#ONLY FILLER ID WATCH

[comradecowplant]

I was on board for the season 1 nostalgia circle jerk (ily Seven ❤❤❤), I could even overlook the Interesting "put him in a scifimagic flesh & blood android body that will have zero further consequences to either Picard's personal journey or the greater scientific reality of such an invention" choice, but season 2 skywalker family legacy "Picard's ancestor is so important that she needs a secret time agency body guard thatfornoreasonlooksliketheladyhehasawilltheywonttheywith" baloney is not doing it for me. The entire season so far coulda been a TNG Q/time travel shenanigans 2-parter. Best part is the toxic yuri between Borg Queen and doc "we've got bad Marvel one-liners at home" jurati, otherwise I'm sadly getting pretty bored with Picard.

[elegyofthemoon]

people on my twt feed kept comparing pandora hearts and dgrayman and bc my 11 year old self was so obsessed w dgm i decided to pick it up again and 😭 i see why i was obsessed lmao

[bangcakes]

.

[neonacidtrip]

[text ID: Black image with purple text showing the tags from Tumblr user lyriumrain. The tags read as follows: #i’ve been thinking a lot about how you really can just tell whatever story you want #there are components that your story *can* include if you want to #but you don’t have to #there’s a billion trillion stories out there #might as well tell the one you want to tell how you want to tell it. End ID]

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

[pha55ed]

Kodoku | F2 (kimi bday celly!)

type :: angst tw/cw :: gn!reader for most part, only like 3 gendered-terms and "wag", suicide joke (ollie), stalking (pepe), sa (pepe) contains :: kimi!, ollie, pepe request :: kodoku by mei semones, he reassures you after fans attack you with Ollie, Kimi (ofc) and Pepe. You're making me a fan of him (OMGG so many pepe fans! id like to thank httpiastri for introducing me to him LOL, also sorry for no banners, i could not find any good photos for the fucking life of me that actually matched... so just deal with it. ) link to kimi bday celly!

Kimi Antonelli | 04

The newest star in Formula is Kimi. The new prodigy with higher expectations than a fucking mountain. You always wonder how he can handle it all so well. Of course he got hate from time to time, but it's basically nothing compared to all of the praise and love he's gotten.

So when he shared that you were his girlfriend, the expectations were also high for you. Although you weren't a racer and just a random WAG, people wanted the world and more from you. And if you didn't deliver that they expected, not only would it hurt your reputation but also Kimi's. Everything you did was being watched, 24/7.

Wearing a cheap outfit? Why are you so poor, does Kimi's job not pay? Your makeup is smudged? Did you kiss someone else, how could Kimi be so dumb to like a cheater? You yawned once at a race? How dare you not support Kimi's career and his hard work, he needs a better partner.

It was so much pressure on you, it was as if you did one wrong thing then a new article would be released. You wanted to just tell the media to fuck off, but you knew that would ruin Kimi's image and make you be seen as a dickhead. So you were forced to sit and look pretty, tummy constantly sucked in, eyes locked onto the race, and smile locked onto your face.

After every race, you and Kimi would be exhausted. Kimi was drained from the race, while you were exhausted from the brutal camera-crews who were doing their best to catch you off guard. You'd argue that you even do more interviews than him at this point. But you didn't want to tell him, he was able to handle all of his problems so easily yet you were struggling to even do one portion of his job.

But he knew something was wrong, he was great at reading you. Instantly, you weren't able to hide it any longer and you admitted everything to him - the mean comments, the articles, the camera shoved in your face, even the hidden cameras they placed on you.

Instantly, he was upset and hurt. "I had no idea, why didn't you tell me?" He said, but he wasn't blaming you but more ashamed he didn't noticed faster. "I would have done something,,, everything to make you safer"

And he did exactly that. He talked to his team, and they listened to all his concerns. Instantly, at the next race you felt 100 times safer. There were no news reporters sneakily filming you from behind, no new articles were made, and there weren't even any microphones shoved into your face for a small interview. It was so peaceful for once, and you loved it.

Ollie Bearman | 87

Everyone knows Ollie is cute, it's more of a fact than a statement. His brown hair, cute smile, and polite manners made him charming to anyone. He's the dream boy of every teenager and the dream son-in-law for all the creepy mothers. So when he finally posted you on his Instagram, you expected some hate - but not to this degree...

Fans flooded the comments with negative things, calling you awful things. Saying you had poor fashion taste, you were too chubby for him, you were just a gold-digger, your eyes are too close together, your lips look like a bad lip-filler job... There's more mean things, but you didn't even want to continue on.

Your entire mood was ruined, you tried to ignore them but they found out your deepest insecurities. All you could do was cry and mope, feeling more insecure than ever. It has only been one day with the post being up and you already gained 3,000 followers on Instagram. But not in a good way...

Girls flooded your comments with even harsher comments that were supposed to be nice. "You're so confident! I love that!" Which had a sweet intention, but only made you feel worse. "You have such unique features! You're still beautiful!" Also very sweet intentions, but the wording made you want to learn how to tie a noose.

Once Ollie came home, he saw you sitting at the dining table, poking at your cereal. You didn't even want to eat, the comments have scared you from eating. Instantly, Ollie could tell everything going on through your brain.

He ran up to you, dropping all of his gear onto the floor. Rushing to you, he engulfed you in a huge hug. He ran his hand up and down your back while the other was in your hair, combing it to soothe you. Instantly, you broke down into tears yet again, even though you thought you ran out.

"I'm so sorry, love. I don't understand what they're saying at all." He said with an emphasis as he withdrew from the hug slightly to look you in the eyes. He used his thumb to wipe your tears while the other hand stayed on your back. "Don't you dare listen to them,"

You simply looked at him with tears in your eyes. Although he was comforting you, you knew it would take so much longer to heal from all of the hate you got. All you could do was give a weak nod as your leaned forward into him to cry on his shoulder more.

