub as settled himself down next to you. His eyes were wide from shock. From lust. From pure and utter deviance as he knew all too well what you were doing. He’d heard stories of women using water jets to get themselves off but he never so much as expected to hear you talk about doing it let alone actually see you. And in a public space such as this. 

“You’re taking a big risk, mi amor,” Rafael whispered, leaning in to brush his lips lightly over your neck as he delved his hand down into the water, running two fingers painfully slowly over the thin cover of your bikini and stopping the jet from reaching you. “Exposing yourself out here like this?” He shook his head and tutted. 

“It’ll be worth it,” You whispered, pushing his hand aside as you knew it would rile him up real good to see you get off on something other than his cock, his fingers or his mouth. And you were right, his eyes darkened the second you rocked your hips over the jet and as each sweet sounding whimper left your lips, his right eye would twitch in frustration. “Because God does this feel so, so good for me.” 

As the pleasure driven words left your lips and only added to Rafael’s ever growing desire for you, you reached behind your neck and undid your bikini top, allowing it to fall gracefully forwards and expose the soft mounds of your breasts. Rafael’s eyes fell to them instantly like a heat seeking missile, his pupils blown wide with hunger and his need for dominance as he watched you trail your fingertips slowly up the valley of them. 

You knew he always loved your breasts. Caressing them. Kissing them. Having them roll over his chest with every thrust of his cock inside you, anything he could do to simply feel them, he would, and you could tell by the way he clenched his teeth that it was driving him mad to see you be the one to touch them. To see you kneading them. To see you pinching and rolling those hardened buds between your fingers as you began to pant softly from the pure heat bubbling down around your pussy had him all but drooling with rage. 

“You better stop that,” He demanded, his tone ripped right out of the courtroom as though you were a simple perp he was trying to break. You did nothing but grin mischievously at him, a soft, throaty whimper leaving your parted lips that had him thrust one hand down through the surface of the water and go straight to his hardening cock, rubbing it through the thin lining of his shorts and thinking of all the things he could do to you tonight. “Mi amor… I’m warning you.” 

“You want me to stop?” You teased, mimicking his motions and happily going to touch yourself as even though the jet felt incredible, it wasn’t anywhere near what you needed tonight. You kept eye contact as you slid beneath your bottoms, the sloshing of the water slowly picking up around you as you drew faster and faster circles on your clit, making your own eyelids flutter in a way that drove Rafael crazy. “You're… Fuck… You’re gonna have to make me.” 

Lifting off his seat with such force that it sent a wave of water spilling over the edge of the hot tub, Rafael grabbed your body and lifted you effortlessly off your own, a rather surprised squeal leaving your lips at the sudden rush of anticipation that flew through your veins. He spun you around, falling back onto the very jet that you’d just been pleasuring yourself on as you straddled his strong thighs, his mouth already working its way along the length of your neck, leaving hot, fiery kisses the whole way down as he headed for the delicious sight of your inviting breasts. 

As his lips trailed down between the valley he shifted right, his tongue instantly swirling hot around your nipple as he got to work unravelling you. You gripped the back of his hair immediately, holding him closer to your chest as you tightened your legs around him, rolling your hips over his rock hard erection in a way that had him moan against your breast and take your nipple firmly between his teeth. 

The sound that left your lips as he tugged at it was indescribable, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled back, taking your lips in his as the desperate urge to feel every single part of you he could at once washed over him. You hummed softly into his mouth as he began to gently caress your waist, grazing his soft palms so slowly across every inch of your skin before dipping his fingertips deep into the flesh of your hips as he tugged you forward, one hand slipping down as you moved and quickly making its way beneath your bikini. He spread you open in an instant, your soft gasps escaping into his mouth as he ghosted his fingertips across the throbbing bud of your clit, feeling as you ground down against him for some much needed stimulation.  

It was only then, when you whimpered out of dire need to have him inside you, did he plung himself right up and into you, his two thick fingers sliding so easily and so swiftly into your soaking pussy that you had to draw back. A long babble of swear words left your lips the second you did and he lingered inside you, his thumb teasing your aching clit before he curled his fingers ever so slightly and slowly began to pump them into you. 

Even submerged in the water he could feel how wet you were. The slight thickness to your arousal as it coated his fingers and spilled out over his knuckles each time he thrust hard into you was unmissable and every drop of it that landed on him made him twitch beneath his shorts. God, he simply couldn’t wait to feel it around his cock and so he picked up the pace, your breathy pants like music to his ears as he pressed his thumb even hard atop your clit, moving in such slow, teasing circles compared to his thrusts that he could already feel you clenching tightly around him. 

“Fuck… You’re even better than the jets,” You whimpered subconsciously, the mere sound of you alone, mixed with how truly senseless he was fucking you, making Rafael shudder fiercely as he leaned in to kiss you, wanting to taste the rest of the moans he was about to pull from you. Your hands slid up the length of his arms, clinging to his shoulders for much needed support as you moved your hips along with him, feeling as that pressure deep inside you quickly began to build at the new sensation of the ride.

“You think you can take a third, mijo?” Rafael whispered against your lips, yet he didn’t even wait for your desperation fuelled head nod before he slipped it snugly into you, having you cry out in sheer pleasure at the sudden way you stretched wider around him. 

You dropped your head forwards, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace. You’d truly never felt anything like this before in your life, the way his fingers slid so quickly and so easily into you was sending you to further reaches that you’d ever felt before, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until toppled over.

And you were right, as after one last thrust of his fingers that he paired expertly with a perfectly pressured rub of your clit, he sent you hurtling over the edge into a pure and utter mind boggling pit of pleasure. 

Your hips stilled as you practically burst on top of him, your deep, breathy moans unfortunately muffled against the crook of his neck as he carried you through it, causing him to tilt it slightly in order to hear you. And once he did, his own eyes rolled back into his head as he continued to circle your throbbing clit, prolonging your orgasm as much as humanly possible so as to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of you as he could.

As you slowly began to come down, your chest heaving rapidly against his own, Rafael finally stopped, having brought you to the very brink of overstimulation with only one perfect orgasm. He pulled his fingers from inside you, giving your clit one last gentle rub before his hand left the water, where unfortunately for him you already were washed off by the time he could get his fingers to his mouth. 

“Are you warm enough yet, darlin’?” Rafael asked, a slight smirk tugging on his lips as he watched you lift your head like it weighed a ton, which to you, it might as well have as your whole body felt twice as heavy as normal with the weight of pleasure that had just come crashing down atop you.

That didn’t mean you weren’t willing to play along with his cruel game, though, and so you smiled, leaning forward to press a sloppy, lopsided kiss to his lips before directing them towards his ear. 

“I’m freezing,” You whispered, feeling the way his hips jerked beneath you at the mere notion that he hadn’t warmed you up enough. You pulled back a touch, just to see every twitch of his lips as he slowly began to press his fingers, almost possessively, into your thighs again. “I think you might need to try again to help warm me up.” 

“Well in that case,” Rafael replied, a soft groan leaving his lips when you ground down against him. “I think we better take this inside. Because the things I’m about to do to you…” He sucked in a breath, drawing his tongue up the length of your neck and towards your ear in a way that had you quivering already. “There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ll land us both on the registry… for the very rest of our days.”

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[ezskateschaos]

The kings jolly - Sneeg, Tango, Ros and Clown - going on an adventure to tackle the deep dark was amazing…like:

Tango choosing the furthest Deep dark for the four to tackle..yes the others find out and would not let him stop hearing it.

Gary the Snail being faster than Tango in the water

Ros bow almost breaking half the time travelling there.

Sneeg and Clown always being at the front of the group when they both have no clue where they are going.

The whole deep dark adventure….

Tango setting off multiple shriekers making a warden spawn

Sneeg and Tango panicking while Ros and Clown were chilling till Tango landed on a shrieker Clown was trying to mine, making more Wardens rock up.

cue 3 or so minutes of attempts of escaping the Wardens Scooby doo style.

I’ll post the clip of the deep dark later but god was it amazing to witness lol 😂

note: decided to call the group King’s Jolly as Jolly stand for the Jolly joker cards in a stack of cards, and the other reason is that the joker card has other names like Wildcard, Trump Card, Best Bower and The Fool which does match up to all the players in the group well (it can rotate around depending who has the least brain cells in the moment lol)

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 10]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Words: 4.2k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

When Minnie was six months old, you used to sleep on the couch so you wouldn't wake her up trying to get ready for bed. It would hurt your back - your couch was not very comfortable to sleep on - but you would sacrifice your comfort so she could sleep. No one in their right mind would wake a sleeping baby - even one that was always happy to go down for a nap. 

As your mind begins to stir, you become aware of the familiar ache in your lower back and the unfamiliar one pulsing around your eyes. Your hand slowly snakes up from where you had curled it against your chest and press your fingers along the bridge of your nose and up to the curve of your eyebrow, testing to see if the throbbing was sinus related. Nothing is triggered but your memories of the night before creep into your consciousness. 

Minnie with her tantrum and Matt with his amazing senses. 

You groan into the cushion as it all falls into place. Your eyes hurt from crying, not your sinuses, and you must have fallen asleep on the couch after your breakdown. 

Shame and embarrassment course through you. You hate crying and you hate that someone witnessed it. You can't imagine what he must think of you now - losing it like that. You should have been able to handle the news far better than you had and you're going to promptly apologize the next time you talk to him. You had acted so selfishly when it was clear he had control over the situation. 

But you don't have time to sit and wallow in your wretchedness - your daughter needs you to get up and be a capable adult, so you will your aching body to sit up. 

Your phone is sitting on the table in front of you, so you grab it to check the time. It's half past seven and your daughter has probably been awake for at least an hour. More shame courses through you - you always try to wake up before her so you can take care of her. You can only guess what state she is in. 

Your head spins as you stand, but you try to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bedroom. You prepare yourself to find a soiled bed - you didn't bother to change her into her night clothes and a pull-up and she is still mastering waking up when she needs to pee at night. 

The door is partially open and as you near it, you hear her tiny voice talking nonsense as she plays with something. You take a deep breath and push into the room, ready to face the start of your day.

Your mind short-circuits at what you encounter.

Both beds are clean and made, far tidier than you usually make them, and Minnie is sat on the floor with Scooby and some of her other stuffed animals, having what looks to be a tea party. To your absolute confusion, she is already dressed, and her hair has been put into pigtails with mismatched bows. You know for a fact she can't reach where you keep her hair supplies - you put them on a high shelf after she got into them to play salon before and managed to get her hair tangled so badly you had to cut things out. 

It doesn't even take her half a second to notice you and her little face breaks into the biggest smile, “Mommy!”

Still very much confused, you step forward to join the tea party circle and kneel down to be level with her. “Hi, sweetie,” you greet, trying your best to not alarm her. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”

“Not-uh! Mister Matt helped! We watched lots of videos about hair and he made me pretty!”

You frown at that, “Mister Matt helped?” Had he stayed the night after you fell asleep? If so, where is he now? Your apartment isn't that big, and the bathroom door is open. Had he left before you woke up? You don’t like the idea of him leaving Minnie unsupervised.

Your daughter nods as she turns back to her toys, pretending to pour you a cup of tea and handing it over. You automatically pretend to take a sip.

“He helped make me pretty,” she confirms after putting her tea pot down, “now he's getting foods. Bagels!”

You turn the statement over in your mind - there is a bagel shop around the corner Minnie loves and if Matt is right about her also having enhanced abilities, maybe, just maybe, he didn't leave her unwatched. 

You bite your lip, then dare to push.

“Mouse, do you think you can tell me where Mister Matt is right now? Can you hear him?”

She doesn't acknowledge you right away, fussing with another piece of her tea set. You wait, allowing her to process what is being asked of her and watch as she slowly starts to move her head in minute movements, like she's tracking something. It's terrifying and fascinating to see a look of concentration come over her face and after about thirty seconds, she breaks into another big smile.

“He's talking to a frog!” 

“A frog..?” You ask, wondering if Matt was wrong about Minnie having heightened senses and she's playing pretend again.

“Yeah, he says…he says.. He's telling froggy he can't go to work. He's gonna stay with us!”

It clicks instantly. Matt isn't talking to a frog. He's talking to his business partner, Foggy Nelson, and as far as you know, Matt hasn't mentioned him or Karen yet by name to Minnie. 

“Can you tell where he is?” You ask again, being sure to be gentle with your question. 

“Outside,” is her response, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Froggies can't come inside. Do you want sugar?” She holds up her toy spoon and you offer her your tea cup.

“Yes, please.” 

She pretends to scoop sugar and you watch her in amazement. You are of course going to have to confirm that Matt was talking to Foggy, but it is so hard to believe your little one can hear that. You can't hear what is going on in your own living room, let alone outside your apartment. You cannot imagine how loud everything must be, how much input Mouse must be getting - but she doesn't seem bothered by it at all right now. 

She seems to be completely over her tantrum from yesterday and you want to ask her about it, but you aren't sure how or if she has the ability to express it. You know there are days you get overwhelmed and upset and you can't think of another way to explain it other than “too much”. You can't expect a three year old to articulate it better than you can. 

She's got a sweet little smile and part of you fears if you bring up her previous upset, it will spiral right back into a meltdown. So, you watch instead - watch as she goes back to playing make pretend with her toys, seemingly unbothered. You sip at your tea, making up a list of questions for Matt when he returns from his errand. 

Minnie plays for about five minutes before she perks up, beaming up at you, “Mister Matt asks if you can open the door, please thank you."

Her statement throws you for a moment and you aren't sure how much you like the idea of her being able to tell you all these things. It scares you - her knowing things you don't and not knowing what she does know. 

Maybe it is one of the things you and Matt can talk about - then talk about it with your sweet Mouse. You are going to have to get used to it, either way.

You push yourself into standing and motion for Minnie to come along. She scrambles up and runs out of the room, delighted laughter following her.

You are still in your clothes from the night before and you wish you had taken a moment to check your hair or even brush your teeth. You try to tell yourself it is fine, but your anxiety just argues back, and you feel like a complete slob by the time you get to the front door.

Your stomach and heart both do a funny clench at the sight of Matt, who is still sporting his borrowed shirt. You don't know if you want to fall into his arms or throw up or go hide under your covers so you can pretend all of this is a dream. Instead, you step aside so he can come inside and silently beg your mind to stop collapsing in on itself. 

