#but also I really liked how they turned out! especially that last one

[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

[strawberrykidneystone]

im thinking about sevika with reader who has long manicured nails and vika makes a habit of opening cans for her! like, at first reader asks her if she can open but as time passes sevika just opens it without even being asked, just does it as soon as the waitress leaves the can on the table and wont even interrupt the cards game/conversation she's in. its really silly but its such a small gesture of care :( like she knows reader cares about her pretty nails so she cares about it too :( could you write something like that? sorry if its too specific

UGH THIS IS SO CUTE

i love having long nails but they never last longer than 3 days bc i pick at them like crazy😭

you don’t even remember when you first asked sevika to open your cans for you, but she does it unconsciously atp

at first she thinks your nails are very impractical, but she learns to like them overtime, especially with how much care you put into your nails

she loves your long nails, especially when you get intricate designs

you came back with charms dangling off your nails one day and she was absolutely bewildered /pos

when you ask her what you should get, she always says purple and gold without fail (even if you’re a silver person smh🙄)

she will 100% tease you and asks how you wipe your ass LMAO

ANYWAYS

sevika’s love language is 1000000% acts of service so opening your cans for you turns into her civic duty

it doesn’t matter what she’s doing, if you get a can with a pop tab she’s opening it for you the second it’s placed down

okay yk the pop tab thing where if you get it off with the ring, the person you hand it to is supposed to kiss you? yeah, she’s an expert at it now and sometimes pulls off the ring with the middle still attached iykyk

doesn’t matter where she is or what she’s doing, if you hand her a can she will open it with ease for you

and maybe take the first sip as an “opener’s fee”

this escalates into her taking your card out of those IMPOSSIBLE readers

need to put jewelry on? she’s already there with the tiny clasp open

this woman will literally switch your earrings for you if you don’t want to deal with it while you have long nails

you need her to type something? she’s ready at your keyboard

if you ask really nicely while she’s in a good mood she’ll get matching nails with you (no acrylic for her) <3

if you use nail oil in front of her you have to share bc you gave her some once and she actually really liked how her nails felt after she washed her hands

will absolutely mourn your nails with you if one breaks/falls off and immediately offers to pay for a fix/new nail

she will 100% hold your nails like cynthia and ariana style

scratch her scalp with your nails and she’ll be in HEAVEN

she also loves when they scratch down her back during freaky time OMG WHO SAID THAT

a/n: i miss my cats

[thewertsearch]

GT: Well ive thought about it. GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad. GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found. TT: Well yeah, Jake. TT: That's sort of the point. TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.

Ok, I think I get what's going on here.

Jake's Dreambot is probably the last remaining source of uranium on the entire island, and the AR is turning its retrieval into a game of hide-and-seek.

I'm not sure why Jake hadn't already retrieved this particular chunk of uranium, especially since he has no use for the robot himself. Maybe he was keeping it operational for sentimental reasons?

TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure. […] GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome. GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win.

Jake's picturing a LIVING GRANDSON SMACKDOWN - and, frankly, so am I. That robot's being piloted by an absurdly advanced AI, and I'm pretty sure Jake doesn't have any combat experience.

Winning, in this case, is shorthand for 'waiting for the AR to take pity on you'.

TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake?

Now, to be fair, that one would only work if Jake had agreed to this challenge beforehand. After all, you can't pussy out of something you never pussied into.

GT: It seems it seems it seems!!! GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off! […] TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being? GT: Oh malarkey. GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.

Jake, it's been sixty seconds since you complained about him pretending not to have feelings.

TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them. TT: It sucks. GT: Oh. GT: Um. GT: Im sorry then if thats the case.

Well, that's something, at least - but I don't think Jake really understands why the AR is offended, so I'm worried it's just going to happen again in their next argument.

How long has the Responder existed for, anyway? Jake seems familiar with his schtick, so he's probably not brand-new - but at the same time, Jake's surprised apology makes it sound like the AR has only recently started to express feelings.

Maybe the AR has existed for years, but hasn't been sentient for years. Like, it really did just start as a primitive response script, but Bro kept uploading more of his personality onto it, until it slowly began to think and feel. Fascinating idea, I have to say.

GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often. GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me… GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct… uh… THING from my buddy.

Hey, it's not like the AR can stop imitating Bro. Even if he wanted to have his own identity, he's currently bound to the response script of someone else's Pesterchum account. When he talks, he's forced to do it through Bro's handle.

All evidence points to the Responder being a thinking, feeling being with his own inner world - which makes it a little ethically dubious to force him to be Bro's secretary. The guy shouldn't be treated as a bargain-bin Bro, the same way that Davesprite wasn't a backup Dave. We all saw how that ended, and it sure wasn't pretty.

[ghostgirl-22]

i like the idea of patrick giving art hickeys. art lies to the other guys on the team, says they’re from various girls but everyone knows the truth. maybe patrick even tells them when art isn’t around

I like that idea too actually, thank you for sharing anon<33

(Whoa im not even gonna edit this…good luck everyone!)

CW: 18+ !NSFW! The S/m part of bdsm, if you squint

—-

Art bruises easily. It really shouldn’t be something that turns Patrick on…but it is. He bruises so, so easy. Every time Patrick thinks about it, his dick gets a little hard. Fingerprints on his waist, bite marks his shoulders, hickeys on his throat. He’s not sure if Art really believes him anymore when Patrick says he’s not doing it on purpose.

God.

It’s so fucked up but he barely has to do anything, barely has to bite, barely has to squeeze and little pink-purple marks bloom vividly everywhere. The bruises don’t even stick around, they’re fading almost as easy as they come. Turning pale pink as the blood beneath them disappates before they turn white and disappear. But when they’re there, when they’re fresh, it’s so fucking delicious.

Especially because Art is so goody goody, so strait laced, so careful and controlled and put together. Patrick kinda loves just unraveling him. Sex so good that it makes him forget how to behave himself. Forget they’re doing it in public, forget his grandma is down the hall, forget all decorum. Mostly he forgets to make Patrick stop sucking visible evidence that he’s not a perfect angel into his skin.

Sometimes it’s so obvious… like the other day in class when their English professor noticed “fun night last night?” And then his ex girlfriend noticed. She scrunched her nose up irritated. Patrick can’t help it, he was giddy watching Art try to hide it the rest of the day. Skin all flushed, anxious that everyone was aware of what he’s been up to.

He gets so anxious for it, tells Patrick he’ll mark him back if he doesn’t stop. Patrick promises he will. But it’s not his fault…Art is just so fragile. Especially when he’s… pressed up against the wall taking Patrick’s cock because he couldn’t wait for the bed. Or when he’s on his knees in the back of the movie theater swallowing as much as he can while Patrick’s running his popcornbutter covered fingers through golden blond curls. Patrick doesn’t even mean to mark him. Not really. He just kinda wants everyone to know that this is his.

Patrick’s favorite thing is when their teammates tease Art about it.

It’s one of the last nights of an away tournament and most of the varsity team has gathered in Everett Moore and Lindsay Jefferson's hotel room, because Lindsay happens to be number one singles player and team captain (and he also happens to come from the richest family on campus. One doesn’t necessarily have to do with the other but Patrick knows he’s technically a better player. Hell, Art might even be better but that’s neither here nor there). When they meet up, someone usually sneaks in alcohol or weed and they watch movies or play music, while shooting the shit and discussing previous and upcoming matches and opponents.

They’re all spread out across the room, on the floor, on the beds. The tv is on with the volume low, red solo cups all over the place and two bottles of rum and three two liters of Pepsi are on the dresser. Along with three nearly empty boxes of pizza and a stack of unused paper plates.

As a team they often pick on each other, it’s not just Art. But Patrick’s favorite is when the attention shifts to Art because he gets even more interesting than he already is.

“Donaldson, that one looks fresh?” It’s Scott Jefferson, Lindsay's little (by 10 months) brother, normally everyone blows him off because he’s the youngest on the team. But Lindsay is amused.

“It does look like a new one, who’s been kissing you?” He chimes in.

Art waves it off. “Uh it’s not that new… you just couldn’t see it under the um… my uniform.” He lies. Because it is new, brand, brand new. Patrick did it last night when Art crawled into his bed because the air conditioner wasn’t working and it was too hot. Then it got hotter. They had to take a cold shower after. Art was all pouty when he noticed it in the morning.