"I'll get my PR team to delete everything, don't worry. They're all so stupid, so so stupid to not see how stunning you are." He said, letting you sob into him.

You couldn't help but ask him, "Do you agree with them...?" You asked weakly. "Maybe you are too good for me," you said in a moment of weakness.

Ollie instantly looks at you with wide eyes, as if you just said a slur. "What!?" He said, unable to hide his shock. "I always think that you're too good for me! I could never ask for someone better than you."

He continued, "Where else will I find someone so understanding of my busy life? Where else will I find someone as beautiful as you? Someone with your pretty smile? With your humor, intelligence, and abundance of love???" He pauses, "I'll answer that, no where."

Pepe Marti | 21

Who doesn't love Pepe? Maybe his car,,, but that doesn't matter - the whole world can't help but smile when Pepe smiles. So when it got leaked that you two were dating, the entire fandom was in shambles.

Fangirls were crying their hearts out, moms were wishing they were younger, and dads were wishing their son's could pull someone as stunning as you. Surprisingly, the fanbase accepted you with open arms. The only issue, is that their arms were way too open.

They quickly became obsessed with you, arguably more than they are with Pepe. Everything you wore sold out in minutes, everywhere you went became a hot-spot, even the small phrases you said became new slang. Although you loved the support, it seemed like too much for just a WAG of a driver.

It got even worse. A bunch of men online made you their new "it girl". You got thousands of followers from random men online, making you have more followers than Pepe. They all shot their shot at you, made TikToks wishing that you gave them a chance, filled your comments with "Can Pepe fight?" and more. It was a bit funny though, seeing Pepe get jealous and seeing all of the love did boost your ego.

But it turned sour so fast. Now you were unable to go outside without a camera in your face, your address got leaked, even your family was being stalked as well. You never could have expected this all, it was so overwhelming for you. Now you were unable to do the most basic things. Getting groceries, hanging out with friends, and even going to watch Pepe race was impossible.

These men were creepy, stalking you all the way to the race locations. Some even snuck past security and tried to take photos with you and hug you. You tried your best to be nice and handle it all, but it became even worse as the men started to get more handsy.

Hugs turned into surprise kisses on the cheek. Hi-fives turned into hand holding, and they refused to let go. Even if you weren't around them, they would take creepy photos of you from behind or side, watching your every move. The FIA did their best to protect you, but since it was Formula 2 and you were just a WAG, they didn't try to do much.

You couldn't take it anymore, after a rough race day you bursted out into tears to Pepe once you were alone in your shared apartment. It was so much pressure on you. So many hands on you, so many eyes on you, you never wanted this life style - you just wanted to be a normal person with their sweet boyfriend.

Instantly, Pepe felt awful. He felt guilty for putting you out there into stardom. He could feel himself fighting his own urge to cry, feeling too empathetic to you. He listened to all your stories, all the touches, and more. You never told him about it since you didn't want to inconvenience him, so him hearing this all was so shocking to him.

After he heard everything, he was furious. He vowed to be by your side from then on, making sure to keep you safe in either his driver's room or in the garage. He even asked his PR manager if he could make a new Instagram post where he states how uncomfortable you've been. You said it wasn't needed, but he didn't care - he wanted you to be safe.

So he did exactly that: made sure his team kept you in the garage or his driver's room, got security guards to escort you around the paddock, and he made that Instagram post. The post went viral, even people who weren't fans of Formula saw it and felt awful for you. The post stated something along the lines of:

"I know my girlfriend is hot, but she's mine. Thank you for all of the love and support you've showered her in, but please keep in mind that we're both still young. There has been lots of actions from fans that have been been extremely inappropriate, which means there's going to be more precaution to ensure her safety. Thank you for understanding and supporting us, much love from (Y/N)'s boyfriend."

[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

[brookiidookiii]

ROTI contestants in the hunger games.. what if we did that huh

OKAY IM GONNA GO INTO A LOT OF RAMBLES AND RANTING UNDER HERE LMAOO I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS i need to get it out my system. ofc since theres only 13 contestants for ROTI, id have to include some pointless ocs that only serve the purpose of getting slaughtered but ehhh theyre not that important. for the districts-

district 1- lightning and dakota (altho dakota is more trained for the cameras than actual combat)

district 2 - brick and jo

district 3 - B and female tribute

district 5 - sam and staci (i have no clue where to put him since realistically theyd die first thing in the bloodbath. "yeah, did you know my great great great great great great half aunt susan invented the hunger games? ya, before them people just watched TLC")

district 7 - mike and zoey

district 8 - anne maria and male tribute (once again didnt know where to put her. maybe id switched mike and zoey to be district 8 since zoey can make clothes)

district 10 - dawn and male tribute

district 11 - scott and female tribute

district 12 - cameron and female tribute (maybe ill put him and staci together)

any unnamed districts or characters, just assume theyre filler characters . mikes alters are still here, except mal because i dont like mal and hes too OP. and for the winner??? im sticking to the elimination order in the show for this one to avoid any problems (also itd be fun to see how cameron could kill jo) so the finale comes down to brain vs brawn once again

cameron, zoey and mike all have their little alliance for a while (until scott kills of mike at the feast) and for a while it comes down to cameron feeling guilty and upset because he knows that if the three of them made it to the final 3 together, cam would be killed off immediately. brick jo and lightning and the other careers (minus dakota) all have a little alliance and until it comes down to just brick jo and lightning, jo and lightning are planning to kill off brick together. that is until brick sacrifices his life for jo (im thinking a collapsing cave?) and dies and jo feels guilty forever

dawn and scott have an alliance as well until dawn tries to poison his drink, but since scott is a farmer boy and would know a lot about how to recognize tainted water, he swaps his drink for hers, killing dawn with her own drink.

manitoba, svetlana, and vito are all mikes alters and theyre careers. chester is just chester he doesnt do much.

btw there wont be that much romance, only between mike and zoey (though a svetlana and anne maria mutual attraction isnt that bad..). ofc i also have my bias as a jock shipper too but thats all for now. ill probably make more with this au lets see

[teethsmoothie]

@beatcroc

One Piece means a lot to me as a disabled person, which I think would be pretty surprising to anyone who only has a surface understanding of it. The supposed central theme of "follow your dreams" would be pretty alienating to someone like me, right? It really, really would be, if that's what it was actually about.