“Breakfast delivery,” Matt says as a greeting, his entire face lighting up with a smile. He's holding a bag from the shop around the corner in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks along with a small one in his other.

You can feel your face starting to heat up and force your eyes down to the ground, mumbling, “you didn't need to do that.” 

He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, “I wanted to, and someone,” his voice turns teasing as he directs his next comments to Minnie, “wouldn't stop talking about bagels.”

Your daughter erupts into giggles, then turns and runs back towards the kitchen. Matt gives a pleased laugh, and your stomach flips again. He follows Minnie, and after you relock the door, you join them. 

They are sitting at the dining table, Mouse watching with a big smile as bagels are laid out on the table. Matt narrates for both of you, “Three egg bagels with plain cream cheese, two large coffees, and one kid’s hot chocolate. Now, is that the right order or was someone taking advantage?”

Minnie giggles more and that relaxes your shoulders. “No, that's right. Thank you, you really didn't -” You cut yourself off as you realize the table is clear of any mess from the night before. There are no plates on the table or in the sink, there's no lasagna stains on the floor, there's no leftovers sitting out. Your eyes drift to Matt. 

He must have cleaned after you had fallen asleep. Guilt courses through you - he shouldn't have to be dealing with your messes, especially in your own living space. You are going to need to not only apologize but return the favor somehow. You aren't sure how you'll do that - no one has ever done this much for you before, and Matt has done so so much in such a short time. 

You're dragged from your thoughts as a coffee is placed in front of you. 

“It's just black, I didn't know how you took it,” the kind, handsome lawyer says, and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears. It beats harder when you remember that not only can he hear your body and mind freaking out, but so can your daughter. 

Your instinct tells you to panic at the idea of someone knowing that much about you. You always try to stay calm on the outside while having a meltdown, but that doesn't matter with him. He'll know you're a mess. You can't hide it. 

You hear Matt ask Minnie something about her tea party and watch as she skips away from the table, but it's like your mind doesn't process it. You feel completely frozen because you don't know how to act - you don't know how to hide yourself from the man in front of you. You don't know how to hide yourself away from your daughter. 

How can you protect her from yourself? Your own body?

Suddenly, Matt is in front of you, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands and whispering your name. He's practically right on top of you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin, “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

“What?” You ask, so confused about what is going on. You don't understand why he's saying it's okay. 

“A deep breath, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath?”

Your mind will not wrap the reason for the instruction, but you do as you are told. You inhale through your nose and that earns you a soft smile. He continues to pet you, gently instructing you to exhale after a moment and you obey. 

“Again?” He prompts and you nod. You feel shaky as you try to focus on breathing. You've always hated these exercises - they've never worked for you and have only served to frustrate you, and now you are just trying to make sure you are doing it right. How embarrassing would it be to fuck up breathing in front of Matt? 

“That's it,” he says so calmly, “Just breathe. I know it's a lot. I know. One step at a time. Let's have some breakfast, okay? Let's sit and have coffee and we can all talk. How's that sound?”

It sounds good, it sounds like the right thing to do, but your throat is clenching and not wanting to produce words, so you nod instead. 

You close your eyes to try to center yourself and somehow calm down. Matt lingers, keeping a hold of you until you hear Minnie coming back to the kitchen. It seems like he waits until the last possible moment before pulling away. 

Seeing your daughter looking so happy helps to reset your mind. She's fetched Scooby and Pig and runs up to the table to put them in their chair. You smile at the sight.

She really does seem like she's perfectly fine and maybe Matt is right and everything is okay. For now, at least. 

You force yourself into action, moving to set one of the bagels in front of Mouse, setting it on a napkin. You're going to need to transfer the hot chocolate into a mug or Mouse will spill on herself.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

She practically dives into her bagel, picking it up and taking a big bite and getting cream cheese on her cheeks. She is completely engrossed with her food.

“Thank Mister Matt, he got us breakfast,” you advise before going to get a napkin. While you are in the kitchen, you grab your creamer from the fridge.

“Thank you, Mister Matt!” she chimes before barreling on. “Mommy, did you know Mister Matt can braid hairs!”

Guilt courses through you and you remind yourself you need to thank Matt for everything he has done for you. But you tell yourself to not think of it right now - you are terrified of Minnie sensing your panic and that somehow shuts your mind down and you go into parent mode. 

“No, I didn't. Did you ask him to braid your hair?” You ask as you move in to wipe her face. She obediently tilts her face towards you and closes her eyes as you clean away the cream cheese. In the corner of your eye you see Matt sip from his coffee, a smile forming in his lips.

“She wanted puffs,” he advises, “I learned a lot of new hair terminology today. Minnie is a very good teacher.” 

Your daughter preens at the praise before taking another bite of her bagel. More cream cheese gets on her face. You decide to wait until she's done eating before tidying her up again. It will be pointless otherwise.

Instead, you start to fix your coffee, removing the lid to add creamer. You eye your daughter as you do, letting yourself finally take in her appearance. 

“You're a good stylist,” you tell Matt, and it is true. Her pigtails look even and as smooth as can be expected for a toddler. You don't see any tangles and if Minnie is happy, you have no grievances with the outcome - only guilt that Matt was the one who dealt with it. 

“I have some experience,” he hums, before taking another sip of his coffee. Then he directs his smile to his daughter, “my best friend used to have long hair. He has little nieces and they used to do his hair at Christmas, and I got roped into helping. I'm told I do a pretty good French braid.”

Mouse giggles before gasping and pointing at you, “do Mommy's hair!”

Embarrassment floods you - you don't think anyone has done your hair since you were Minnie’s age, and your current hair is a gross greasy mess and you don't want anyone touching it. 

Matt hums as he tilts his head towards you, “I think Mommy is better at doing her hair than I would be. But maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time,” you agree, hoping that will be enough to deter your daughter from this path. 

Luckily, she quickly parrots, “Next time!”

You offer her a smile and take a much needed drink of your coffee. It not only warms you but helps to ground you back into reality. 

You remind yourself nothing has actually changed - you are just more aware of the world. To Minnie, this is the same as any other day and you need to get yourself back on track. 

Which means you need to confirm some things with Matt. 

You set your coffee down, then pick up Minnie’s hot chocolate and bring it to the kitchen to transfer into one of her kid-friendly tumblers. You clear your throat, then dare to try, “Minnie said you'd be spending the day with us?”

“You told the froggy!” Mouse happily adds.

Matt looks confused for a few seconds before it must click, “Foggy, sweetheart, not Froggy. Foggy is my best friend - the one who had long hair.”

“Froggy!” Is the defiant response and you know better than to argue. Once something is named, the name sticks. But of course, Matt doesn't know this and you decide to let him learn.

“Foggy,” he tries. “Like a cloud. Not a frog.”

“Froggy!” 

“Fog. Foggy. No ‘r’.”

“Frog. Froggy! Froggy! Froggy!” Minnie bounces in her seat, starting to giggle. You return to the table, securing the lid to the sippy tumbler before placing it down.

“Ribbit ribbit,” you add and that gets you a delighted burst of laughter.

“Ribbit ribbit!”

Matt practically pouts but seems to realize he isn't going to win this. “But yes, I… told Foggy I wanted to spend the day with you. When I was in the phone, outside.” His dramatic sad face turns into something soft as he tilts his head towards Minnie, “Did you tell your Mommy you heard me?”

“I, uh, asked if she could,” you say, feeling silly for admitting it. But you know this is the path you need to take to start understanding what enhanced senses mean.

“I can hear everything,” your little one proudly says, and you've heard her say it before - but now you know she isn't just playing pretend.

“Yes, you can,” is Matt's soft reply. Unlike your underlying panic, his voice seems to carry a fondness about the whole situation. He is the one with the experience and you want to trust him with the lead on this, but it's still absolutely terrifying. 

But you know you need to set the ball up, so you gently push, “Did you know Mister Matt can also hear…everything?” You know it's not everything, at least by what Matt said, but you aren't going to get technical with a toddler. “Mommy can't, though. Mommy’s hearing isn't as good as yours and Mister Matt's.”

Mouse looks between the two of you, pursing her lips up as she thinks, then she reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly, “I'll tell you what I hears, Mommy.”

Your heart soars with so much love and you turn your hand so you can take hers and give it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, baby.” 

“I can hears a bark-bark dog and a woofy dog,” she starts, “and there's a puppy going ‘yip-yip-yip!’”

Matt laughs a little and your focus is ripped away from Minnie and over to him. He absolutely beams at you, looking proud as can be. You wonder what this like for him - having someone else who can hear what he can.

“There's a doggy day care about two blocks north,” he informs, and it is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact your daughter can hear that far. “Clients are starting to arrive, and they are lively.”

There's a flash of brown and Minnie is waving Scooby at Matt, “Bark bark bark!”

“Is Scooby a barky dog?” He asks, leaning forward towards her and putting his elbows on the table. “Not a woofy dog?”

“Bark bark!” Is the response before Mouse makes him growl. You finally allow yourself to sit and watch the sweet interaction. Everything still feels like it's too much and swirling inside you, but seeing Matt and Minnie bond is soothing - even if it's over something you can't understand yet.

“What about Pig? Does he go bark-bark or woofy?” 

His question gets Minnie to gasp as if she's scandalized. “Pig isn't a doggy!”

“Oh, he isn't?” Matt teases, “I can't see him. What is he?”

“He's a piggy!” She snatches up Pig and clutches him to her chest beside Scooby. You hope she doesn't have cream cheese on her fingers because cleaning her toys is always an adventure. She hates when they have to get washed and now, you guess, you understand why. They probably smell different after being washed or the texture is off. It's something you'll have to explore later.

“What type of noises do piggies make?”

“Oink-oink-oink!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he hums, then hunches forward more and lowers his voice, like he's talking in secret, “And what sounds do little girls named Minnie make?”

You finally get to take a bite of your bagel as you watch her contemplate the question. Her face screws up in thought before lighting up when she decides her answer.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo!” 

Matt throws his head back with laughter, which makes Minnie dissolve into happy giggles. The sheer joy between the two of them pulls a smile out of you and the heaviness in your chest starts to lighten more. 

“Ooogie-boogie-boo?” You question and your daughter giggles more. 

“Ooogie-boogie-boo! Like Scooby!”

You don't understand what that means but you just let the positivity continue. 

“What about Mommy? What sounds do I make?” You ask, curious what her response will be.

“Bumbum-bumbum.” They aren't words, but you instantly get it is supposed to be your heartbeat. You feel yourself start to flush. Matt had told you that Minnie listens to your heart to ground herself, so of course that is what she associates you with. But hearing it from her mouth and getting that confirmation still rocks you. 

“It's a good sound, isn't it?” Matt asks Minnie and you can imagine how red you are turning. You try to hide behind your coffee.

“The bestest,” Minnie agrees before adding, “After Scooby Song. Scooby Dooby Do! Where are you!”

“We've got some work to do now,” you half mumble, half sing with her.

“I've never heard the Scooby song,” the man beside you says and that triggers Mouse into action. She slides off her chair, and still clutching her toys, hurries across the room to the television. She knows how to bring up what she wants, so it only takes a few seconds before there is an episode starting to play on screen. 

She drops her toys and the remote before running back to Matt and tugging on his - technically yours - shirt. “You gotta listen!”

He barely gets to stand up before being pulled into the living room. He does not resist in the slightest to being directed to sit on the ground and you watch as Minnie begins to explain the intricate lore of her favorite show. To your wonder she describes each character by their voice first and you can tell Matt is completely enthralled by what he is being told. Scooby gets moved from laying on the floor to being shoved into Matt's lap so he can hold onto him. 

You realize without fanfare that you can barely hear the television. It is still on low volume from last time you had it on, and it dawns on you that you never really have it turned up too loud. Minnie can probably hear it just fine and doesn't need it blasting throughout the apartment. You never got to really watch television as a kid, and you wonder what the normal volume for watching things is supposed to be. 

You sip at your coffee, watching as Minnie plops herself next to Matt on the floor, going on excitedly about mysteries and different sounds. Both of them are smiling and laughing like they don't have a care in the world. 

This is what you want your life to be like, you decide. 

You want your family to be full of love and joy and you have fought so hard to get to this point. You've climbed your way out of a cold and distant household to make your own little corner in the world and right now you need to enjoy it instead of letting your mind be taken over by darkness and despair.

So, you set your coffee down and move to join your daughter and her father in front of the television, asking in a teasing voice, “So who is the blonde man again?”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

[mrchiipchrome]

And I Only Have Eyes For You

a/n: I know this was supposed to be out ages ago, but shit happens and then we die right, there’s no reason to fret now:) also I dropped my phone and now it’s all cracked also I got into a really good school

W.C. - 5.6 k

——————————

Watching on in stone cold fear as the girl sits down beside him, her lips meeting his cheek as his hand comes down to lay on her thigh, seeing the muscles in the man’s forearm flex as he leans back in his seat.

Em’s elbow digs into your side after a few seconds, almost like she’s telling you to do something, react, at least slap a smile onto your face instead of the almost permanent look of shock currently donning it. Nika’s eyes scan over you, flitting from your hair down to the exposed skin at the top of your chest, and as her eyes meet yours, there’s a sure glint of recognition within them.

“I haven’t done anything, thank you very much.” You see the way Em rolls her eyes playfully, waving her hands around as she proclaims her innocence.

“Nika meet my very annoying little sister, and her friend.” The pained smile on his face catches your attention for a mere second or two, the hand appearing in your line of sight breaks the steady stare at the man.

Hearing how Nika introduces herself to the girl beside you just makes you fall back into that almost sedative state, face lacking emotion, eyes turned downwards making you look at the table, a faint tint of pink dusting your cheeks.

You completely miss the small, tender smile the Croatian directs towards you, and the way she almost leans down in an attempt to catch your eye. Em’s uncharacteristically sharp elbow digs into your side again and you return the favour quickly, her yelp almost ringing out through the entire restaurant as she glares at you.

“I’m sorry my friend’s a bit of an idiot.” She sends a teasing smirk your way as you refrain from hitting her right there in the middle of the restaurant, the menacing look she sends you almost nightmare fuel.

“The call is coming from inside the house Em.” That’s all it takes for them to start arguing with each other in hushed voices, not really wanting to disturb the rest of the guests like they usually did. As far as you knew, the siblings argued more than enough for you to regret ever even wanting to have a sibling.