“This one is fading, time for a new one,” Alex Kim, who’s right next to Art on the floor, touches at what Patrick knows is a sensitive spot. Art squirms and shifts his shoulder up towards his ear. Alex bites down on a smile and scoots closer to him.

”I thought Shannon broke up with you,” Everett points out, from his spot next to Patrick on the bed.

“She did, I’m— I’m seeing another girl. She’s—“Art gestures vaguely. “She doesn’t go to MRTA.”

“Where does she go?” Someone else asks.

“Yeah who’s this mystery girl, she’s a bit of a freak isn’t she? Marking you up,” Patrick chimes in, grabbing another slice of pizza and then settling back on his spot on the bed.

Art glares at him and then rolls his eyes. “Piney Brook, the all girls school.” He says and he takes another drink.

“What’s her name? One of us might know her,” Alex asks. He’s trying to poke at the hickey and Art shrugs him away. Patrick knows Alex is one of a handful of their teammates who would fuck Art if he got the chance. And maybe it’s because Patrick’s jealous, maybe it’s because he’s a little possessive (he can’t stop leaving little marks all over Art after all) but he told Alex about it, Alex and his doubles partner and roommate, Corey. Corey who cant keep his big fucking mouth shut to save his life. So everyone already fucking knows. But they love to tease Art anyway. See if he’ll admit it.

“She’s- she’s new, I doubt any of you losers would know her,” Art continues to lie.

“Is she here now? Or did you cheat on her?” Callum Harrington pipes up. “Cause that definitely wasn’t there yesterday.”

“He’s a fucking cheat,” Alex teases and Corey snorts a laugh.

“I didn’t cheat,” Art’s cheeks are pinkening, god, Patrick can feel himself getting hard, he’s gonna give him another one. “What about you, Harrington? You had a big one a few weeks ago.” Art says, deflecting.

“When my girl does it, she lets me borrow her make up to hide it. But mostly it’s me sucking hickies on her neck,” Callum says.

“Please, look how pale he is, he probably gets kissed and then it’s turning red,” Everett points out.

“Or poked,” Alex teases, nudging him. Art hiccups, nudging him back playfully before he takes another drink, determinedly not looking in Patrick’s direction.

“You want another hickey, Donaldson? I could give you plenty.” The openly gay kid Jesse Newman asks.

That makes a couple of them laugh and Jesse smirks in Patrick’s direction.

“Guys, come on,” Art says, uncrossing his legs. “Can we talk about something else, I don’t want to um… she’s really private.”

“Private but she’s claimed you publicly,” Lindsay smirks.

“I just… I do bruise a lot. Wait um— you mean this right?” He touches the hickey. “I actually just slept bad that’s nothing.”

“Oh I bet you sleep bad a lot,” Jesse says.

“I do kinda,” Art says, shyly.

“Does he, Zweig?” Lindsay asks.

“Oh absolutely,” Patrick smirks and a few of the guys chuckle.

Art is clearly relieved when the topic shifts away from hickies to Jesse’s birthday party. He’s still flushed for the alcohol, drinks way too much and lets Alex massage a cramp in his calf. All while making these soft little relieved moaning sounds that no one else probably notices but are driving Patrick crazy. Sounds Alex will probably run home and masturbate to. And he wonders why Patrick needs to mark him. He probably thinks Patrick’s not paying attention because he’s talking a lot but he’s always paying attention to Art.

It’s when someone inevitably rents a porno off HBO and Lindsay and Everett get pissed because they’ll likely be in trouble with the coaches, is when the party ends. And Patrick’s guiding Art back to their room, Art is silly drunk and horny. Doesn’t even pretend to get in his own bed. Just climbs in with Patrick. And he sighs contentedly, his body all sticky wet with lube and come as Patrick licks and nibbles at his throat, a new one already blooming.

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rin Itoshi x GN!Reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 1.2k

❏ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You're kind of a pain in Rin's neck, but you're also the only one who's always been there. Maybe Rin can find a spot for you in his life...