However, that ignores that Luffy's dream is to be the most free person in the world. And to attain that goal, the first thing he does is find friends to live life with. Over and over again, from the very beginning, he takes on their burdens, all in the name of being the most free.

Do you see what that would mean to me, as someone who needs more help to get by than is considered culturally normal, to the point that it puts me in a whole socially manufactured category of "other"? Not to mention, because of the infantilization of me due to that category, because of being forced so squarely into the "cared for" role, taking care of other people is deeply meaningful and empowering for me. However, the myths of independence and universal natural ability often make it emotionally difficult for my loved ones to accept that care.

The fear of asking for help, the guilt of being cared for, the weight of someone you loved who could not be as free as you, the insecurity of not contributing enough, the fear that you were born wrong, the self-hatred that says you are not worth the effort, Nami Sanji Zoro Usopp Robin Chopper Ace they all explore the painful obstacles to free connection. Through deeply impactful stories that weave beautifully into the larger one.

All centered around this one person who views loving them and living with them and carrying them as essential to his freedom. Who cannot, for countless reasons, live a normalized life of Structured Relations. Who views exploring and bickering and suffering and laughing with them as the ideal way to live. Who repeatedly puts his life and limbs on the line to do so.

To me, it is an ultimate privilege and freedom to carry other people's burdens. To care for them and live with them. This is central to my whole perspective, and is completely informed by my life experience as a disabled person. I rarely see it reflected back to me. Let alone as powerfully and beautifully as Luffy does.

Nor the other half of it, of wanting to create this life with people in ways that aren't socially normal or approved. Of creating many varied lifelong intimate relations among equals, rather than conforming to the expectation of choosing One Person to live life with and then Creating More.

The utter lack of roles and norms is just as integral and powerful to the exploration of freedom and connection! It is meaningful to me as a queer person, yes, but even this is deeply influenced by my disability. I could never be that One Person, despite everything I have to offer, there is logistically far too much that I cannot do to be someone's equal partner in this society that demands so much from all of us. However, even if I could, I wouldn't want to! It doesn't make any sense to me to only have two people navigate life together on such intimate terms. Can't the demands of society be more comfortably met in a group? Isn't life more fun that way?

We are taught that we can and must do everything ourselves, I just happen to be one of the people that never had a chance to buy into that lie. To learn very early not just the necessity of interdependence, but the joy in it. To learn that it is most comfortably lived with more people involved. To me, close relationships are, love is, a natural extension of that understanding. One Piece celebrates interdependence constantly from the start, while never pretending that it is always easy.

The obstacles to free connection that I mentioned before, they are interspersed throughout the story, and they are always met with "I do the things you can't do, and you do the things I can't do." With, "Of course I can't use swords you dumbass! And I can't cook either! I don't know a damn thing about navigation! And I can't lie!"

These are intentionally impactful moments, and they define the series. I found it very fitting that the Fan Letter focused on a character who was empowered by Nami to feel free and live adventurously despite not being the most physically capable. The character is able by our definition, but the story is very affirming in a disability way, and it was extremely One Piece. I loved how it acknowledged this deep connection between One Piece and the lived reality of disability and celebrated it as integral as it is.

I also believe that absolutely none of this is intentional. It is simply an earnest exploration of human relationships, emotions, and behavior, and it naturally arrives at a radical and disability-affirming viewpoint. Because we are the monkey wrench in the deeply unhealthy (lol) and dominant line of thinking that independence is all. So naturally anything that also disputes that thinking has a disabled-perspective feel to it. The best part is how much it doesn't give a fuck! One Piece is aggressively against conformity in human relationships, in a way that is hard to find in our new world of self-conscious authors.

It's also, you know, the worst part, in terms of all the outrageous bigotry and offensive character design, but god damn it if it doesn't elevate the good parts to unbearable heights. Even the bad character designs can sometimes be more impactful for their intentional "ugliness", when those characters are inevitably taken seriously despite their appearance and the stereotypes they play on, it hits hard every time. I do have a simple hatred for many choices, there is no pay-off for much of the awful problems in numerous character designs and dialogue. But no matter how upset I can be by those things, in the end they can't succeed in pulling me away from One Piece. It's just so crazy and unique and great and terrible and beautiful and I LOVE IT.

[simplygyuu]

Popstar : 006 - drugs??

synopsis : its 2007 and childhood star choi beomgyu is in the middle of his fall from grace. he constantly goes out to parties, getting wasted and making dumb decisions. he seems to have absolutely no regard for his career anymore and has made a complete change from his old sweetheart personality. you are the manager for another rowdy popstar choi yeonjun, one of beomgyus only friends. but what will you do when management switches you and beomgyus manager, making you watch over the troublesome popstar? he seems to make it his life mission to do everything you tell him not to do, but maybe theres underlying issues that led him to acting this way..