Looking at them through the corner of your eye, you once again don’t notice the curious gaze of the beautiful girl across from you, her eyes flitting over your features in an attempt to remember where exactly it was she recognised you from.

“I’m Nika.” Her voice makes shivers run down your spine, steady eyes fixed on yours almost making you more nervous than necessary. All of a sudden her hand is right in front of your face, the perfectly manicured nails that would feel oh so nice running down your arm on full display, likely only for the time being since you were pretty sure preseason training was starting soon.

Looking at her cluelessly, it takes you a few fair seconds to grasp her warm hand in your cold one, her soft skin against yours almost waking you from your stupor. Slapping a kind smile on your face, you shake her hand just as you were taught all your life, only pulling your hand back when it was appropriate.

“Yeah I almost gathered that much, you introduced yourself to Em before.” A teasing look makes its way onto your face, the older girl rolling her eyes playfully at the banter.

“So…you’re not going to tell me your name?” Nika places her chin onto her hand, her head now propped up with her fingers covering her mouth and the mischievous smile stretched over her lips.

“Do you not like the mystery?” Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, ring clad fingers tangling together in front of you like that of a super villain. The brunette’s eyes follow your every move, from staring intently at your lips to glancing down at your fingers knitting together and then back up to see the amused glint in your eye.

“Are we in Scooby Doo or something?” Leaning back into the backrest of your seat, you smile brightly at the girl across from you, shrugging your shoulders in amusement.

“Alright, you got me there love, I’m an open book, ask me whatever you want and I’ll answer truthfully.” Sitting back in your seat, you wait for her first question to come, for the accented voice that intrigues you so much to inquire about you.

“Your name?” It’s the way she asks it, the low tone with the accent covering the words almost seductively, it makes you almost lightheaded, as if you were to pass out at any moment just because of her presence.

“Pretty Girl Jones.” When she raises a single perfect brow in your direction it’s to tell you that she wasn’t impressed with the joke. “I’m just kidding, my name’s Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” Crossing one leg over the other, you study her expression, watching as she purses her lips before they curve up slightly at the corner.

“Where are you from?” Your eyes glisten in the artificial lighting of the restaurant, the top of your chest rising and falling with every breath you take. Tilting your head ever so slightly, you fix the girl across from you with a curious look.

“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” Nika’s eyes study your face once more, her mind straining to remember where she knew you from, now that she knew that you knew her in some way, somehow.

“Am I supposed to know you?” Her tone is somewhat cocky, but the question was valid in its own way, she was extremely drunk when you first met her and it wasn’t like everyone that saw you just knew your face, knew your name.

“I don’t know, are you? I fear that’s a question you’ll have to find the answer to yourself darling.” With a playful wink, you do the thing you always do with women like her, well no one has ever been at her level but still, you flirted.

“Darling? Are you flirting with me Y/n Y/l/n?” The brunette smiles once more, that teasing, but still genuine smile that she had been flashing at you all evening. It puts a larger smile on your face, the entire top row of teeth being exposed.

“What if I am?” With raised brows, the girl in front of you leans in closer to your side of the table, gesturing with her fingers for you to do the same. Without even meaning to, your eyes drop lower to where the low neckline stops, seeing what seems like miles upon miles of skin. 

“My eyes are up here.” Snapping out of your stupor, your eyes immediately snap up to meet hers, the amused glint in hers almost calming your racing heart and blood red cheeks.

“No…no, yeah I can see that- uhh.” That little smirk appearing on her face again is what clues you in on what’s happening. Leaning back in your seat again, you roll your eyes dramatically, although a small laugh sneaks out from between your lips.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” She leans back just like you had moments before, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes.

“I don’t know, am I?” The chuckle you let out at her reversing your own words from before makes Em perk up, her eyes no longer focused on her brother but rather you and her brother’s girlfriend. 

Emma’s eyes widen slightly as she takes in the scene in front of her, Nika’s head tilted to the side, the amused smile painted upon her lips as her eyes are fixed upon yours. You were in a similar position, leaned back in your chair with an almost lazy smile on your lips, a pink tint to your cheeks that’s impossible not to notice. 

But before she could think about it more, her thoughts were interrupted by the waiter coming, a large bright toothed smile on her tan face.

She’s attractive, dark brown hair filled with curls that went way past her shoulders, but put up in a ponytail just for the occasion, striking green eyes that could put even the most intense of people on their knees. Her plump lips were covered in clear gloss and her canine teeth poked down especially from the perfect row of front teeth. Her slim body popped out in just the right places, with wider hips and slightly broader shoulders, that was not to mention the light freckles littering her face.

If she wasn’t standing right in front of you, in her full server do up, you would’ve thought that she was a model.

But even in all her gorgeous glory, she didn’t even possess a fraction of the sheer beauty that the girl across from you had.

“Hello everybody, I’m Juliana and I will be your server tonight, can I get you started with some drinks?” You see as Cal’s eyes run down her body, almost whistling at her. The urge to punch him in his rat face gets stronger every second that passes, especially when Nika notices exactly where his eyes lay, the way her whole demeanor changes. 

The playfulness from before disappeared in less than a second, in its place was a certain sadness, a familiar sadness. A wish to be someone, something else, so that you’d finally get their love, their appreciation.

For you it was your parent’s companies, and for Nika it was any passing girl.

“I’ll have a whisky coke, if you can sweetheart.” He winks at her, but when her disgusted expression reaches him, he can’t do anything but be taken aback that someone finally resisted his charm.

“I’ll take some Chardonnay.” Em smiles all sweetly, knowing fully well that she’s too young to legally drink. It makes you elbow her in the ribs, but she just looks at you with a reassuring look, nothing to worry about.

“I’ll take the same, thank you.” Nika nods towards Em, signaling that she wanted the same as your best friend.

“What about you darling?” Her pen stops writing in her notepad as she looks at you, a special intensity just for you in her gaze. It makes you stutter and fumble over your words, not really used to the attention from women that you’ve been getting the entire evening.

“Uh, a coke please.” She smiles knowingly in your direction as she writes down your order, turning to the other three to get their id’s.

Both Em and Nika hand her their fake id’s, very out of place with the Nika you knew, but then again you weren’t always the best judge of character. She looks them over for a second or two before giving them back and walking away.

“You have a fake id?!” You hiss at the girl beside you, looking at her incredulously, and as she looks back with the same look you get even more confused.

“Yeah, everyone has one, c’mon Y/n don’t tell me you’ve never had a fake id before.” Looking at her all innocently, she can’t but throw her hands up in exasperation, wondering how that was even possible.

“Here are your drinks, I’ll be back soon to get your orders.” The tan skinned girl disappears after dropping your drinks off, a wink thrown your way. It’s weird, that what you think at least, people flirting with you. 

Taking a long sip of your drink, you look on as the girl walks away from the table, an almost skip in her step that would be unnoticeable if it wasn’t for your studying eyes. All of a sudden, someone clears their throat, making you actually pay attention to the people at the table. 

Noticing Cal’s amused gaze settled on you, you quickly recognize that it was him who’d completed the previous action, the man obviously trying to catch your attention.

“I’m sorry, I forgot your name.” His smirk almost suggests otherwise, but having been raised with the proper set of manners that you had been, you begrudgingly answer his unasked question.

“Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” Looking back at him through bored eyes, he seemingly has an epiphany when he hears your name fall from your slightly chapped lips. His eyebrows shoot up towards the sky as the fingers of his right hand start to click, the noise acting almost like a catalyst for his remembrance.

“Y/l/n? Wait, like the owners of the largest manufacturers of automotive parts in the whole world? That Y/l/n?” Once again, Nika’s eyes start to study you, just waiting for your reaction to the words uttered with the tone of a curious adolescent. The nearly faux curiosity in her stare weighs it down as it falls upon you, sweat gathering at your hairline.

“Yeah, among other things yeah, that’s just the main company, but there are countless other startups that we own.” You keep your tone plain, as if you were speaking about the weather or the newspaper, that’s what you’d been taught, speak about it like it’s the most boring thing ever so as to not reveal too much. But still, Nika’s studious gaze remains firmly on you, not budging even after Cal runs his hand up and down her arm.

“So you’re like…loaded.” The man gestures around with his hands as if to show how much money he thought you had, his mind seemingly blown that you were the heir to what was the fastest growing company in the world, gaining millions each day.

“Well that’s an oversimplification, but simply said, yes Callum, I’m loaded.” The corners of your lips peek up, sarcasm dripping from your words. He smirks, arm tightening around the back of his girlfriend’s chair, the girlfriend that’s currently looking at you with a look you can’t decipher. It’s a mix of recognition and confusion, with a sprinkle of something else too.

“So you’re paying then?” You see as Em’s face contorts, showing her embarrassment at her brother’s blunt question, at the same time Nika’s hand comes down on his shoulder, slapping some sense into him.

“Sure, if you’re nice, the first thing you can do is keep your eyes where they’re supposed to be.” It’s obvious what you’re saying, everyone had noticed the man’s eyes straying and that simply wasn’t okay with you, especially if you were to pay for his meal. His cheeks flush ever so slightly, seemingly embarrassed at being called out, his girlfriend looking at you all confused, like she didn’t understand why you’d said what you said.

The awkward tension between the four of you soon gets broken by the girl next to you, if there was one thing that Emma Anne Whitmore hated then it was silence, well not hearing her own voice. Her hell was having to sit in complete silence, the girl always filling it with random stories or comments about whatever she felt was necessary.

“So, Nika, how did you meet my brother?” Em leans back in her seat, blinking a few times as she waits for the answer from the taller girl. The woman in question has her soft lips wrapped around the rim of her wine glass, the bitter liquid spilling down her throat filling her with a pleasant warmth.

“We met-” Callum’s deep voice carries throughout the restaurant, his smug smile making you more annoyed than you probably should’ve been.

“Is your name Nika? Speak when you’re spoken to.” You interrupt him, your tone nothing less than deadpan just like your expression. Sure interrupting people went against most of the things you were taught growing up, but the man needed to learn some manners and if you had to teach him then so be it.

He’s taken aback by your direction, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink as the smile on Nika’s face grows exponentially, her glass of wine being placed back on the table. Em has the most vivid reaction, bursting out into giggles almost immediately at the situation, leaning in closer to you so that she could whisper in your ear.

“I’ve never seen anyone be able to shut him up that effectively before, you have to come home with me for family functions.” Looking at the girl through the corner of your eye, the amused smirk on your face is obvious, you enjoyed shutting him up as much as Em enjoyed watching it happen.

Gesturing for Nika to answer Em’s previous question, her gentle smile sent your way warms you through and through.

“We met at a basketball meet, a shared workout.” Her words are covered in that adoring accent, the one that has your heart melting into a puddle in your chest, her hand coming up to push a strand of hair behind her ears.

“You met this loser at a basketball meet? Did you put him on his ass?” Em reaches to take Nika’s hands in hers, giggles coming from the both of them as they look at each other giddily.

“I locked him up too, he didn’t score a single point.” Nika’s giggles fill your ears, as well as Cal’s sighing, the man clearly didn’t think that his failure was as funny as you did. His hand comes up to pinch the top of his nose, right between his eyes, in exasperation.

“Babe let’s no-” He starts off, his face contorted into a grimace at the embarrassment he got from his girlfriend revealing that she was practically better than him at his sport.

“Let the lady speak.” You interrupt him once more, fixing him with a stern look that you’d learned from Leah. She called it her captain look, you called it her mom look.

“Thank you Y/n.” Nika smiles at you whilst her boyfriend rolls his eyes sassily, the only thing missing from his look was a pair of long nails, if you added that he’d be the perfect sasser. The picture that appears in your mind at the thought makes you chuckle quietly to yourself, the hyper masculine man in front of you feminized is just effortlessly hilarious to you.

Faint steps coming towards your table catches your attention, the tan woman coming back to your table, presumably for your orders. Her bright smile catches your attention, pearly white teeth on full display showing off the small diamonds on either canine glimmering in the soft lighting of the restaurant. 

Juliana purses her plump lips, the playful glint in her eyes shining extra bright as she notices the slumped form of the only man at the table, the man who clearly had a girlfriend yet decided to flirt with her.

“So, what do we want to eat tonight folks? Are we thinking pasta or steak? Something completely different?” Picking up the menu, your eyes study the names and descriptions of the dishes wondering silently to yourself about what would be good and worth ordering, but as the never ending list continued, you got completely lost in reading. So lost in fact that you didn’t even realize that the others already had ordered.

“Alright, and what about you honey? What do you want?” Looking up confused, you can suddenly see that all their attention was on you rather than anything else. Thinking about it, you decide on what it is you want, to which you tell the gorgeous server.

“Uhm, I’ll just take an entrecôte with roasted potatoes and some salad, thank you.” Juliana writes down your order on her notepad, pen scribbling harshly against the thin lines on the paper. When she looks back up at the group around the table, her bright smile is still very much present on her face.

“Medium rare, I assume?” Shooting her a timid smile, you nod your head at her, not even looking around at the others at the table, barely even feeling the intense gaze of the girl across from you. 

But as her soft hand brushes against your own, you suddenly feel that warm feeling spreading through your chest again and all your attention shifts, the girl in front of you keeping your focus hostage.

Even as Juliana’s hand brushes against your arm long after Nika’s hand has retracted, your attention still doesn’t shift back to her, your eyes focused solely on the careful smile on the older girl’s pink lips.

Even as the server walked away from the table, likely to put the orders in for the kitchen, all your attention remained on Nika and the way she moved, the way she talked and looked. It’s impossible not to notice the soft curves of her lips, the sharp turn of her jaw, the dark locks framing her face in that beautiful way that’s made exclusively for her.

“So Y/n,” You hear Cal’s voice call out for you, looking on as he takes a sip of his drink, thin lips wrapping around the rim of the tall cylinder glass. “Are you and my sister, you know…?” As he gestures around with his hands, you get a fair idea of what it is he’s asking you.

“No Callum, I’m not having sex with your sister, we are best friends, with a strictly platonic relationship.” You see the way Em clutches at her chest playfully, her overdramatised expression making for a great laugh, her overly shocked gasp adding to the comedic effect.