❏ 𝗮/𝗻: Still getting used to writing for Blue lock in general so this might be very out of character idk but I'm just kookie for Rin before the trauma MY SHAYLAAA 😭

“Slowpoke!” You call out gleefully to a disgruntled Rin Itoshi, running towards the goal with a ball basically glued to your speedy little feet.

It’s just a friendly game, goal limits marked by school bags and a pair of cleats. But it could never be just a friendly game between the two of you.

Really, it’s Rin’s fault for egging you on, saying you couldn't possibly be the best striker in the world since Sae will be the best and him second best – no space for you – as if third place doesn't exist. Idiot.

“GOOAAALLL!! With no competition, with no hope of being stopped it's a GOAALL!”

“Alright! Pipe down already.” Rin scolds you, cheeks adorably flushed, lip poking out petulantly.

“What's that? Sorry, I can't quite understand you, since I don't speak loser!” 

Rin’s round face twists angrily at your taunting, as if he didnt start this, lips already twisting to ask for a rematch when clapping sounds from outside his field of vision.

“Sae-san!”

“Nii-chan!” You call out at the same time, running over to the older boy, “Sorry I'm late.”

“Sae-san, did you see? That goal was perfect, right?” you speak as quickly as your young lungs will allow, desperate for some validation from the one who’d one day be the best striker in the world.

(You believed it then.)

“Well, I wouldn't say perfect necessarily. See, your balance was off and you hit it–” he stops at the slowly deflating confidence on your face, “I saw it. Heard it too. Pretty sure the whole neighborhood did.” 

“Well, good!”

Rin immediately scoffs, childishly irked at the pride on your face, “I could’ve scored a perfect goal, two even! If you hadn’t tripped me.”

“Ha! You mean if you hadn’t tripped yourself. Seriously, how will you be the No.2 striker in the world if you can't even walk in a straight line?”

“You–” Rin starts, infuriated and ready to prove you wrong a hundred times over, before Sae cuts him off.

“Alright! How about we all get some ice cream and sort this out another day?” He'd usually let you fight it out, but your volume was beginning to attract odd stares.

You and Rin shoot each other one last glare promising a rematch, before rushing to grab your things and follow Sae.

“Ah, wait. I can't.” Rin’s face flickers with disappointment for a split second. And then he's back to running his mouth.

“Hmph! How are you planning to be the best striker if you keep running off to do other stuff?”

“What does that have to do with ice cream?”

Turns out, everything. Since football is everything, everything is therefore football related.

Totally not because he's jealous of the fact that in spite of training less than him, you have no problem keeping up on the field.

Nope, totally not.

“Tch, whatever. I'm going now. See you tomorrow!” Turning around to leave as Sae tells you goodbye while Rin furrows his brows at the flower of disappointment blooming in his chest.

For a moment, you stand there, thinking, considering.

“Oh and Rin?” You catch his attention, turning around just in time to see his eyes light up like the ocean on a calm sunny day…

And sticking your tongue out at him, “Bleh!”

Sae tries his best not to lose it as his brother trembles in bitterness at you getting the last dumb word, while you're already running off in the other direction.

His brother tells him he'll be going to Spain later that day and time passes in a blink. Before you know it, it's just the two of you.

Walking home. Practicing late after school. Eyes catching during games.

It's a little awkward at first, silences seem to stretch on for longer than they ever have, especially as adolescence puts strange thoughts in both your heads.

Has Rin always been so pretty? So tall? His voice so smooth and his expression so cool when he scores one of his perfect goals?

Has your smile always been that bright? Your eyes? Your laugh that melodic?

When did your presence become the most treasured constant in his life?

Was it all the times when you comforted him when he was missing Sae but never admitting it? (Somehow you always knew.)

Was it when you practiced with him after hours, even when you were ready to drop from exhaustion?

Was it all the times he helped you with your homework, without ever teasing you for needing help?

Or was it this one day…

The sky had been a gloomy kind of dark all afternoon, ready to bring down mighty rain at any moment.

The moment chosen fell right in the middle of one of your late practice sessions.

Slowly, the stickiness of the sweat on your skin turns to the wetness of cold autumn rain.