--------------------------------------------------------------

previous masterlist next

notes : OMG HI!!! im sorry for how long this took! i loveee creating new stories until i realize i have to do the inbetween filler updates sighh.... but hopefully ill be back on track!! id love to know what u all think so far :)

reblogs and replies are really really appreciated and keep me motivated!

taglist : @beoms-sugar @squiishymeow @beomnioa @jwnghyuns @ddeonudepressions @bluebearybeom @soobin-chois @wccycc @myknifeyourlife @itzxvaxella @woncheecks @junebug032 @rgyui @kaedescrush @beomsitez @n0-thisispatrick @yumilovesloona @fairy-of-sugar @jaxavance @cookiehaos @heyanonymous123 @fairyofshampgyu @flowerbe0m @20-cms @suzirumas @yoongiigolden @choi-beomgyulvr @cherrybeomz @y0iy0i @il0vebeomgyu @yeehawnana @soobsfairy444 @zaizai1 @anonella22 @wildesreblogs @lilyidk03 @sanasour @r1k1slvr @ghostfacefricker6969 @koeuh @jhopesucker @haraethx @ox1-lovesick @mrowwww @sulliefimmie @yubegom @txtmetonight @sieuneo @schmocolateschmchip @axo-l0tl @run2seob

please send an ask or a message to be added to the taglist! i will probably miss it if you just reply :(

[ghostphobic]

╼ begin again . 2 

abby anderson x reader

← previous part | next part →

cw - angst (kinda?) , reader is implied to be feminine presenting (mention of reader wearing a skirt) 

wc : 1.7k

a/n - this is mostly a filler chapter im sorry skdmgmkg.

disclaimer : this has not been proofread.

There's a plethora of emotions running through Abby at the sight of you. Everything she's been feeling, or not feeling, the last 5 years hits her all at once. She's barely able to hear the barista call out her order through the ringing in her ears. Everything is silent and unmoving and all she sees is you. You're the same, but slightly older. Your hair is different, you're a bit taller, and she notes that your outfit is something comfortable that you likely threw on this morning before walking to class. You look happy and healthy. You look like you. 

It feels like hours have passed since she first laid eyes on you, but she's aware it's only been a few seconds. Both of you are silent and unsure of what to say, but the sound of your phone ringing quickly cuts the tension. Abby looks away from you, and you look away from her as you answer the call. 

Abby sees the caller ID listed as 'Dina' and watches as you answer. You utter a 'What?' into the phone with a tone that's unusually harsh for you. Or, at least the you that Abby once knew. Whatever 'Dina' is saying irritates you, but you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down. "Alright. Yeah. I'm on my way." are your final words to the girl on the other line before hanging up. 

"I have to go." You say, your voice filled with something she can't place. "I promised my roommate I'd proofread her paper before she turns it in tonight." 

"No worries." Abby says, "It was nice seeing you again. You look well." The comment is vague on purpose. Abby's not sure any words can capture how she feels looking at you right now.

You give her a small, but genuine, smile. "It was nice seeing you too, Abby." 

You move to leave but Abby lets her instincts take over and gently grabs your arm. You turn to her with a questioning look on your face. "Would you want to grab a coffee or something tomorrow?" She says. "We could just— I don't know. We could talk." 

You give her another smile. "Yeah. I'd like that. Does 10 AM work? We could meet here." 

She nods. "Yeah, that works." 

"Alright." You say. "It's a date." 

* * * 

"What the hell, Dina." You say, throwing yourself down on your bed and burying your head in your pillow. "5 years later, and all of a sudden she shows up at my school? I thought I'd never see her again. I don't even know how to feel. What if she's angry with me? What if she only asked me to get coffee because she wants to tell me to stay as far away from her as possible? What the fuck am I gonna do?" 

You hear her close her laptop from her side of the room and then, "First, you're gonna slow down. Second," You feel her pull the pillow off your head and you open your eyes to look at her. "what do you mean she asked you to get coffee?" 

"She asked if we could meet for coffee tomorrow and said we could talk. Why?" 

"I'd say that's a good sign." 

"How do you know?" 

Dina shrugs, and motions for you to scoot over so she can sit beside you "Coffee is much less formal. If it were serious she'd probably ask you to lunch. Also, Ellie and I went on our first date at a coffee shop. The same one you always go to as a matter of fact." 

You roll your eyes. "Ellie asked you to that coffee shop because she can't drive and hates going off campus. It's not like she was gonna take you to the dining hall for a date." 

"Hey, worry less about my girlfriend and more about yours." 

"Dina!" You groan, "Not helping." 

"Alright, alright." She says, followed by a moment of silence. Then, "So what are you gonna wear tomorrow? You should wear that black miniskirt. It makes your ass look great." 

"God, you're irritating." You say, and move to shove her off your bed. "Now get up and finish your paper." 

* * * 

You're filled with nothing but anxiety when you wake up the following morning. It's 8:30 AM on a Saturday and Dina just left on a morning run, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You climb out of the safety of your bed with a groan, deciding it's probably time to get ready. 

By 9:30 you're completely ready, and you give yourself a once-over in the mirror. You're going for, mostly, put-together, but low effort and comfortable. Can't have her thinking you're excited to see her or anything. Because that would be crazy. It's not like you can feel your heart pounding, and it's not like you're choosing to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. 

The walk to the coffee shop is chilly, and when you walk inside you're grateful for the warmth. It's 9:55 and, as you expected, Abby isn't there yet. So, you order yourself a drink and have a seat while you wait for her. 

Eleven minutes go by, your drink is half gone, and you begin to think she's not gonna show. Then you hear the familiar chime of the bell on the door and look up to see her walking in. Your heart leaps and warms all at once, and you give yourself a moment to take her in before she sees you. Her hair is down and just past her shoulders, her eyes are tired— as if she just woke up, and she has her hands stuffed in the pocket of a sweatshirt adorning the university's logo. 