“How could you say that Y/n/n?! I thought we had something special.” You hear the giggle from across the table just in time as Em turns her back on you, pretending to be mad. Looking at the two people on the opposite side of the table with a tiny little smile, you soon turn back to Em, deciding to play into the action.

“I’m sorry darling, you know you’ll always be my favourite girl.” Turning your head towards Nika, you send her a quick wink, why? You had no idea.

“Even over Leah, Jordan and Lucy?” Em looks at you over her shoulder, like she was in some dumb 2000s romcom, expecting you to agree, to say that she was better than all of them. 

“Well…” You start off playfully, Em turning her whole body back around so that she’s facing her brother, not wasting a single second in slapping the back of your head, your hands flying up to clutch at the place her hand had connected with your head at.

“Ow, what did you do that for?” Somehow your eyes land on Nika, for some reason she’s like a magnet for your eyes, and you had a sneaking feeling that she’d be the sun to your solar system in a few months, your entire life revolving around her. If that was weird, then you’d gladly be the weirdest person in all of history, because it meant you got to be close to her.

“Stop being such a baby, I didn’t hit you that hard.” Em rolls her eyes, the slight up peeking of the corner of her lips suggesting that she’s not being serious, her long fingers threading with each other in front of her.

“Can you see what I have to put up with?” Another slap is delivered to the back of your head, but this time it doesn’t bother you as much, the sweet sound of Nika’s boisterous laughter masks the slight feeling of pain from the less harsh slap. She was just the sweetest person ever, how could her laugh make you fall to your knees? How could she be so cruel as to not let every single person in the world take part of her?

“Here’s your food, if any of you have any questions or want to order anything more, don’t hesitate to call on me.” In your stupor, you hadn’t even noticed Juliana nearing the table with the meals, her steps simply fading into the background.

“Thank you.” You call out for her, the rest of the table following your example, watching as she turns back around with a timid smile, her hand waving ever so slightly at you all.

After that, the table falls silent, well relatively so as the sounds of forks and knives meet the glass plates. The steak on your plate was tender and slightly bloody, just like it was supposed to be, and as you look up at the others around the table, you notice the girl across from you glancing over at it. She really was a creature of habit.

Stabbing your fork into the slab of meat, you cut a piece of it off with your knife, leaning over and pushing it off your fork and over to her plate. Looking up at you with an inquisitive expression, you only shrug in response, the small mischievous smile plastered on your lips surely telling her all she needs to know.

You perk up again when an elbow digs into your ribs once more, your head snapping to the side only to see Em’s innocent smile and the obvious try in doing puppy dog eyes. What was it she was trying to convince of this time.

“Can I try some of yours?” Rolling your eyes, you push your plate closer to her, letting the older woman take part of your food and transfer it to her plate, pure daylight robbery. A small ‘thanks’ later and half your steak is gone, barely enough to feed a small child.

“I swear I keep getting robbed of my food.” You huff out, stuffing a potato into your mouth in fake anger, playfully glaring at both Em and Nika. All Nika does is shrug, almost saying that it wasn’t her fault that you were so easy to convince, while Em just leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek. 

Wiping your cheek off with your hand, you’re quickly met with an offended gasp from the girl beside you and as you roll your eyes, she makes sure to express her disappointment in you by kicking your shin under the table.

“Ow, what’d you do that for?” Looking at her incredulously, you clutch your shin under the table to lessen the pain radiating from the point of origin and up towards your knee. “You want your sister back?” This time you look at Cal, the man holding his hands up like he’s surrendering, a smirk on his face.

“Nah I’ve had to deal with her the past 20 years, now it’s someone else’s turn.” A brand new smile creeps up on your face, one of those ‘okay I guess you’re not as bad as I thought’ smiles. He sends you one right back, nodding at you carefully, almost as if to tell you ‘I guess you’re fine after all’.

“Ouch, first of all I don’t like either of you, secondly you’re both assholes.” Flipping you both the finger, both you and Callum have a hard time trying to keep from laughing at her grumpy expression. The only way to actually do so is to put more food into your mouth, but even then it’s hard to hide the way the corners of your mouth tug upward.

Another slap gets delivered to your shoulder without you even having to do anything else, making you stare at her confused.

“Stop abusing me please.” You laugh out at her, furrowing your brows when she sticks her finger in your face, sticking your tongue out to pretend lick at her finger. Pulling her hand back with an audible ‘ew’, she looks at you suspiciously out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m watching you.” Shaking your head at her, you just keep on eating with the smile plastered firmly on your face. You were smiling a lot more than normal, the effect of agreeable people perhaps.

When you look up next, basically everyone’s plates are cleared, only small scraps of food left. Feeling around for your back pocket, you quickly find the lump that your wallet created in the space, pulling the sleek leather pouch out. Opening your mouth, you don’t have to wait for the people at the table to quiet down, seeing as they’re already pretty silent.

“Anyone want dessert?” As both Nika and Cal shake their heads to say no, you notice Em looking at you with that look in her eye, and you knew what she wanted without her even having to utter a word. 

“We’ve got ice cream at home Em.” Cal looks at you all confused, as does Nika. What was up with them?

“Does Emma live with you? I thought she lived in a dorm.” The only man at the table asks, looking at you through squinting eyes, the girl beside him furrowing her brows in response to his question. She looked perfect, that was something no one could ever deny. 

“No, she’s just at home with me a lot.” The two of them look at the two of you with an ‘aha’ look, your platonic relationship with the girl next to you having been questioned more than once that evening. 

Long fingers fumble with opening the black wallet, the card in the small pocket almost impossible to pull out without longer nails, but in the end it slides out without all too much fuss. You call Juliana back over to the table with a wave of your hand, the sleek black bank card in your hand ready for her to take.

“We’re ready to close out.” You tell her as soon as she reaches the table, having decided after all to pay for everyone since Cal had played nice for the most part. “What’s customary for tip here? 20 percent? Add a 60 percent tip and close us out please.”

Adding a small wink to the end of your sentence as a sort of gesture to thank her, she quickly gets a move on to the card machine, swiping your card and clicking on the screen in front of her. She likely feels your steady gaze on her all throughout the transaction, even as she bends down slightly to write something on the receipt. 

Surprisingly enough, despite Emma’s usual aversion to silence, nothing more is said at the table, not until Juliana comes back with both your card and the receipt, 11 small digits clearly written out in dark blue ink on the back of it.

Sliding your card back into your wallet and your wallet into your pocket, the four of you leave the table almost simultaneously, a small gap between you and Em and the couple behind you. It’s not until everyone is outside that you actually take a closer look at everyone, the small details you wouldn’t have noticed earlier in the artificial lighting, like the way Nika’s eyes shone so brightly in the setting sun, or the way her brunette hair glimmered with the way the sun hit it. Even the small sunburn over her nose was visible now, a natural beauty beyond comprehension.

“Thank you for tonight then, it was nice to meet you both.” Sticking your hand out along with your words, you wait for the tall man to shake it, meeting his smile with your own, and while you expect the girl beside him to do the exact same thing, she did something you never would’ve expected.

Her arms wrap around your torso, head landing almost directly in the crook of your neck like it was made to fit perfectly there. Hesitantly wrapping your own arms around her strong body, the hug lasts slightly longer than either of you probably expected, and as you pull away you’re surprised to not find any type of awkwardness between you and what’s practically your sister-in-law by extension.

Looking away from the pair of them as Em says her goodbyes, you’re only really brought back down onto earth by Em pushing against your shoulder. Turning back to wave at them as you walk away the only one that apparently has the same thought as you is Nika, sweet beautiful amazing Nika.

And so, you wave slowly to her, smiling softly when she waves back, all before turning back to walk towards your car with your best friend attached to your hip. 

Your thoughts are plagued with the girl who possesses that soft smile that makes your stomach flip, the one who’s just so perfect in every way. The one who made you not even look at that waitress’ number, just because not a single person would be comparable to her.

Your keys jangle as you hang them on the hook on the wall, pushing your shoes off and almost throwing yourself on the couch.

“What is up with you?” Emma asks as she bypasses the living room in search of the ice cream in the kitchen. Her hand glides over the cushions, sliding over the top of your head casually.

“Nothing.” You answer her, just as your phone buzzes, a notification coming through for you. Ignoring Em’s various grumbling sounds, you pick your phone up, looking at the instagram notification.

nika.muhl started following you

Smiling full toothed, you quickly open instagram and follow her back, both on your alt and main. And as En jumps over the back of your couch with the ice cream and two spoons in hand you get another notification;

nikalovesbball has requested to follow norflondonforever

norflondonforever has requested to follow nikalovesbball

nikalovesbball has accepted your request 

norflondonforever has accepted your request

Taking your spoon from Em’s hand, you quickly turn the tv on to the cartoon channel before she can comment on your sneaky activities.

Cartoons and ice cream, the best solution to your problem, your big, humongous, terrifying problem.

For now at least.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  LINES OF YOUR HANDS

SUMMARY : dean tries being seductive in a Santa suit… and it works, surprisingly. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, on the kitchen table, Santa suit kink, nude photography, breeding kink, jerking off, cum play

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — (Santa) suit kink and nude photography. this was cute to me, idk ‘bout y’all, like yeah, the sex, but Dean’s so cute in my imagination (and in the show). had clara oswald and danny pink in mind for this one, lmao XXX

“Merry Christmas, my love!” Dean exclaimed from the doorway of the kitchen. His girlfriend turned around, distractedly biting off the arm of a gingerbread man. 

“You could’ve at least picked something sexy,” she snorted, turning away from him to bite the other arm of her gingerbread man. Dean pouted and made his way to her unenthusiastically. 

“Well, guess what I’m wearing underneath,” he proposed excitedly with his hands on his hips. She didn’t turn around to look at him this time. 

“Uh… your Scooby-Doo boxers?” She asked, grinning at the space in front of her before taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie’s leg. She knew that would make Dean whine more. “One of the hundred of black t-shirts you own, and uh… those ‘send noods’ socks, my fave,” she continued with a dreamy laugh. Dean sputtered. 

“No,” he pouted adorably. She shrugged, mouth full, drinking warm coconut milk to help the cookie go down. Defeated, Dean’s frown deepened. “Nothing,” he whined, then stomped over to her, hoping she’d look at him. “Come on, admit it’s sexy,” he smiled cheekily, sitting on the table next to the small plate with crumbs and a gingerbread man that no longer had arms and legs. 

She sighed playfully and then leaned back, eyes trailing from the top of his cute head to the bottom of his hot legs. She checked him out once more, contemplating his appearance: she stared at his thighs, the tent in the red, fluffy trousers, the tightness of the suit on him, the little bit of skin showing at his neck, the floppy red and white hat on top of his head.

She tried to give him what he wanted, to see the sexiness in his costume. But… she couldn’t help it, she smiled brightly at him. He was too damn adorable. 

“Oh, come on!” He whined, then hastily undid the black belt around his waist, letting the coat fall open. She held her breath as she watched him, her eyes glued to his taut, hot body, and his warm, freckled skin. He bit his lip, and pulled his pants down to release his cock, and slowly started to jerk himself off. 

That did it for her. Her stomach flipped and her pussy clenched, warmth spread over her face, her stomach, her cunt. She released a shaky breath as a wave of dampness ruined her underwear almost instantly. 

Squeezing her thighs, she fumbled and checked her pockets for her phone to take a picture. Maybe a lot more than one. This was so hot and definitely worth being kept in the hidden photo album of explicit photos and videos of her and Dean. 

When he saw it in her hands, he stopped touching himself and reached for the phone, but she snatched it away before he could snatch it away.

“Hey!” He complained. He thought she was going to ignore him and scroll through her phone instead.

“Shut up,” she grunted, which made his mouth shut instantly, “I’m trying to eat my gingerbread man and you want to seduce me… now deal with the fact that it worked.”

“You’re torturing the little man,” he stared down at the gingerbread man with an exaggerated frown. “But, hey, I ain’t complainin’ if you wanna take a few videos of me right now,” he grinned, going right back at it. “Did ya name him?” He asked, running his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock. 

“Patrick,” she laughed softly, then stood up to find the perfect angle. It didn’t matter though, he looked good from all angles. She snapped a photo, kept tapping and tapping the red button to get as many as she could. Data storage be damned. 

“Want some more frosting on Patrick?” He jested, but she was actually contemplating his offer. He cursed softly and watched her with hooded eyes. 

She leaned down to collect the beads of precum at his tip with her tongue which made his body tense up, a loud moan erupting from his throat. She reached over and took a bite of her cookie, mixing the sweet and tangy flavour of her two favourite things. “Yummy,” she snickered, staring straight at Dean. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, licking his lips. 

“Maybe when you’ve got another load, you’re cumming inside me first.” She pushed her cup and the headless cookie to the far end of the table, close to the wall. “Fuck, actually… should I take a picture of you cumming on your hand first?” She stopped in the middle of lifting her shirt up, staring at him as he slowed the pace of his movements to stop his orgasm. 

“No, later,” he decided for her, “please, get up here and ride me.” He begged, then shifted on the table to lie on his back, aware of the plate and cup she pushed against the wall when he placed the Santa hat with them. She snickered and lifted the top over her head. She wore no bra this morning and the sight of her  breasts made him moan softly. 

“Comfortable?” She asked, kicking her slippers off and then slid her leggings and underwear down in one swift pull. 

“Just get up here,” he told her impatiently, reaching down to tug at his balls instead of jerking himself off. She laughed again and did as he asked. She climbed up the chair, made her way onto the table, and then sat on his lap, taking his hard cock in her hand. 

“How are you making this work?” She teased, biting her lip, slowly stroking from base to tip. He instantly grabbed her hips, his red lips parted to release quick breaths as he brought her forward over his erect cock.

He shrugged, biting his lip and smiling cutely. “Please,” he begged again, urging her to take him. She playfully, teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, and stared down at him mischievously.

“Sam’s gonna get mad that we fucked on the table.” He knew she was stalling on purpose, getting him riled up. Her intentions were clearer when she reached for her phone again, and took a couple photos of his cock in her hand. 

She stopped stroking his cock to focus on taking more photos. It frustrated him and he groaned, reaching between her legs. While she treated him like a sex model, leaning back in his lap to capture him at the best angle with her phone, he separated her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit. 