“Oh, it's finally raining.” Rin comments softly, lightly jogging toward shelter – a few more minutes of training are not worth catching a cold for.

“Huh?” He notices you're not moving, stood still as a statue as the rain keeps coming down without mercy.

“What are you doing? You're–” 

“Hey, Rin?” Your voice is so quiet amidst the heavy Rai, but he hears you as… any day but this one. A sliver of nervousness crawls down his spine at something in your tone – what it is, he can't say.

“You still wanna be second best?”

“Of course I do.” He answers firmly, without a speck of hesitation. As if he could ever change his mind. 

(If only he knew.)

The corner of your lip lifts into a fond smile, with a dash of something heavier, before you turn to him with a wet and shining ball beneath your foot, “Then, come on No.2. First to score wins, the other's a lukewarm loser.”

You're off before he can say another word, watching the back of your drenched uniform as you race towards the goal.

“Slowpoke–!” Both of you gasp as your foot slips on the wet grass, sending you tumbling onto your back, punching the air from your lungs.

Rin finally moves, rushing to your side without following your example before leaning over you while scanning for injuries.

And then, you're laughing.

He's worried sick, looking at you with the widest eyes in the world, wondering if you have a concussion and you're laughing. Loudly, openly, bright as sunshine with rain water all over your lovely face.

Your lovely face… your lovely dumb face that he just can't stop thinking about – even if it distracts him during games, or class or any moment of his day – he just can't stop thinking about you.

Because you'd always been there, and he hopes you always will be.

“Stupid,” he tells you with no bite, kicking the forgotten ball so it rolls slowly towards the goal, “There, you're a lukewarm loser, now get up before you become a cold loser and I have to carry you home.”

You’re not a loser though, far from it.

And maybe third best isn't that bad. Not if you stay close to him as you are.

Because if the one thing he's always had, the one person who’s always been there, suddenly left?

It might just break him.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

Onyx Storm Predictions!!

I wanted to do a full theory post but the clock is TICKING and I decided to get sick last week before I could write one up, so this will have to do!

Predictions below the cut! I'm going to re-blog and re-spoiler tag with extra info from the apple books preview, so no onyx storm spoilers on THIS post.

I'm going to start off with my most controversial prediction and say that I don't think Xaden is leaving! The bond is still in place (re: end of IF) and Sgaeyl evidently still gives a fuck about him (again, re: end of IF) and so I don't think she's going to break the bond! I DO think he might try and leave, but I think Violet will stop him.

This is probably the second most controversial (at least to me) but I do think Violet might be part/half venin. I think Lilith turned when she was pregnant with Violet. I don't fully know how being part venin would even work, but we know next to nothing about how being FULL venin would work, so I'm not gonna sweat it. There's a huge theme (motif?) of being two things at once in these books (violet's hair, her eyes, her two dragons, her two signets, scribe/rider, Xaden's two signets, etc.) Further, you have Lilith's cure-investigation, and also the matter of the extreme amount of parallels between Lilith and Xaden. I think they both turned to protect Violet.

The subsect of that prediction/theory/whatever is that I don't think Xaden can drain her! If you read the fight with JFB in FW wherein Vi is "shaken by an internal force (she doesn't) understand, as though he's forcing his own power into my body, shocking me with a thousand stings of vibrating energy" while he has his hands holding her face. A couple paragraphs later, it's confirmed his eyes are red-rimmed. (Fourth Wing pages 294-295). I think this is JFB draining her to a certain degree. It HURTS Violet, he gets power, but no hand prints! I actually really wanted Xaden to leave sexy handprints on her, but in the last like 4 days I've changed my mind. I foresee a sort of vampire-esque power drinking thing!

I keep calling myself controversial but I'm going to keep doing it. My NEXT controversial take is that I don't think they're going to the isles yet! I think Vi may WANT to go to the isles, but I think she'll have to go to Poromiel first, then head to the barrens!

I think Vi's second signet is one of two things: the type of mirroring signet I used in Teach Me, or a straight up inntinnsic. Both of these are used in the throne scene, as I spelled out in that fic! I don't mind Vi being an inntinnsic*, especially since all the men in her life have a direct line into her head. I really think it's only fair if she can get back at them, IDK.