After a moment of looking around she finally spots you, a soft smile slipping onto her face as she makes her way over to you. You stand up to greet her and are shocked when she pulls you in for a hug. You wrap your arms around her middle and close your eyes, willing yourself not to cry at the overwhelming sense of familiarity and warmth you feel. 

God, you'd missed her. 

It takes several moments for her to pull away, but once she does you wish she hadn't. She takes a seat across from you, nervously rubbing the palms of her hands on her pants. There's an awkward silence, neither of you sure what to say. Both of you are mutually trying to figure out the best way to approach this, and you're both realizing that it's going to be harder than you thought. 

You decide starting with small talk might break the tension, "So... did you just transfer here?"

"Yeah. Just this past semester. I was recruited by the women's hockey coach and decided to transfer. The team here is much better. It just felt right." She says. "But enough of that. What have you been up to? What has it been? 5 years?" 

"Yeah, it has." You say, a sad feeling taking over every time you realize it's been that long. But you quickly shove it down. "As for what I've been up to... I don't know. Everything? Nothing? High school went by in a blur, and so have the last two years I've been here. All I know is that I'm happy where I am, and I'm happy with the path I'm on." 

Abby gives you a genuine smile. "I'm happy to hear that. You deserve to feel that way." 

You return her smile but aren't sure what to say after that. You're both avoiding the elephant in the room, and you're both aware of it. This isn't just acquaintances catching up, you were best friends in every sense of the word. Most of the time it felt like more than that. It was something akin to soulmates, but both of you felt silly admitting that at the time. 

"I'm sorry," Abby says suddenly. "I'm sorry I left." 

"What are you sorry for?" She doesn't need to apologize for anything, but there's a multitude of things she could be apologizing for. As familiar as she feels, you don't know this Abby. Most things with her are likely going to be a guessing game until you can completely work her out. 

"Everything. Nothing. I don't know." Her hands are fidgety in her lap and she avoids eye contact. "I just feel like I need to apologize." 

"You don't." You assure her. "There's not a single thing you need to apologize for. I'm good as long as you are." 

She lets out a shaking breath, her eyes finally meeting yours. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." 

You smile at each other once again, both of you going quiet once again. It's not awkward though. This time it's much more comfortable and it stays that way until an alarm on Abby's phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and dismisses it. 

"I'm so sorry to cut this short, but I need to make it to practice before 11:30 and I have something I have to do before I go." She stands up, and you follow suit. "This sounds stupid, but do you think we could exchange numbers? I just want to make sure we can get in touch. As long as that's alright with you." 

"Yeah of course!" You say, a little too enthusiastically but you're not sure she notices. 

The two of you exchange numbers, and then Abby pulls you in for another hug. Your arms go around her middle once again, and you let out a soft sigh. "It was really good to see you, Abs." 

Abby closes her eyes at the nickname, squeezing you a little bit tighter. "It was really good to see you too." 

She pulls away with a goodbye and walks out feeling lighter and more hopeful than she has in, well, 5 years. 

You stand there with your phone clutched in your hand, and you too feel hopeful. You don't miss how vague her apology was and how she avoided basically everything that happened, but that's okay. You'd do anything to have her back in your life like she used to be, so taking things slow and avoiding topics is a small price to pay. 

Baby steps.

[philtstone]

you’re actually making me want to watch psych…any tips/anything I should know going in?

another fallen soldier...

ok i will take this ask actually seriously

things 2 know:

it's early 2000s sherlock holmes, so it has cop stuff. shawn and gus are not cops but everyone else is. if u cant watch that without getting upset or frustrated then its not for you.

of its time (2006) so some of the jokes are outdated. its main characters are men & the other characters function as extensions and foils for their adventures, so while juliet is an amazing character and i absolutely love her, she is not a main character. most of her plots are experienced thru shawn's pov, because he is the main character. if you go in expecting differently, you will be disappointed

imo psychs most genuine L is its mental health language. again, if u take that to heart/will be upset by certain outdated terms, not for u

psych is a story about an honest liar. its easy to forget this, bc its a silly goofy show and shawn has very good intentions, but psych is all about duality and grey areas. going into it assuming that your main characters are morally pure, emotionally mature people will end in disappointment and frustration

while it is technically a dramedy, it is UNSERIOUS. really and truly. shawn basically has superpowers. he is not a real boy. many forget this.

its obviously made with so so much love. for this reason i tend to forgive it almost everything

tips for watching!

psych is long. i dont think i have ever watched it start to finish in full chronological order. because it has so many filler eps (murder mystery of the week basically!), you can skip around if you dont have patience for 8 full seasons of network tv. if you are worried about time sink or getting bored, i would start with the pilot, watch spellingg bee, then start skipping fillers and only watch the best episodes in your first watch. heres me and my brother's tier list for best episodes (to be clear, tier C is like. average good psych episode. everything above tier C ranges from very fun to iconic masterpiece):

hopefully thats legible and not totally useless lol. its also a subjective list, so others may not agree! id also definitely bring "forget me not", "poker? i barely know her!", "the greatest adventure in the history of basic cable", "daredevils", and "gus's dad may have killed an old guy" up into tier B ... i hadnt rewatched them properly when we made this list lol. all excellent eps.

anyway .... did i take this ask way too seriously? yes. dont ask me how i got here. i dont care to unpack it all

enjoy!

[saviourkingslut]

there's only french or dutch sub available and it's so funny bc you can tell from the dutch this was made for the belgian market first and the dutch market second. also bc all the animated kanji have the french translation written over it

FMA:B BACK ON DUTCH NETFLIX HALLELUJAH AND REJOICE

[storiesofsvu]

Love Comes Quietly Ch 13

Alex Blake x reader warnings: language, typical CM mentions of violence, derogatory homophobic comments (not directed at our girls, but said in the presence of). A little filler chapter but something to have Alex on the receiving end of comfort this time.