His cock twitched when he brought two of his fingers to her entrance and an insane amount of slick met his fingertips. “Wow, it’s really workin’,” he chuckled, smiling up at her smugly. She rolled her eyes, lips parting when he pushed two fingers into her, meeting no resistance. “Please tell me you’re done, I wanna be inside you and feel all of this… wrapped around my dick,” he mumbled, pushing a third finger into her, then spread them apart inside her. 

“Oh… fuck, Dean!” She moaned in surprise. Her phone tumbled out of her hand and rattled on the floor, but it didn’t break. She slammed both hands on his chest as her thighs shook on either side of his body as his fingers curled against the front of her walls. 

“It’s Santa now,” he teased, pulling his soaked fingers out of her fluttering pussy to wrap it around his cock. She barely composed herself when he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her swiftly. 

She cried out again and buried her face into his neck, making a tight fist with both hands clenching around the red and white Santa jacket he wore. She moaned softly when he rolled his hips gently, soothing the amazing stretch of her cunt around him. 

“Shit.. that was way too easy, babe,” he gasped, giving her ass a gentle swat. “You okay?” He murmured, kissing her temple. She nodded, her pussy fluttering needily around his cock. “Well…” he paused for a moment, reaching up to move her hair to one side, then lifted her mouth up to his. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?” He mumbled against her lips, giving her a few loving pecks. 

She kissed him lewdly, licking across his sugary lips and into his minty mouth with a hum. With a smirk, she replied, “a baby.” 

His grip on her hair tightened and his cock twitched inside her. He pulled her off him with a sharp tug of her hair and stared at her face, stunned and aroused. “Don’t ask for something if you’re not serious about it…” he murmured, planting his black-leather-boot clad feet on the table.

“Who said I wasn’t serious?” She asked, placing her arm beside his head and laying her palm flat over his toned stomach. 

“That shit-eating grin on your fuckable face.” Before she could get out a reply, Dean began to piston his hips up into her, clasping both hands on her hips roughly to keep her from moving. 

With a surprised moan she pressed her forehead into her arm and wrapped her hand around one of Dean’s wrists, above his watch. 

She panted heavily into his ear, occasionally moaning encouragements that made him fuck her harder. Her clit slapped delightfully against his pelvis with each thrust and upward grind. He focused on chasing her pleasure more than his own, angling her hips so he could press his cock into the front of her pussy, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spots. 

“You want a baby?” He asked breathlessly, cock throbbing inside her velvety walls. He could feel her getting as close to her orgasm as he was, and continued to grind up against her after every thrust to stimulate her clit. “I’ll give you a baby,” he growled, latching his lips to her pulse. 

With a sharp thrust and a hard bite, he came inside her with a grunt of her name against her neck. Hot cum pooled inside her and triggered her own orgasm. With a shuddering moan of Dean’s name, she took Dean's face lovingly into her hands and kissed him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. 

Her kiss-swollen lips moved across his jaw, down his flushed neck and chest as they attempted to catch their breaths. Dean pulled her closer, his warm hands squeezing his favourite parts of her body that he could reach. Barely having caught their breaths, he mumbled, “I believe you need to let me eat your cookie now that I’ve delivered your gift. Santa’s gotta get a reward,” against her flushed cheek.

She moved away from his mouth and lifted a brow at the playful grin he gave her. “Do not call my vagina a cookie ever again,” she giggled, pushing up off his chest. Except he pulled her back down with his fingers around the back of her neck to peck her lips, once, then twice.

“Babe, please, I’m trying to be in the Christmas spirit,” he reasoned playfully with a nod, dimples on display with his puckered lips. He slid his hands down the curve of her back and stopped just shy of her ass, calloused hands caressing her soft skin.

She eyed him suspiciously and then dropped a lingering kiss on his forehead for cuteness. “Okay, I’ll let it slide… this time,” she smiled, then dropped doting kisses over his cheeks and nose. 

“Right, but you have no problem with me referring to myself as Santa, hmm?” He muttered, feigning disappointment. Mischievously, she stopped her kisses before she could get to his mouth, hovering over his lips after kissing the corner of his mouth. 

She pulled away as he waited for her kiss with a very subtle pucker of his lips and then, he had the audacity to pout again. “Be happy that I fucked you in this ridiculous costume at all,” she frowned, but her bright and amused eyes betrayed her serious face. 

“This costume is not ridiculous, okay? You’re ridiculous…” he scoffed, moving his hands away from her hips to cross them over his chest defensively.

She bit back a smile and slid off his soft dick, which made him reach out for her to return with his lips parted to ask her to come back. Instead, she took his hands to balance herself as she climbed off the table and took her phone off the floor, his cum already starting to dribble out of her pussy.

She squeezed her legs together as she unlocked her cellphone to study the photos she took of Dean. “I’m gonna get these framed… or.. I’m making my own porn magazine with photos of you naked.. yeah, that’s a great idea,” she spoke to herself thoughtfully. 

Dean blindly grabbed for the Santa hat, lifted his pants up, and slid off the table to wrap his arms around his naked girlfriend. He put the hat back on and dropped his chin on her shoulder to gaze at her phone.  

“Only if you do the same for me,” he proposed bashfully, then slowly started moving his hands down between her legs. She smiled and parted her legs for him, but she didn’t expect him to send a slap over her sensitive clit.

He must have expected her reaction because he released her immediately and backed away when she jumped with a shout and turned to face him swiftly. She glared at him and walked towards him until the metal counter hit his back. 

He licked his lip, trying to lean casually against the counter with his green eyes shining bright like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree. He swallowed excitedly and smiled at her flirtatiously—that stupid smile he gave women when he tried picking them up or to get information out of them. 

“I’m tying you up with the Christmas lights for that,” she threatened seductively, pressing herself up against his taut body. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hands to her ass to keep her close, then squeezed. 

“Really?” 

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[shitouttabuck]

"picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face" for bucktommy or buddie? 👀

everything’s growing in our garden

buck/eddie | 2k | read on ao3

It’s a Saturday afternoon and Eddie is muddy-kneed and sweaty in his backyard, grass stains all down his jeans and freshly-dug dirt clinging to multiple senses—gritty between his fingers, scent mellow and earthy, in through his nose and settling soft on the back of his tongue.

The fact that it’s a Saturday afternoon on his day off is only relevant when presented with the combination of factors that find him alone in his garden today. First, he’s a dad to a teenager who has much less embarrassing things to do than hang out with his father on a weekend. Second, his two closest friends are dating each other. Third, Eddie’s not dating anybody.

So here he is, carefully planting winter squashes in the stretch of soil he’s just worked, because this is a new phase of life for him and things are changing for the different. They’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he just doesn’t want to—get left behind. Stagnate. Hence, gardening. Maybe a little on the nose in terms of growth metaphors, but hey, he’s doing it, and that’s what counts. He thinks.

He spent a few weeks struggling to put a name to the new anxiety, or anxiety-adjacent twist in his stomach that made itself known after Buck came out to him. Not that night—that night was surprise and joy and this almost debilitating tidal wave of love he tried to wrap Buck up in when he strode across the loft into that hug.

But the next day, when Buck texted him that Tommy agreed to meet for coffee and talk? Something uncomfortable wrapped itself around Eddie’s insides, a python-grip of pressure, and it’s only gotten tighter since.

He entertained the idea that this time around maybe it was him who was jealous, his friend and his best friend dating each other and having less time for him. Except that’s not anywhere close to true—sure, his Saturday afternoons are a little emptier, but neither Buck nor Tommy have lessened the time they spend with Eddie on the whole. There’s still Muay Thai and basketball, there’s still homemade dinners and beers and movies on the couch. There’s nothing to be jealous of—he still has them both in the same capacity he always has.

Which is when he plucked at whatever tendril of envy had him in knots, following it back to the root. Watching Buck blush like a teenager in the face of Tommy’s earnest smooth-talking. Tommy absently reaching for Buck’s hand and intertwining their fingers when he drops by the station while they’re on shift. The way Buck seems to unconsciously sway into Tommy’s orbit, like a Great Dane who’s forgotten they’re too big for lap-sitting.

Maybe the thing Eddie was envious of, then, is less the replacement of a friend and more the lack of any of this, any of the easy affection, in his own relationship. Marisol was nice, kind, fine, but Eddie—he doesn’t regret ending things because he so badly wants to believe in more than fine for himself.

Marisol had looked almost relieved that she didn’t have to pull the ripcord on their relationship herself, confirming Eddie’s inkling that there was pretty much no coming back after he asked her to move out not one day post-moving-in. It’s a memory that’s going to make him wince for several years at least.

He ended up naming the ache, yanking off the mask like a Scooby-Doo villain reveal to look it in the eye. Oh, he’d thought, smoothing away a smear of soot on Buck’s nose, realisation just late enough that his hands remained steady in their obliviousness. This is the easy affection, isn’t it.

Buck’s nose crinkled with amusement and the knot in Eddie’s stomach loosened for half a second before coiling tight again, uncaring of his revelation. And, he supposes, that’s fair, because it’s not like this knowledge changes anything. Eddie can’t believe in the Universe because that’s a quick jaunt to feeling personally victimised by all of it, this singularly unbearable tragedy of timing in particular.

He's not surprised it took Buck to make him realise he’s—not straight. He hasn’t even let himself think about it, not really. The fact that it’s Buck is enough to anchor him from the alarm of a sexuality crisis. Nothing about loving Buck could ever be that scary. Still, the rest of it remains only in the recesses of his mind. He’s—on his way. He just doesn’t think he can struggle through a—a complete identity overhaul at the same time he’s struggling to make his peace with the fact that Tommy makes Buck really happy, and Eddie can’t ever be someone who puts that at risk. That Eddie’s lost Buck before he even realised he wanted him this much at all.

So. Things are changing, things are different, and Eddie has to keep moving. He still has Buck and Tommy in the same capacity he always has. He just has to come to terms with wanting more and not being able to ask for it. Letting yourself want is a slippery slope, because believing you can want and believing you can have are two different things. He’s allowed to want, but he’s not allowed to have. For now, he digs his hands into the soil, deliberate and reaching. In four months, he’ll have winter squashes. Buck will teach him that delicious soup recipe they tried last year. Eddie won’t be stuck in this moment forever.

The backdoor squeaks something awful when Buck slides it open jerkily. Eddie looks up, surprised.

“Hey,” he says, scratching at his nose. “What’re you doing here? Thought you had a lunch date.”

“I did,” Buck nods, flopping himself down on the lawn beside Eddie. “Finished early. I texted you, but I guess your phone’s inside.” He eyes Eddie’s dirt-streaked hands. “Thought I’d come see what you’re up to anyway.”

“Gardening,” Eddie tells him helpfully, and he grins.

“And here I thought you were just playing in the mud.”

Eddie flicks the dirt on his hands at Buck. He just beams up at Eddie, afternoon sun washing him the kind of golden that makes Eddie’s breath catch a little.

“What’re you planting?”

“Squash,” Eddie says, shaking the brightly coloured packet of seeds at him. “How’s Tommy?”

Buck blinks at him. “You saw him, like, two days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, sinking his hands into the raked soil for something to do. “Like—how’s dating him going?”

“Oh,” Buck says, brow scrunching for the barest second before he nods. “Good. It’s—I really like him.”

“Good,” Eddie breathes, gut-snake squeezing and squeezing inside him.

They’re quiet for a minute, bird song and breeze winding around them, and then Buck asks, “Do you, uh. Do you talk to Tommy about me, too?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, studying the dirt before him.

“Like. Do you ask Tommy how things are going with dating me?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “No. No, I don’t. Why?”

Buck shrugs, picking at stalks of grass. “Why not? We’re both your friends.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Buck sits up.

Eddie tips some more seeds into his palm before depositing them into the next hole. “No, it’s not. Buck, you—obviously it’s different.”

“But why?” Buck presses. “I know your friendship is, like, foundationed on macho men stereotypes, but c’mon. Neither of you are capable of not, I don’t know, talking about more sensitive stuff, I guess.”

Eddie sighs at the dirt.

“Why is it different?”

“It’s different ’cause it’s you,” Eddie says. He doesn’t need to look at Buck to know he’s slow-blinking in confusion.

“W-why? You don’t think you have to put up some kind of front—with Tommy?”

“Why is this bothering you so much? Do you want me to be talking to Tommy about you?”

He finally looks at Buck, his life-ruiningly pink mouth ajar in surprise.

“N-no. Just—I don’t know.”

He’s wearing the same hang-dog expression he had been when he’d bodied Eddie at the pick-up game, half-surprise, half-misery. Eddie sighs again.

“Are you—are you worrying about something between the two of you? Because I don’t have to be in the middle of it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me. That doesn’t mean I’m not on your side.”

“There’s no sides,” Buck shakes his head. “I wouldn’t make you pick anyway.”

Eddie groans and shoves Buck back down, flat on his back with big muddy handprints on his crisp blue shirt. “I’m always on your side, you idiot. Tommy’s great, but I’ve known the guy… what, two months? You’ve been my—for six years. You’ve been—it’s different.”

“Oh,” Buck grins, bright and broad, “is that why it’s different?”

Eddie ignores him. “Is there something going on, though? Did something happen?”

“No,” Buck shakes his head, sobering a little. “Not really. I really like him, I just—I don’t know if there’s… a future, you know? We’re both having fun, but I-I just don’t know how to have that conversation with him yet. Or… if he’s on the same page and it’s all okay.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. He turns the trowel over in his hands. “How come—what makes you think there’s no future with him?”

“There could be,” Buck amends. “I just—there could be something else.” He glances at Eddie and hurriedly adds, “I think there’s already… I think… you know?”

“No,” Eddie says truthfully. “But you know, which is all that matters.”

Buck exhales softly. “Right. I’m just—I think I know what it’s supposed to look like. And Tommy is fucking—wonderful. I just—he’s not what my ending looks like.”

He looks up, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and there’s something in there just as vulnerable as the night he quietly told Eddie it was a date. Eddie doesn’t know how to translate it, bowled over by the wave of frustration at not being fluent in every one of Buck’s languages.

Except—he might still be, because all that’s there is this—expectation, a weighty, desperate hope for understanding. Like Buck’s waiting. And behind that, the steadiness of the safest place Eddie’s ever known.

“It’s different for me, with you and Tommy,” Eddie begins, “because it’s you. I can—I can listen to you talk about dating other people because—I know that, I’m used to that. But—listening to Tommy talk about what it’s like dating you? When I’m just—too late—”

He doesn’t know if he cuts himself off or if he’s interrupted by Buck’s ragged inhale. Either way, he’s silent, filling up the next little hole with soil.