I don't think we're meeting Xaden's mom this book! I think that's book 4. But while we're talking about her, I think she has a second kid Xaden doesn't know about, and I think they'll meet this secret sibling first and it will be a moment of tenuous trust between riorgail (in that Violet will have to grapple with the possibility of him keeping secrets from her AGAIN, only to find out her isn't)

I'm saving my thoughts on who dies for the spoilery part!

I don't think Xaden is getting "Cured". I'm not entirely sure there will be a cure on a person-to-person basis, because I frankly think that defeats the purpose of the metaphor.

This MAY be a book 4 thing, but I'm going to add it here anyway! My IRL bestie and I talk a lot about how the story of the 3 brothers here is the Deathly Hallows reborn, and we've been joking about how Violet must gather said hallows to defeat Voldemort etc. However, we joked about it a little too much, and now I'm convinced: at some point, Vi will be the dragon rider, the gryphon flier, and the venin

OR: Mira is the gryphon rider* and Brennan's the venin.

This is wishful thinking actually but the quest squad somehow ends up being just x, vi and the dragons!

This is more of a theme prediction, but every book thus far (all 2!) have been about unpacking a level of propaganda. FW is Navarre's propaganda about war, and IF is Navarre's propaganda about Poromiel. Therefore, we have at least 2 more forms of propaganda to unpack: whatever the fuck is going on with the dragons, and the idea that venin are inherently evil. I think we tackle one of these book 3 and one book 4! Or perhaps both together, because they are intertwined.

Crack Pot Theories

Papa Sorrengail's first name is Adam.

I don't think Halden is Violet's ex. I think it's literally two random ass infantry guys. Also Xaden gets to kill Halden :)

I think Brennan killed Naolin! I also think they were gay. I think it’s a mirror to a different way to handle someone turning venin for you than what Vi and X will do

I may edit this and add more. Why am I blanking on every thought I've ever had about onyx storm in my life.

[kitkatopinions]

The thing about RWBY volume 10 is... I don't even want it anymore.

Like, when it was first announced that Rooster Teeth was shutting down, I admit that although I was very happy that the company could no longer abuse its employees, I was still kind of disappointed that we might not get more RWBY. Yes, I kind of hate RWBY (I hate and love it,) but I personally never was out to 'destroy the show' or something, and I legit wanted to see where they were going with it and to see what I could get from it.

But it's been a while since then, and I feel like every time I even get a hint that RWBY might be coming back for season 10, my reaction is:

Because the thing is, I know - I just know - that whatever they decide to do is going to be bad and near incomprehensible. But even if they somehow sort of manage to make the next volume somewhat good... There's literally no way to salvage the show without an entire reboot with all new writers, and I truly believe that at this point. I watched all of volumes 1-5 for the first time practically in one setting, and boy the whole thing had some rough parts, but I thought they had a chance to come back stronger and try to fix things, and then every season since, I've thought the same and have come up with tons of things they could do and all the good directions they could take characters and events. But it's been nine seasons, and season nine was the worst written season yet and really just gave the writers a whole host of new problems they have to address and new corners they've backed themselves into and at a certain point and after V9, there's just no fixing it because after nine seasons, it would feel weird to backtrack and there's nothing they could do going forward that would fix this bad show.

To bring up a minor example, if they made a new season where they acknowledged that Blake and Ruby have barely talked since the first season, it would retroactively make the 'you inspire me' 'meaningful moment' in volume eight feel really weird, and it would be really weird that they were only starting to be friends in the tenth volume after more than a decade. But if the writers continue to write the occasional 'meaningful moment' between Blake and Ruby without actually trying to establish a friendship and bond between them, it'll continue to feel forced and unearned, and if they're written to just ignore each other completely instead, it'll continue to feel like they don't even really know each other and aren't at all friends, and therefore the show constantly being like 'Ruby's friends love her, they have the power of friendship, I'll defeat you with the power of friendship and this gun I found' will ring hollow when what's being marketed as a team of four feels like two people dating and then also two other people who walk near them that are friends with each other.

They're literally in lose-lose conditions of their own making.