A tiny town in the deep south of Texas wasn’t exactly where you would have preferred to spend your week, but when duty called, you were on the jet and ready to work. The case seemed to be pretty bare boned, a couple of bodies found killed with the same MO that the local department thought were related but weren’t sure how or why. By the time the BAU showed up, a third had already been discovered and you while you’d been invited in, you weren’t particularly being welcomed. Even within the precinct, there was a general distaste for feds and you could feel eyes burning into your backs the entire time you were working the case.

It was safe to say that by the end of the week you were all exhausted.

You had to uphold reputations, images, maintain your cool as you tried to reason with the local pd about how and why you were doing things. Explain to victims families that you were in fact working on solving the crimes even if you were sitting at the police station. On a more deeper level, you and Alex knew you had to keep your personal relationship even more private this week. There was no chance for late night dinners together after the team had gone to bed and you avoided so much as a lingering shoulder squeeze to not raise any brows. You watched as Emily slid a mask back on, stepping back and letting Rossi take the lead in situations she normally would have.

Yeah, small town Texas wasn’t exactly enjoyable for anyone.

 Which is why you were extremely happy when you managed to take down the unsub late Thursday afternoon. You’d further connected that all the victims had been part of the very hidden queer community in the town, which was why they were targeted. You’d talked to the first two sets of parents earlier in the week and they’d both been rather in denial about everything. The third body you’d only managed to get an ID on while bringing the unsub in and were still set to talk to their parents. Reid and Rossi were off at the morgue, JJ and Derek taking care of making sure everything was getting processed with the unsub, leaving you, Alex and Emily at the station to deliver the news.

The place was so small the only room with some actual privacy was one of their interview rooms, the two way glass facing into the sheriff’s office, where Emily and the sheriff waited as you and Alex entered.

“Mr. and Mrs. Douglas,” You started, greeting them with a soft smile as the two of you sat down, “we are so incredibly sorry for your loss.”

“Is it even really a loss at this point?” He cut in with a gruff, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant back in his chair and you and Alex glanced at each other briefly.

“I’m sorry?” Alex questioned gently and he simply scoffed in return before his wife spoke.

“The rumours? Are they true? It’s a small town, people talk, they’re saying everyone he killed was one of those.. gays.”

“As far as we’ve been able to gather, yes.” You replied, feeling your gut churning as you kept your cool.

“And you’ve caught the guy?” She asked again.

“He’s being processed right now.” Alex replied, tight smile on her face.

“Bastard deserves a reward.” Mr. Douglas grunted and you could feel Alex tense beside you, “if you ask me he was helping the community, getting those fags off the street.”

“She’s still your daughter.” Alex urged gently, this time earning a scoff of a laugh from Mrs. Douglas.

“If we’d known what kind of lifestyle she was leading, she certainly wouldn’t have been part of our family. Those people, they’re not right. We should have sent her somewhere to get help, that Johnson boy, he got shipped off to that camp upstate and he turned out alright.”

“They all deserved what they got.” Mr. Douglas grumbled, “out there flaunting their sins? That ain’t my daughter no more.”

“Excuse me.” Alex suddenly stood from the table, her jaw tight when you glanced up at her and you could see the fire burning in her eyes before she disappeared from the room. You cleared your throat, turning back to the couple across the table from you with a tight smile.

“I understand this can be a very confusing and conflicting time. We’re here to help smooth things over as much as we can. If you’d like, we can arrange for her body and belongings to be shipped over to the funeral home for you?”

“No.” Mrs. Douglas shook her head.

“She was burnin’ in hell before she was even killed. We don’t want nothing to do with her.”

“Alright.” You pushed your seat back from the table, “I’ll have an officer walk you out. Thank you for coming in today.”

Leaving the room you made sure the door was fully shut behind you before you looked up to Emily, a knowing look on both your faces.

“Where’s Blake?”

“Bathroom.”

“You know…” the sheriff started, “I really don’t blame them, if I found out my kid was some kinda fag—”

“When do we need to be at the jet?” You asked, cutting them off, your voice louder in an attempt to drown them out.

“Tomorrow morning.” Emily turned from you to the sheriff, “I’m sure your team can finish wrapping up contacts?”

“Of course.” They smiled, shaking Emily’s hand before the two of you were finally free to leave the office.

“We’re really stuck here overnight?” You grumbled, “I feel like I need twelve showers.”

“Me too.” She replied with a heavy sigh, “director needed the jet for something else. Otherwise I’d say we’d be home in a couple of hours.”

“I need a drink.”

“You’re telling me.”

*

You were surprised the hotel room was empty when you got back to it, though you saw Alex’s go bag tossed on the spare bed, along with the clothes she’d had on earlier. You flicked on the television to something mindless and picked up your phone, scrolling through anything to keep your mind off this week and this case. A key clicked in the lock a few minutes later, Alex entering in workout gear, still catching her breath.

“Hey.” She greeted softly, flashing you a tired smile, “sorry, I needed a run.”

“Since when do you run?” You asked, dropping your phone to the bed.

“Since it’s frowned upon to shoot the bigots that inhabit this town.” She grumbled back with an eye roll.

“Hey…” you shifted on the bed, shuffling until you were at the foot of it, “you okay?”

“Yes.” She said after a moment, her hand reaching out to cup at your cheek while she smiled down at you before she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Sometimes I just forget that scum like that exists. We’re in our nice little LGBT friendly bubble in DC, and I guess I was straight passing long enough that I didn’t see that it’s still such a prominent issue. Those victims… they didn’t deserve to be killed because of their beliefs and who they love….and for their families to deny them afterwards….”

“I know.” You squeezed at her arm, “you wanna talk about it?”