“Eddie—”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Eddie mumbles. “I can’t—Buck—”

Buck sits back up and grabs him by his shoulders, turning him so they’re face-to-face. “Eddie.”

“I can’t,” Eddie says again, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m—I haven’t even begun unpacking it, Buck.”

“Okay,” Buck nods. “Okay. I’m not asking for anything. Just—do you mean it? That’s all I need from you. Tell me if you mean it, Eddie, please—” His chest is heaving like he’s run ten blocks and not just been sprawled on Eddie’s lawn in the afternoon sun.

And the thing is, Buck asks for so little. He thinks he does the opposite, but everyone who’s ever loved Buck knows: Buck asks for so little. And he deserves the entire fucking world. So Eddie can spare one terrifying truth.

“There could be something else,” he echoes Buck’s earlier words. “And it’s—it’s already… it could be a really good fucking ending. I’m… I need some time to… but I think it could the right ending. For us.”

Buck swallows audibly, eyes bright when he ducks his head and nods. “S’much time as you need.”

Something in Eddie relaxes, stops constricting, takes a deep, gulping breath. He blinks quickly to stave off whatever emotion this is, sinking his hands into the last mound of dirt.

“They’ll be ready by September,” he tells Buck, a little thickly.

“September,” Buck nods. “Good month. Summer end. We can make soup.”

Eddie turns to him. “Not too long away?”

“Nah,” Buck says, hand coming up to cup Eddie’s face. Eddie freezes, but Buck’s just using the pad of his thumb to oh-so-gently brush away a smudge of dirt on Eddie’s cheek. He keeps holding Eddie’s face for a moment more before dropping his hand, shifting to examine Eddie’s neatly planted rows of squash seeds. “Besides. They’re, uh. Worth waiting for.”

“I hope so,” Eddie says softly.

Buck nudges his shoulder against Eddie’s, companionable and cross-legged beside each other in the grass. “I know so.”

[lukolabrainrot]

It has been a busy couple of weeks with nuggets of information that keeps us guessing and send us in panic. I wanted to summarise these and add my thoughts on here and see what other people think.

L's IG post from Spain to me looked N coded, I can see it in almost every picture he posted.

All the pictures were essentially stripped of any suggestion that this could be a couple's holiday which to me is VERY telling.

His reaction to the Cake picture was almost instant, which clearly shows that he’s got his priorities straight. He will never let us question his relation/friendship with N nd to quote another comment from here "he couldn’t for a second let anyone think he would do something hurtful to her."

The resort posted IG video in July with Bridgerton music and based on public knowledge there is no one else from the cast that has visited this place this year.

To me it looks like he was there with A before the trip in Italy.

In her holiday dump pictures that A posted on the last picture her hair is much longer than the picture from the Spanish resort which further supports the theory that these pictures were old or at least her's is.

There must have been some time limit on when this promo for the resort must be done by and by the looks of it A knows about it so she did post her story before.

There is SM silence from R&S.

R like all his friends comments on his birthday IG post except from L's, this includes posts that were made after L's.

Something went down in Italy and have caused a chaos in their group.

I don't think the Groomer M have a scooby do about his persona live at this point. She might be a shipper or trying to increase he likes by liking/commenting but she is based in US and I doubt is in regular contact with him or his team at this moment.

JD profile picture does not prove anything apart from him hanging out with N. This could be with or without other friends around.

Wearing each others hats, going for drinks together and hanging out yet again this is as much prove that they are together as it is that they are very good friends. Until I see either the same chemistry and behavior as N&L on WT or at least more intimate pictures or posts I won't be convinced there is more than friendship between them. Plus he seems like a really sweet guy, so I hope people leave him alone.

My take based on this is that there is a change since the beginning of August and we will yet to understand what that is but based on songs posted by N, them both having each other's backs on SM I only hope it is a positive change and with the filming starting I think if there are real feelings there ( which I do believe there are) they won't be able to keep away from each other for long!

No notes!

[afyrian]

bats in your hair akaashi keiji x gn!reader (hurt/comfort) wc: 810 | halloween event: day one

    “they’re just over-exaggerating,” you lean up against akaashi, quickly rolling your eyes.

  most of the fukurōdani volleyball team made their way through this particular haunted house. most of those members claimed that it scared the shit of them. only a few tried to give off the impression that it was merely a walk in the park, laughed at by those who openly proclaimed it to be terrifying. 

  so to say you garnered high expectations was an understatement. staring at the large warehouse-like building, adorned with cobwebs and skeletons, you wonder what the inside will look like. how actors are hidden behind elaborate structures, animatronics littered throughout. “you say that about every horror experience. every movie, video game, everything,” akaashi wraps an arm around your shoulders.

  “because it’s true!”

  “okay just because you have a high horror threshold doesn’t mean that it’s overrated,” you look over at him, instinctively shaking your head, a smile lingering on your lips. 

  your hand reaches up, grabbing ahold of his as it hangs off your shoulder. “also, we’ve done so many of these now, that i’m just used to it. it’s always the same old thing,” your shoulders shrug as they always do, “we need something innovative, like an alien bursting out of a chest or something.”

  “there was one in the second haunted house we went to. which you forced me to go to and then i nearly lost my glasses after they were broken,” akaashi eyebrows raise, suddenly remembering every insane scenario you had somehow pushed him into. 

  you can remember clearly just how insane that location was. not necessarily scary… but they tend to chase you around until you can find the exit. which did end up in the upsetting destruction of his prescription glasses, trampled by a family of kids who got into more than they could handle. 

  however, he always seems to handle it with grace. always accepting going to more, pushing you to even go to a few. standing here, new glasses, you can really feel how much he cares for you. “i know… sorry again. besides, these look so much better on you honey,” you smile, scrunching up your nose as he leans down for a kiss, only a few groups left in front of you. 

  walking up to the front of the haunted house, a zombie-painted man stands in front, holding out his hand for akaashi to pass off the tickets. “welcome… to the frightening mansion,” his voice is low and slow, gravelly as he tries to seem at least semi in character, “no physical contact with actors… and don’t go off the path.”

  nodding, the two of you enter the large adorned door. inside the first room is a series of large hanging spiders. tickling the tops of your heads as you walk below them, fog machines filling the room with gallons of misty air. you can feel akaashi’s hand tighten around yours, his other hand reaching out and pulling back the curtains to walk into the next area.

  as soon as he walks in, someone jumps out from behind a pile of fake rocks. in his hand is a fake chainsaw, revving wildly as akaashi jumps back. pulling you forward like an old scooby-doo cartoon, the two of you hurry into the next room, a laugh just barely leaving your lips. akaashi holds you close to him, heart beating quickly in his wrist. 

  “he was just holding a chainsaw, there was no way you were actually sc-” your sentence comes to a close as a grouping of bats descend from the tall walls, flying down into the room, “oh shit!”

  wrapping your arm around akaashi, you push your head into his chest, holding onto him harder than you ever have before. your heart starts beating quickly, hands growing clammy. one of them knocks into your head, earning only another explosive ‘shit’. shaking your forehead against him, you wait for the action to stop, the noise to be a little quieter.

  “y/n, it’s okay, they aren’t real,” akaashi brings his hand up, rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

  “real or not, i don’t like it, keij,” your tone changes into something more cautious, scared.

  never in his life has akaashi seen you like this. you don’t even remember having a debilitating fear of bats. and all he knew was to hold his arms around you, letting the next group pass as you regroup in a corner. keeping you close to him, he tilts your head up with his finger under your chin, “it’s gonna be okay. and we absolutely don’t have to tell the team about this.”

  “okay… you tell the team about this and the next time we kiss i’m socking you in the stomach,” you purse your lips, taking in a deep breath. 

  “i wouldn’t tell a soul.”

a/n: poll is open for a week but choice will be picked every sunday night est and some characters may return in later votes taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@bae-ashlynn

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

It Was His Year

Day #21 - Hate This Town | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Slightly Graphic Imagery, Blood, Injuries | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Steddie (If You Squint) | Tags: Missing Scene S4 Finale, Evacuation, Canon Divergence, Eddie Munson Lives

Gareth runs out to his mom's minivan, carrying another load, and his hand hurts, even with his fingers taped together. At least one is broken, he's certain. Fucking Jason Carver.

The town has cracked wide open and everyone is panicking. Fleeing. Packing their cars, ready to haul ass out of this godforsaken place. Goodie and Jeff are helping load up his drums, and what gear they have between the four of them.

But Eddie is nowhere to be found.

Hasn't been around for days, and Gareth's worried. Something's going on, something more than an earthquake. Something more than an evacuation. He gets that Eddie's been hiding out, and for good reason, but this isn't just about that. Can't be. 

Eddie wouldn't have hurt Chrissy Cunningham. Not a chance in hell. Eddie's mouth runs a good game, but Gareth knows him. Really knows him. And Eddie was ready to finally get out of this sorry fucking town. Graduate.

It was his year.

And now he's missing, and the fucking Scooby Gang that is always somehow in the middle of every disaster that befalls Hawkins, are missing, too. 

Dustin Henderson is never this quiet. Something's up. 

Something big. 

A couple miles outside of town, Gareth slams on the brakes, and Goodie braces himself against the dash, "What? What is it?"

"Steve Harrington," Gareth says, because that was Steve Harrington's BMW hauling fucking ass in the opposite direction, towards town.

"So?" Goodie says.

"That wasn't Steve Harrington driving. That was Nancy Wheeler," Gareth says, starting to make a three-point turn in the middle of the highway, getting honked at by everyone behind him. He throws his hand out the window, flipping them off, then follows the BMW as it barrels back towards town. 

"No, no. Over my dead body. We're not going back. Tell me you're joking? The streets are caved in," Goodie says, looking for back-up from Jeff.

"Gareth, maybe we shouldn't-" Jeff tries.

But it's too late, he's giving chase. If anyone knows where Eddie is, it's that group, Gareth's sure of it.

After dodging streets that don't exist anymore, he sees Steve's car parked under the awning of the already bustling emergency room. Gareth gets out of the driver's seat, and looks over at the group that's surrounding the familiar car. They seem to be in costumes, like they went and raided The War Zone outside of town. Robin Buckley is standing there as Dustin is fucking bawling, holding onto the open door of the car. 

And Nancy Wheeler? She's absolutely screaming, arms waving, pointing. Barking orders to an already overwhelmed staff. 

That leaves Steve Harrington, and Gareth can see the soles of his boots as he's in the backseat of his own car, on top of Eddie, as Eddie's limp, boot-covered foot hangs out of the vehicle. The leather upper torn, shredded to the bone. 

What could even do that? What the fuck has happened here?

Gareth runs to the other door, the still closed one, and when he opens it, Steve barely looks up at him, doing chest compressions, breathing for Eddie.

Steve looks feral. Soaked with blood, smelling of kerosene and fire.

Death.

Eddie's neck is bandaged, his cheek, and Steve drags Gareth's hands to Eddie's neck, pressing them down. Gareth puts pressure, while Jeff hovers behind him. Goodie nowhere to be seen.

Gareth holds on tight, but he thinks Eddie's dead. He's not sure there's anything he, or Steve Harrington, can do about that. 

But Steve keeps working, arms pumping against Eddie's ribcage, and Gareth tries not to cry. 

He's in a daze, when he realizes Goodie is standing behind him, with his dad. Dr. Goodwin. Of course. He's not the kind of doctor Eddie needs, not by a long shot, but maybe he can get him into the right hands.

"What did you kids do?" Dr. Goodwin asks, but there's no answer to that. Between all of them, they're able to get Eddie pulled out of the backseat, and loaded up onto the gurney.

Steve Harrington bullies his way beyond the staff only doors, and Gareth doesn't understand why, as he stands there, the doors gently swinging, as Eddie's taken away.

Jeff is scrubbing Gareth's hands at the public bathroom sink, and Goodie is wiping at his neck where Eddie's bloody hair rubbed against his face when he helped pull him out of the car. His bandana is in Gareth's pocket now, soaked in red. This is fucked. It's all so fucked.

"What happened? It looked like he'd been attacked by an animal," Gareth mutters, "Did Carver do this?"

"I don't know," Jeff says, and yeah, Gareth thinks, none of them know anything. Not anymore.

By early morning, Eddie is hooked up to machines and tubes, and Steve Harrington is sitting at his bedside like a guard dog, still filthy. Still itching for a fight.

"We're his friends. His band. Corroded Coffin? Hellfire Club? With Dustin?" Gareth tries. Steve Harrington doesn't look well, he's glassy-eyed and pale. He has one dirty hand on Eddie's bedrail. Gripping tight.

"We can stay with him, you could go change clothes. Take a shower? See a doctor yourself?" Gareth offers, because Steve Harrington is sweating, and looks like he can barely sit, let alone stand. 

And then Robin Buckley is here, fussing, calling him a dingus and leading him to the sink in the corner of the room. Lifting his shirt.

Jesus H. Christ.

"Oh shit," Gareth says, seeing the angry, weeping wounds on Steve's sides. At the rope burn around his neck. "Goodie. Maybe get your dad again."

It takes weeks, more than a month, and they all take turns sitting with Eddie, before Eddie finally opens his eyes and blinks, looking around. It's a full-house.

Gareth leans over him from one side, Steve from the other, "Eddie? Are you okay? What year is it?" Gareth asks.

Eddie coughs, but smirks, ever so slightly. Voice hoarse from disuse, "It's '86, baby. I told you this was my year."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[secretsofthewilde]

Well. I did say that only one person needed to ask and I'll share. So here you go @raisedbythetv89 @richtea-biscuit

The actual academic essay I wrote and submitted is available to read here (x) for now at least, but as it was written for an assignment with a set word count and parameters, I ended up having to take out the section I had originally written about Cordelia and also there are a lot of references to the set textbook readings I was given. So it might not be the lightest of reading.

Essentially the essay poses the argument that for all the supposedly progressive feminist intentions of the show, we regularly see gender and sexual stereotypes still being reinforced within the show especially through the way that the women are treated for their relationship with sex. That is to to say that while the ‘Scooby gang’ typically seems to contest gender norms, with the male characters often appearing as submissive to Buffy and the female characters themselves each threatening gender norms in their own way, the intimate relations between the characters often undermine these initial contestations. In my essay I explore this through comparing Faith and Buffy's relationship with sex during the early seasons of the show.