“I’d like to shower.” Alex sighed softly, thumb stroking at your cheek before she dropped her hand, “have you eaten?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re ignoring my question.” She fired back and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Kinda lost my appetite this afternoon.”

“You need to eat.” She reached out to smooth a loose piece of hair behind your ear, “give me ten and we can find something to order.”

A very large pizza, order of breadsticks, chicken wings and Caesar salad for good measure were spread across the spare bed soon after Alex was out of the shower. The tv played on in the background as the two of you picked through the open boxes in an attempt to relax from the day. You weren’t expecting the knock on the door, glancing between each other when the noise intruded the room, wondering if there was something missed on the delivery order.

“It’s just me.” Emily’s voice called through the door and you shifted from the bed to pull the door open and she was able to finally flash you a tired smile, “if I’m interrupting, pretend I was never here except to leave some shitty beer.” She offered with the box in her hand and you let out a small laugh, glancing between her and Alex who gave you a small nod.

“You’re not interrupting.” You squeezed at her arm, tugging her into the room, “besides, I’m sure you didn’t eat dinner and we’ve got more than enough.”

“I ate!” She defending, shooting you a glare and you simply raised a brow in her direction.

“Beer doesn’t count as food Emily, you know this.”

“Fine.” She grumbled, settling onto the bed, “I couldn’t really stomach anything after this fucking hellhole.”

“Seems to be the common opinion.” Alex let out with a soft sigh, picking up a new slice of pizza as she dropped against the headboard. Emily ripped open the box of beers, passing one to each of you before she cracked her own and picked up a breadstick.

“I wanted to check in, there were a lot of really terrible things said today, hell over this week. You guys are okay?”

“I’ll survive.” You took a swig of beer, “Unsubs have knowingly said far worse things directed right toward me before. I guess I’m just disappointed that there are people out there who would rather their kid be dead than be gay. Like, I know we’re not in a safe state, but fuck….”

“It’s infuriating.” Alex replied, “you don’t bring a human into this world to judge it, you do it to love them, no matter what. I can understand certain cases where bad decisions isolate people from their families, but the choice of who they love isn’t one of them. To completely disown your child? It’s pathetic.” She turned toward you, “the Johnson kid they brought up? His name was Mark… he killed himself two days before we got to town. No one was able to figure out if it was because of the conversion therapy camp they sent him to or if he was trying to save himself from being brutally murdered by the unsub.”

“Jesus…” You muttered, taking a heavy breath before chugging back more of your drink. “I just… I know the nervousness and being scared about having to come out, no matter how supportive everyone is. But to have one of my parents react like these parents did…I could never imagine.”

“They took it okay then?” Alex glanced up at you, a softness on her features and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth soothe through you knowing she was concerned.

“Yeah. I mean, I grew up in Boston, things were always chill.” You snagged a chicken wing, “what was it like in Kansas? I can never remember if Missouri is a red or blue state. And you don’t really ever talk about your family.”

“It’s never really come up.” She shrugged, “I wasn’t particularly confused or anything, but I thought things were black or white and I knew I liked boys so I settled on that. Then at a grad party a game of truth or dare landed me with a girl friend for seven minutes in heaven and that felt right too. It took a lengthy late night conversation after too many wine coolers for her to explain what bisexuality was. I brought a girlfriend home for Christmas my first year of college without having said anything, Mom never really fully understood the sliding scale, Dad was just happy as long as I was.”

Your head titled in acknowledgement before the two of you both looked over at Emily who stalled in her movements of grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Oh don’t look at me like that! Half the places I lived growing up it was a literal crime. I dated a couple of boys to appease my parents, by the time we were living in the States there was just no point. And to be completely honest I don’t think Mother would be very supportive of it.”

“You’ve never said anything?” You asked and she shook her head.

“We’re not exactly close, we certainly don’t talk that much. I figure at this point, why bother?”

“Makes sense.” You nodded.

“What about James?” Emily asked, “he know?”

“Yeah.” Alex nodded quickly, “when we first met I had a girlfriend. When that relationship ended we started spending more time together and things progressed. He always accepted it, thought it was great that we could check out girls together.” You and Emily both laughed at that before she spoke again.

“Does he know you’re back dating now? Or does he just think you’re roommates?”

You laughed again, hiding behind your beer as you glanced over in Alex’s direction, raising a brow at her as you watched the pink creep into her cheeks and she coughed. She took a swig of beer, trying her best not to relive the humiliation of the moment all over again.

“What?” Emily asked, tossing a balled up napkin in Alex’s direction, “what am I missing?”

“Alex…” you started, half staring her down, “forgot to mention that there’s a camera in the back yard. Take one guess which direction it’s pointed.”

Emily let out a gasp before she burst into a fit of laughter, watching Alex turn beet red as you started to laugh over it too.  “You’re shitting me!?” She managed between gasps of laughter, “how did he manage to see that? Just like, a daily check or something?”

“We were back a day early.” You admitted through a laugh.

“He was just making sure no one had broken into the yard.” Alex managed, the laughter from the two of you infecting her as her lips started to curl up into a small grin, “the moment he realized who it was, he turned it off. That however did not stop him from sending some very teasing texts in the morning.”

“Awe man.” Emily practically pouted, “that means he was the first person to know about you two.”

“I mean, you technically knew before we did.” Alex chuckled.

“You know what, I’ll take it.” She laughed in return, her eyes flicking to her phone when it lit up with a text, “Christ, I didn’t realize how late it was.” She grumbled, standing up off the bed, “I’ve got to be up early to do some last minute paperwork before the jet, I should leave you two to it.”

“Hey, take some food to go. Jayje was down at the gym the same time as me, I’m sure she’ll be hungry by now.” Alex offered and the three of you set about rearranging items in packaging so Emily had a box to take back to their shared room.

It didn’t take long for you and Alex to finish getting ready for bed, tossing leftovers in the mini fridge before slipping under the sheets of the other bed. The television was still playing quietly, your eyes on it as you dropped onto your back and Alex unexpectedly curled around you, burrowing into your chest. You dropped a kiss to the top of her head, your hand soothing up and down her back, knowing that the weight of those horrible words were still dragging her down.

“We’ll be home tomorrow.” You murmured softly, lips brushing against her hair and she let out a little sigh, relaxing into your embrace, “and we can forget about those morons. We’re both loved and supported and for now that’s all that really matters.”

Alex let out a quiet grunt at that, burrowing deeper into your embrace. She knew none of the comments said today were directed specifically at her, but hearing people speak like that had just been a shock, even after the week the team had had. She was so pent up already that she couldn’t let it slide off this time, it stung enough she’d had to leave the room and that didn’t happen very often. Especially in work situations, and she knew that was another reason it was weighing her down. As a profiler she was supposed to be able to keep her cool and not let things show when they bothered her.

Her gaze settled on the tv, focussing on it instead of the thoughts wilding around inside her brain. She let out a small sigh at the feeling of your fingers softly playing with her hair and she couldn’t help the way her lips curved up into a smile. Being curled in your arms, the warmth of your body next to hers was grounding her, pulling her back to where she needed to be, reminding her that she was safe, where she needed to be. It didn’t matter where in the world she was as long as she had you, you were her safe space. Each stroke of your hand on her skin calmed her, helped lull her into a state of relaxation. She left a kiss on your collarbone, her lips brushing against your skin when she spoke softly,

“Thank you.”

In return you simply pressed another kiss to the top of her head, squeezing tightly at her for a moment before you relaxed into the embrace.

________________

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[whereistheonepiece]

Big man i just started the anime (i mean im on ep 70 or smth) and id appreciate if you could point me towards the fillers with zosan content. Im trying my best to catch up quick so im skipping most fillers but id love that content

Ehhhh, I can only think of two. At least that stuck out enough for me to remember. And these are brief. You have to understand that I was at a level of brain rot when I first watched the anime where I was like "Omg, they're in the same scene together! :)" So I don't want to build up any expectations if you're skipping filler to save time, you feel me? What I'm saying is I'm biased lol.

So there's an episode in the filler immediately after Water 7/Enies Lobby where Zoro has to babysit some random kids. No spoilers if you don't want them, but it has an exchange that I think is a pretty iconic Zosan moment, even if it doesn't actually feature Zoro and Sanji interacting.

Then the other moment is so tiny that I hesitate to share, but I will so you can decide if you want to watch it. Actually, this is a filler arc I quite like. It's one where the crew gets amnesia, eps 220-224. Zoro falls into some water at some point and Sanji offers to help him up and that's it. Asdfhjk. Brief moments.

Most of the Toei provided Zosan content just comes in small moments sprinkled throughout the anime, in the midst of canon arcs.

It's not filler, but there's a movie where the boys talk positively behind each other's backs. It actually was the final push I needed to start shipping Zosan. It takes place after the Alabasta arc, which comes later for you. It's called Chopper's Kingdom on the Island of Strange Animals. I don't remember the movie itself being good but the Zosan moment in there makes it worth it to me lol.

If anyone wants to share in the notes their favorite Zosan filler content, please don't be shy!

[juniperhillpatient]

I'm curious about

6. episode of tv or webisode that defined the year for you

I feel like ever since TV shows stopped doing standalone episodes and fun filler, it has become increasingly hard for a single episode to really stand out - but maybe you have something? :)

Damn this is a hard one!

You’re absolutely right. Unfortunately even shows I really enjoyed that came out this year like A Good Girls Guide to Murder, A Man in the Inside & Chaos Theory, the bingable format makes it hard to pinpoint specific episodes that stand out above the rest.

I think the finale of A Man on the Inside “The Spy Who Came in from the Cold” stands out for me the most because it did so beautifully tie the story up while also leaving things in a place that made sense & was realistically imperfect. It was just an emotionally satisfying finale. (I don’t know if you watched this show or not but it was really good!) It only stands out because I know I liked how the show ended / tied up the season though, if I’m being honest. The episodes all blend together lol.

Honestly you’re absolutely right that specific episodes just don’t stand out like they used to these days. It’s way easier to pick out favorite stand alone episodes of shows when there’s 20-22 episode seasons with lots of fun filler episodes that lets the characters just have fun. Good question, made me really think! And I’m really not convinced on that answer for real because again, while I loved the show, the episodes do all blend together almost like it was a really long movie lol it’s just the most stand out episode I can think of from this year right now.

Oh! If we’re talking not so much things that came OUT in 2024 but things *i* WATCHED in 2024, id have to say “Justin’s Little Sister” in Wizards of Waverly Place “Cat’s Claw” Ghost Whisperer or “A Tale of Two Stans” Gravity Falls. I’m limiting myself to only shows im doing / did actual full in order rewatches of for this bonus answer because all shows I happened to rewatch stuff from is way too broad & this is already sort of a cheat. But see? It’s SO easy off the top of my head to remember stand out episodes in shows that are made the way tv is meant to be made 😔

Anyway!!!! My real non cheat answer best I can come up with is the spy who came in from the cold lol

[orcelito]

And Here We Are Again

Sasuke's motivations in this weird filler arc au are shallow and stupid, but at least they're staying true to some of their key moments. Even if I think this arc just doesn't make sense.

They gave us a New Angle!!!!

On the iconic Sasuke Hanging Over Naruto In The Rain scene.

The original, of course, being this one

All the other flashbacks have been similarly horizontal. But this time, we got a diagonal to Really drive the point home