Below is my section on Cordelia which unfortunately didn't make it into the essay, followed by a summary of my essay points on Faith and Buffy. I'm mainly sticking to seasons 1-3 for this essay because while I do mention season 4 at one point briefly, the introduction of Riley and Tara mark a change in the nature of sex and what it means in the show.

Part 2 (which is a look at Willow) has also now been written and can be found here (x)

Cordelia Chase

Cordelia starts out as a mild social antagonistic force to our Scooby gang, she is a bully. As the show progresses though she slowly starts to build connections with them, however she isn't allowed into their group until she is depicted as having romantic feelings for Xander, rather than just sexual. When it comes to Cordelia and Xander's relationship she is the dominant one. She has more social power than him and the Scoobys, as well as being more financially and academically stable than him. She also is the only one with a car, meaning she is the one who drives them to their dates. And while this at first seems to be challenging gender stereotypes of powerful men providing for an attractive but weaker woman, the problem is that she isn't allowed or accepted into the Scooby gang until after she sacrifices her social privilege to commit to a public relationship to him. Prior to this sacrifice any relationship or attempt at casual sex we saw Cordelia make was framed as shallow behaviour from her to be scorned or done for comedic effect. We see both her and Buffy seek intimate relationships in these early season, but only Buffy's attempts are framed as sympathetic. It was only when she expressed an emotional connection to Xander that she was presented as a sympathetic character to the audience.

Buffy Summers

Buffy and Angel are the first intimate relationship we see explored in the show and so it's the one that sets the audiences' initial expectations for intimacy. While Buffy is dominant within her social groups and her general use of violence to defeat enemies is something that we would say challenges gender norms, she rarely maintains these traits (or at least they are made much weaker) in scenes that explore her relationship with Angel. Once she's romantically interested in him she routinely takes a submissive role in their relationship; she goes to him for help and advice, places his well being over her role as a slayer, and waits for him to be the one to define and initiate their relationship.

 Unlike Cordelia’s early relationship with Xander, the audience is meant to be invested and sympathetic towards Buffy and Angel. From the get go we have it established that the two love each other, but despite their doomed fate we are meant to want to see them together and therefore we are sympathetic to Buffy's attempts at intimacy with him. When they do have sex and Angel loses his soul, these painful consequences is sometimes seen to be done as a punishment for Buffy having sex, but I think it's more to do with the tragic nature of their gothic romance rather than that - because Buffy and Angel did have the emotional and psychological connection that the show requires in order for their intimacy to be viewed as 'good'. In contrast though, once they break up we see Buffy try to have sex casually with other non-supernatural students but this only results in her getting hurt. When she and Parker have sex he dumps her the following day after using her; which is her punishment for attempting to have sex with something who she didn't really love like Angel. Buffy's also interesting in that her attempt to have a not only loving but sexual relationship also sets her apart from the other slayers - Kendra doesn't have sex, Faith doesn't do emotional intimacy, but Buffy tries to have both.

Faith Lehane

Faith gets to be the sexually free and explorative girl that Buffy is unable to. While she does struggle to do so, within the first three season Buffy does successfully create and sustain a heteronormative relationship that is both sexually and emotionally intimate. While Buffy might flirt with other guys that aren't Angel, she's still easily the "good girl" who cares more about the emotional connection with a guy than sex; in comparison Faith is someone who presents very confident in her sexuality and actively seeks casual sex without any emotional connections. If Buffy is seen to be masculine because of her traits as a slayer than Faith can be seen as hyper-masculine. So she challengers gender stereotypes in that her seeking casual sex and her dominant flirtatious behavior are traits typically reserved for a stereotypical "bad boy" type of character.

When Faith is first introduced to the show as an ally to our Scooby gang, her sexual confidence and behaviours are initially something that Buffy herself wants to replicate. The only time that we actually see her engage in sex on screen however is when she initiates sex with Xander, which coincidently also marks the last episode where she is considered to be someone trust worthy. Faith is the one to initiate sex with Xander, and she remains in a dominant position of control of the scene that we observe. The moment seems to subvert the trope of the confident male "deflowering" the inexperienced and submissive women (who in this scene would be Xander). However the scene is immediately cut with Faith kicking Xander out of her apartment after he tries to initiate an emotional connection with her, and this is framed for comedic effect. By framing their whole sexual encounter as comedic, it's undermining how Faith's sexual confidence seemed to challenge gender roles and instead framing deviations from expected heteronormative behaviours as something to laugh at.

It's also important that the very next episode (Bad Girls) is the one where we clearly see the descent of her mental stability as her reckless behaviour (both sexual and violent) in one-night results in her accidentally killing someone. What was initially seen as traits of a sexually confident woman, and therefore challenging gender roles, then becomes depicted for the rest of the season as signs of her mental instability and her eventual role as an antagonist. This is her punishment for engaging in casual sex; for not having the emotional or psychological connection that is needed for sexual actions to be accepted or approved of by the narrative.

Conclusion

Within the first three seasons of Buffy we see that the female characters are able to challenge gender roles in many ways, however this isn't extended to sex. They can enjoy and seek sex out at times, however they will suffer as a consequence if they don't fulfil certain heteronormative conventions during those times.

Buffy and Faith are allowed to be powerful slayers who are in charge, but in order for their power (and how they challenge dominant ideologies) to remain acceptable it needs to be limited to their battles in the streets rather than in the sheets.

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two (you're here!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) (I also have plans for this one actually they just need to simmer a little lmao)

Hi welcome back to my Mummy Crossover where Steve's parents are Rick and Evelyn O'Connell this took forever bcuz the words didn't want to word correctly lmao

Anyway, here we are! Some interactions, some more insight on all of Steve's talents, a teensy bit of chaos killed before it could flourish. What more could you want?

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

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"Breathe in."

Steve slowly inhales, keeping his chest and arms steady.

"Now pull as you breathe out."

Steve steadily exhales, squeezing the trigger as he does, and feeling the gun kick in his hand. Several yards away, a tin can that's little more than a speck in the distance topples to the ground.

Before Steve can realize his aim was good, the gun is plucked from his hand and he's lifted into the air. Weightlessness overwhelms him, and he shrieks with delight as he falls back into his father's arms. "That's my boy!" his father says, tossing him into the air again.

"Oh, do be careful, Rick. He broke an arm the last time you threw him around like that," Steve's mother says, a proud smile tugging at her lips despite her words.

Steve finds himself safely held in his father's arms a second later, his heart racing and his breaths short from exhilaration. "Again! Again!" he shouts, looking up at his father hopefully.

"Sorry, kiddo, you heard your mother," his father says, messing up Steve's hair before lifting him onto his shoulders. Steve grips his father's hair tightly, grinning as his father jogs over to the tin can. "You'll be able to shoot running in no time."

"Am I gonna be as good as you?" Steve asks, leaning over his father's head. "How long will that take?"

"You'll be better than me, Steve. It'll take a few years, though. At least one hundred."

"One hundred?! I'm gonna be bones by then! Dust and bones!"

"Nah, you'll be fine," his father says, waving his hand dismissively.

"I'll be dead!"

"In my experience, the dead don't make a habit of staying that way."

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, pinching his father's cheeks and tugging on them until he laughs, grabs Steve's hand, and playfully bites his fingers. Steve shrieks again, laughing as he tugs his hand away and yanks on a few strands of his father's hair for revenge.

------

Steve, Max, and Eddie get discharged within days of each other, and even though Steve was expecting his house to be invaded by his friends, he still finds himself wishing he'd had a few more days with his parents before everyone showed up and started interrogating him. In fact, he almost considers ignoring the doorbell when it rings the day after Max is discharged.

"Steve!" Rick shouts, his voice carrying all the way from his carefully maintained weapons room. "Can you get that?"

"Can't put it off any longer," Robin says, grinning at him from her spot on the couch. She stretches out her leg and nudges Steve's thigh, urging him to get up.

He sighs, pushing himself off the couch and grimacing at the slight tug on his sides. "Got it," he calls back, walking to the door and bracing himself before opening it.

The porch is packed with his friends, Dustin and Eddie at the very front. "Finally!" Dustin says, pushing past Steve to get into the house.

Everyone else streams in after him, and Steve ends up just holding the door. "Yeah, welcome in, make yourselves at home, thanks so much for calling before showing up," he mutters, closing the door after the final person, Will, has walked inside.

He follows after them, relieved they filter into the living room instead of heading to the kitchen. Uncle Jonathan has been in there all day, trying his hand at a new gin brewing technique that makes Steve's head spin just thinking about it.

Steve flops onto the couch next to Robin, dropping his head onto her shoulder. Dustin looks ready to speak, and Steve is ready to pretend he's listening, when his mother walks into the room. She looks around with a concerned frown, her fingers covering her mouth and tapping against her lips. "Steve," she says, her voice slightly distracted, "dónde está el machete de tu papá?"

"En el garaje," he replies, waving off her thanks.

"You speak Spanish?" Max asks, glancing at Evelyn as she walks past her to reach the garage.

"I speak several languages," Steve tells her. He feels the couch shift next to him and looks over to see Will scooting over to make room for Eddie. "Spanish, Hebrew, Arabic, Egyptian, French, Greek, a little Urdu, but that one is rusty."

"Holy shit," Mike says, staring at Steve like he's shapeshifted into an alien, "you're smart?!"

"Wait, is that how you guys cracked the Russian code so quickly?" Dustin asks. "Why did you make Robin learn Russian if you already knew it?"

"I didn't make Robin do anything. She started learning while I called a guy I know who can speak Russian. He only managed to get back to me the same day Robin got the whole thing translated."

"You know a guy who can speak Russian?" Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve when he glances over.

Steve shrugs. "I know a lot of guys who know a lot of things. I met all of them while traveling with my parents," he explains.

"Where have you been?" Will asks.

"Every continent except Antarctica. More places than I can count, actually."

"Why did you travel so much?" El asks, her gaze drifting toward the mantle where several of his mother's souvenirs are carefully arranged. "Did those come from your travels?"

"I followed my parents while they worked until high school. And yeah, those are souvenirs, you can pick them up, but be careful."

As though the lack of permission was the only thing holding her back, Max jumps up and hurries over to the mantle, pulling down a small jar and turning it over in her hands. Its lid is shaped like the head of Anubis, and Steve is just realizing what she's picked up when his father walks into the room.

Rick stops, stares at the jar in Max's hand, and then marches over to her, a man on a mission. He swipes the jar, ignoring Max's shout in protest, and looks it over carefully. His expression becomes disbelieving, fond, and annoyed all at once. "Evie!" he shouts, turning around and about to go looking for her when she appears in the doorway.

"No need to shout, dear, I was just in the other room," she says, smiling until she sees the jar he's holding.

Her expression says it all, but Rick still holds the jar up, smiles sweetly at her, and asks lightly, "Evie, darling, is this what I think it is?"

"Well," Evelyn says, rolling her shoulders back in a way that tells Steve they're about to argue. And then start kissing like nobody's around. "It very well might be."

"What is it?" Dustin asks, sliding closer to get a better look at the jar when Rick holds it higher.

"Really, Evie? Did you forget the part where these things are cursed? Did you completely forget what happened to the Americans who touched these?"

"Aren't you American?" Max asks.

"And aren't you touching it?" Erica adds.

"It's certainly not cursed anymore," Evelyn says, walking over and easily plucking the jar from Rick's hands. She looks it over, idly brushing off some of the dust. "Imhotep is thoroughly dead. You made sure of that, dear."

"I'm sorry, did she say cursed?" Mike asks.

"Yes," El says.

As Evelyn and Rick stare each other down, Steve sighs and drops his head on the back of the couch. "It's a jar used in ancient Egypt to store the organs of mummies. That one specifically belonged to Imhotep, a mummy with a curse. He ate people and tried to sacrifice my mom to bring his girlfriend back and killed a bunch of Americans in the process. But Mom and Dad defeated him, like, twice and he hasn't been a problem since, so Mom is pretty sure he's gone for good now."

"There is no way any of that is true," Max says, huffing as Rick takes the jar back before Evelyn can even think of letting Max look at it again. "I mean, seriously? Mummies?"

"Oh, inter-dimensional monsters are perfectly believable, but mummies are a step too far?" Steve asks.

"Inter-dimensional monsters?" Evelyn asks, whirling around on Steve and placing her hands on her hips.

"So that's where he gets it from," Eddie says, his voice soft and more than a little amused.

Before Steve can comment on that (or try to kick Eddie from where he's sitting on the couch), his father moves to stand next to his mother, arms crossed over his chest with a stern look and still holding the jar. "Wanna share with the class, kid?" he asks.

Steve grimaces, knowing that tone of voice and sinking a little lower on the couch. "Not really, no. Most of the class is already in the loop."

"Humor us," his mother says, her voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

"Gee," Erica says, shifting closer to the doorway, "I'm suddenly feeling pretty hungry. Anyone else wanna go loot the kitchen?"

"I'm in," Max says, hurrying across the room in long strides.

"So are we," Mike adds, grabbing Will's hand and dragging him along before he can get caught up in whatever shit storm might occur. Lucas quickly follows after, flashing an apologetic smile at Steve once he's behind Evelyn and Rick.

They've all disappeared before Steve can warn them about Jonathan's gin experiments, but he figures they deserve to have their nostrils burned from the smell for abandoning him.

Only Steve, Robin, Eddie, Dustin, and El are left with Steve's parents frowning and looking at them expectantly. Steve manages to hold out under their stare for a few seconds before he sighs, sits up straight, and waves for them to sit in the loveseat perpendicular to the couch.

Once they're settled, he glances at Dustin, gets a shrug in return, and rolls his eyes. Robin places a hand on his shoulder, getting his attention to flash a grin and say, "Good luck, dingus. Just know I'll be thoroughly entertained by the end of this."

"Gee. Thanks."

Eddie snorts, settles back into the couch, and helpfully offers, "I mean, it can't be worse than being the main course of a demobat feast, right?"

"Oh, I assure you," Evelyn says, her eyes narrowing, "it certainly can."

"Oh, damn," Eddie says, shaking his head, "What do you want on your tombstone, Stevie?"

Steve rolls his eyes as Robin laughs and high-fives Eddie. He ignores them for now, secretly grateful for the lighter feeling in his chest that their joking has given him, and looks at his parents. "I guess it started with Will's disappearance."

-------

Tag List (there should be room still! So, if you'd like a tag, let me know!)

@trueghostqueen, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @mogami13, @blcksh33p1987, @beawritingbooks, @remus-is-trans, @your-confused-friend, @estrellami-1, @nburkhardt, @vacantwatchers, @yeahhhh-suga, @phantomcat94

@blackpanzy, @ape31, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @plantzzsandpencilzzs, @flustratedcas, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @just-a-tiny-void, @disrespectedgoatman, @fallingleavesinthewind, @nymime, @nectandra, @moomkin77, @nadenia, @resident-disappointment, @copper-arrows, @romanticdestruction, @rowanshadow26

[solar-wing]

⚣ BatBro with his BatBros 🦇

⚣ 🦇 A/N → Ah, my first full installment of BatBro headcanons. Where does the time go? Anyway, as we progress throughout these headcanons, you can imagine the characters slowly getting older too. By, the time we get to the end, the reader is at least 18 years old making Damian anywhere between 18-19 years old, since he's a few months older.

⚣ 🦇 Summary → Going from the life of an only child, to having 4+ siblings, can't be easy. Especially when most of those siblings brothers, and those brothers come from a family a crime-stopping vigilantes. What was your mother thinking in leaving you with your dad?

REBLOGS are very appreciated! REPLIES to, I love hearing your thoughts 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🦇

I find it funny that no one has ever thought to take advantage of the fact that Bruce Wayne has created a habit of popping up with a new kid like every couple of years. They could try to offer up their kids to him in hopes of cashing in on the Wayne family's wealth.

And he actively turns away all of them, even if he is tempted a couple of times. At least until he gets to you. Everything was normal until your mom decided one day she was done being a parent and just dropped you off at the front gate and left when you were 9 years old. This is also around the same time Damian ended up in Bruce's care, so you both were now dealing with the fact that you've suddenly got a father you never knew, as well as a brother. Well, brothers, since Bruce did somewhat actually have children before he had you guys. 

She left a note along with your other belongings that said “Trust me. He yours,” with nothing else. Bruce could only stare down at you with that usual grim, but pondering look he had while you just stared back at him. 

“I’d thought you be taller,” was your first sentence towards your dad. One that was vaguely familiar to the billionaire as he rolled his eyes and led you inside the manor.

Obviously, Bruce ran a DNA test and confirmed everything to be true. You were indeed his son, snarky remarks and all. You and Damian must share that quality.

Speaking of, since you and Damian were blood-related, you have a more special bond with each other. Even if he bullies the shit out of you.

Hiding your toys and games all around the manor, stabbing your favorite teddy bears and various stuffed items with his knives and daggers, and I'm just going to throw in that you have a love-hate relationship with Scooby-Doo now.

You love the cartoon, but Damian took advantage of the fact that you may not do well with scary stuff and would make his own costume versions of the villains from the show and chased you around the house with them. They were horrifying and disturbing enough to even unsettle Bruce a little, so you could imagine the early childhood trauma you endured.

People think your fear of clowns stems from the Joker. No, it's from Damian.

It’s always from Damian.

Plus, since you and Damian are around the same age, you both end up in the same grade at the same school. So he always keeps a look out for you and protects you from any bullies, while you teach him how to be more sociable and friendly towards others.

Now, if Damian's closest relationship with another brother outside of you is Dick (who you along with everyone else agree that he is basically Damian's second father), I imagine you have a close relationship with both Jason and Tim for various reasons.

You and Tim connect because you both have very intellectual and detail-oriented minds. You watch Scooby-Doo, so you obviously have an interest in mysteries as well as the Red Robin personality. Whenever he is having a hard time connecting dots to a case or a puzzle, you simply come in, take one look and somehow figure it out. Sometimes, you’ll even just make a random statement that ends up being the key to what Tim is looking for.

Tim and you both have an interest in video games, you a little bit more than him. It was because of you that he even really got into them. Before, when it was just you and your mom, you didn’t have anyone to really play with, besides whatever friends you could find online. So having someone you could play with, especially in person now made you and Tim’s bond that more special.

Also, you’ve made it your responsibility to make sure the guy gets adequate rest and sleep and doesn’t drown himself in caffeine.

“Timothy Drake! It is way past your bedtime. Off the Bat-Computer and upstairs into bed young man.” You yelled, marching downstairs with an amused Alfred towing behind.

Your father and siblings all watched from the sidelines as well, all amused at the sight of your young, tiny body, yelling at a slightly older and taller teenager as if you were his father.

“Um, I’m older than you,” Tim responded while holding on to what had to be his 5th coffee of the evening.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Master Tim, with all due respect, I’d do what the young lad says. He’s already started unplugging and cutting the cords to every coffee and espresso machine in the manor.” Alfred said from behind.

Tim looked at you in horror while you stared at him the look on your face very much communicating a ‘try me if you want to’ message, and that’s when he noticed the pair of scissors in your hands.

“OKAY! I’M GOING! I’M GOING!” Tim shouted, sprinting out of his seat and up to his room. Your brothers were quietly laughing until you turned your head right to them.

“And, what are you three laughing at?! Get to bed right now.”

Now, it was their turn to question you. Cause Dick and Jason were full adults and even though Damian was only a few months older than you, well that was it. He was older than you so he bossed you around, not the other way,

“Woah, there little man. Jason and I, we’re grown. We don’t have bedtimes.” Dick said.

“Yeah, squirt.” Jason voiced right behind Dick with his arms crossed.

“Watch yourself, little brother,” Damian warned.

You raised a subtle eyebrow at them while your father and Alfred both looked at you with curiosity.

Alfred, however, had a little more amusement to his look since he already knew where this was headed.

“Dick, I will never have another brother movie night with you again, and I’ll start going to Jason for brotherly advice instead of you. Also, I’ll tell Kory you were being mean to me.” You threatened your oldest brother.

Dick was both hurt and fearful because how could you even threaten him with something that awful and quite frankly, plain rude and ridiculous. He gave way better advice than Jason! Also, he knew Kory absolutely adored you ever since Bruce brought you to the tower that one time and would not hesitate to put him on punishment as well if she even thought he was being mean to you.

Jason was holding a smug look at your threat toward Dick, that is until your eyes landed on him. “Jason, I know where you keep all of your limited edition books, especially your prized signed copy of Pride & Prejudice. We certainly don’t want that getting in the wrong hands, now do we,” You said, turning to your second oldest sibling. Jason was surprised, and slightly impressed, though also terrified. How could you know?!

You turned to your blood-related brother, who held a bit of an overconfident look as there wasn’t anything you could have over him that would have him actually following your orders. “And Damian, I’m sure you don’t want dear old Dad to know what happened at school last week, now do you?” You said, playing slightly with your fingernails while ‘innocently’ rocking back on your feet as if you weren’t blackmailing your siblings. For noble reasons, of course. They need their sleep!

Your brother was both shocked and angry at your statement. How did you even know about that? The look on his face, well, let’s just say it wasn’t friendly, not in the slightest.

But, to no one’s surprise except your dad, all your siblings silently trudged upstairs without another word.

Bruce looked at you and Alfred with a raised eyebrow as you turned back to face your brooding father, only now you could see his brooding look had a hint of questionable curiosity and amazement. 

“You too, daddio. It’s bedtime, yo.” You rhymed. Apparently, not only was everyone’s sleep tracker, but you had a bit of flow with it too. Someone should get you a record deal. 

You gave your dad a slight hug, your head barely reaching above his waist. You still had growing to do! You’d get there eventually.

Walking back toward the entrance, you also made sure to stop and give the butler a fist bump since he was your secret partner-in-crime. How else would you know where to hit to get your brothers to fall in line? with a slight hug to his side before heading back towards the entrance. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” You said!

“Anytime, Master Y/N.”

Bruce eyed you both suspiciously before he realized what was going on as he watched your small body bounce up the stairs.

“Really? You’re in cahoots with my son, Alfred?”

“Why, Master Bruce, I’m offended. I’d say it was more of a beneficial partnership. Cahoots is for the reckless.” Alfred responded jokingly.

The age-old ending to every mystery novel plays out again, the butler did it.

Though, Bruce was still impressed by how easily your brothers listened to you without a second thought. It takes him a few tries just to get a sentence through their head, and that’s if they were actually listening to him that time.

“Wow, he got Jason to listen to him? I still can’t get Jason to greet me without looking him looking like he wants to punch my lights out.” Bruce commented.

“He has your commanding tone, sir,” Alfred said before backing up the manor himself, “I wouldn’t let Master Y/N catch you back down here, though. I heard he’s got some especially dirty leverage on you.”

Bruce suddenly decided to look at the clock, “Guess it is a little late,” He muttered before rushing upstairs himself.

Speaking of Jason, your relationship with the second adopted Wayne kid had more of a special touch. The Red Hood persona was the brother you really looked up to. You liked and respected how he branched out and followed his own path. Of course, Dick technically did the same, but considering everything Jason went through, he had to be one determined fucker to return to the very life that killed him. And, even though you don't necessarily agree with his 'strategies', you were always standing in his corner.

Though, Jason didn’t take well to you at first. In fact, because Damian left such a bad taste in his mouth after they met; when you two were introduced, he literally ran upstairs and screamed at Bruce about how he was the biggest hypocrite in the world for all those lectures he gave him and Dick about using protection. Richard silently agreed, also remembering his first meeting with Damian. 

Determined to not live with a Damian 2.0, and also thinking he was saving you from a life full of trauma because, in his mind, no one deserved to be raised by someone like Bruce Wayne, Jason attempted to take you down to child protective services. 

Your father was very unhappy when he got a call from CPS later that day and he could clearly hear you sobbing on the other side of the phone just as Jason walked through the front door. He was not the least bit ashamed, at least until you came home and he saw how upset you were.

He apologized and decided to give you a chance, thinking since the whole ordeal actually had you crying, you had to somewhat have a soul, unlike Damian. After some time, you got really close with each other. 

Jason taught you how to fight and defend yourself. He’d read you stories at night from some of your favorite books as well as your own, and he’d always get Damian to back off if he decided to pull another one of his scare antics on you. 

Your second eldest brother was your get-out-of-jail card too, whenever Bruce punished you for something. Though, sometimes, it may have just been better to take the punishment than let Jason pull you into whatever shenanigans he was planning. Considering the fact you and he managed to put an entire city without power for two nights somehow.

"How did you two manage to short-circuit the entire electrical grid in New York?" Bruce asked with you two standing side by side, looking like you just finished sleeping on top of a giant summer barbeque grill.

You both looked at each other before turning back to your stern-looking father, Damian mirroring his expression with his arms crossed and tapping his feet.

"Would you believe us if we said it started over a debate of how to eat fries with ketchup?"

Bruce slapped his forehead to his palm while Damian called you idiots. Tim got that curious look on his face, and Dick couldn't stop laughing for 15 minutes.

Now, your eldest brother, he was definitely someone you could count on no matter what. Being the oldest and having the most Bruce experience out of everyone, he always helped you deal with your Brucie problems or ‘daddy issues’ as you'd like to say.

Truth be told, every kid in this family had daddy issues.

As mentioned before, Dick was your movie-watching buddy, he helped you with your homework and always assisted with any life issues you had going on. No matter how many times you may have threatened the Nightwing persona with such, you always went to him for advice, and there was never really a moment you could think of where you regretted it.

He also helped you learn how to be more agile and light on your feet with your fighting. While your second eldest brother taught you how to use brute force and strength in situations, he gave you the acrobatic style of lessons. Where Bruce and Jason were direct and serious, Dick taught and showed you how to be more of the opposite.

And, whenever Jason wasn't around to get Damian off your back, you'd go to him since he was basically his second dad.

You and Dick together were like two chatty Cathys on drugs. One moment, you could be talking about the movie you were watching, then you’d get into a debate over onion rings vs french fries, somehow landing in politics, somehow ending up in a political debate only to end with the "Are we even real" conversation. And for whatever reason, you swore you could hear Tim itching in his seat whenever that conversation came up.

That boy goes down a lot of YouTube rabbit holes at 2 AM when he’s bored on patrol or not doing anything.

Now, one brother on their own was one thing. Two? Someone was calling the police. Three and you may have to check if your life insurance policy is still good. All four? Pray.

Since you now were officially the youngest, a title Damian was actually happy to pass on despite his warnings to Bruce, that meant you got the most of the teasing, even if it mostly came from your blood-related sibling. But his version of teasing tended to leave you with trips to your therapist so you could do without them.

However, one rule all your siblings and family stuck by, no one, and I mean NO ONE, not even in the Justice League or Titans/Young Justice teams, could mess or pick with you except them.

Everyone in the family was very protective over you. You were surprised to see even Alfred was on that list, though you learned quickly the butler was not one to be fucked with. 

You distinctly remember that one time the Batcave got invaded and Batman made you hide in one of the saferooms, you saw on one of the video monitor screens Alfred whacking the shit outta them with just a rifle.

For that reason, among others, you took a mental note to be careful with how you complimented his cooking in the future.

But seriously, if anyone messed with you, and your family found out, Hell itself would be scared of what would break loose from your home.

A bully from school started picking on you and calling you names and you didn't tell your brothers about it, wanting to handle it on your own. Besides, you could defend yourself. They taught you well.

Until the fateful day you came out as gay, bi, pan, etc., and he called you names that your father wouldn't even repeat, and that man had the title of a playboy.

Well, word spread around the school and got back to Damian, who went back and told your other brothers.

By the next day, Dick had shredded every thread of that boy's confidence. Tim hacked the school files, got his address, and framed him for changing grades in the school. Jason used said address Tim got to pay a trip to the kid's place and shot bullet holes in all his clothes when no one was home. And well, let's just say Damian almost went to jail.

Of course, Bruce was pissed when he found out and had to intervene, but when Damian admitted the reason he nearly got arrested, your father upped his allowance.

Only God could imagine the terror that would unfold the day you started dating.

Oh, and they all call you babybird which you despise.

Don't even get me started on your sisters.

BONUS:

☀️ | Bat Family | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

🤍AO3 Link

🤍Series Masterlist | Prev | THE END

🤍Masterlist

“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. ��Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End