And last season, I remember repeatedly saying that there were some good concepts and moments here and there, but by the last episode, anything that had been good had pretty much been ruined. Neo? Ruined. Ruby's season 9 journey? Ruined. The Curious Cat as a concept? Ruined. All the theories I had about how the Ever After could have tied back into the plot somehow? Completely untrue. The lessons I thought there was the slightest chance of the characters coming away with? Wiped out entirely. The somewhat interesting ramifications we could get from what had happened to Jaune? Removed. The possibility of changes to character design even? It came to nothing. I have no faith that the new season will be able to fix things especially because the writers don't seem to want to fix anything, or even pay that much attention to what they're writing, so even minor good things can easily stop mattering or turn terrible just like with the entirety of volume nine. I was full on invested in Ruby's journey, only for it to be essentially brushed aside with no real consequences and seemingly no impact for the characters.

If there's a new season of RWBY that eventually comes along - a very big if - I'll probably still watch it. But honestly at this point, I hope they just leave it unfinished or reboot completely. Because I'm sure that everything I'm coming up with as a 'where from here' concept that isn't even good because I don't think a good story can be salvaged after V9... Whatever I do come up with is going to be better than what we'd actually get, and I'm actually sure that's true most of us and even megastans.

I feel like I would rather have an unfinished badly made work that I can imagine might have at least some semblance of a halfway satisfying conclusion then wind up following this project to the end on a hope and a prayer despite knowing I'd wind up even more frustrated and disappointed, because at this point I know I'm just gonna be disappointed. I literally feel like the best thing the current writers attached to RWBY could do is let the RWBY fans imagine up their own ends.

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Ocean Eyes

paring: Bob Floyd x female!bartender!reader

wordcount: 2642 (scandalously short for me, I know)

prompt: “It’s like you never really see me. I’m standing right in front of you and you don’t see me!” requested by @gretagerwigsmuse (I am sorry this took so long. I hope it was worth the wait)

note: I couldn't write so I started cleaning up my WIP folder and I found this. I forgot that it was practically done and so I thought, let's share my Bob debut with the world. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): none, I think. Unless you consider canon Hangster one. Also idiots in love.

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome

!!!Minors do not interact; empty/ageless/minors will get blocked!!!

You love Bob Floyd. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who has eyes. At least that’s what you always hear from your best friend and yet he showed never any interest in you at all. There is a part of you that realises that this could only mean one thing but acknowledging the hard truth would hurt more than anything. So you ignore it and keep living in the blissful illusion that maybe one day Lieutenant Robert Floyd will wake up and finally see you.

That is until tonight when that hope should be shattered for good. The night at the Hard Deck when you are dealt the final blow.

“Is that Baby on Board in that booth? Flirting with a woman?”, Hangman is leaning against the bar waiting for you to get a fresh round of drinks ready. The question is directed at Rooster to his right and your gaze follows his and you see Bob sitting in a booth with an absolutely gorgeous redhead.

“Yeah. Phoenix set him up with her old college friend”, Rooster answers, giving you that kind of cautious look that he always sent your way whenever he thought you were in a fragile state and could implode any second. And as if to justify his worries you slam their beers down a little harder than intended and when your gaze meets his, all you see is pity in his pretty brown eyes.

“Rooster”, your voice is barely there, more a growl rumbling in your chest than anything else. It's a warning for your best friend to keep his fucking mouth shut and leave you be.

Not that it would help.

It's something you both love and hate about Bradley Bradshaw. He was not someone who gave up on people. No, he stayed even when shit got hard and you knew he'd be right there by your side through it all, holding your hand and keeping you close because that's just who he is.

And considering the look you get from his worse half, you know the same is true for him. The irony that fucking Jake Seresin would one day be one of your best friends was not lost on you. Especially considering how the two of you started off, but having Hangman cover your back was apparently a perk that came with being Rooster's best friend.

"Don't"

But Brad just lifts his hands in surrender and then they head over to the pool tables where the others are already waiting for them, leaving you behind the bar with the feeling that the shards of your shattered heart were just digging deeper into your flesh with every breath.

“Hey, sunshine”, your head snaps to the side and there you see him sitting at the end of the bar smiling at you the way he always did. The way that made your heart skip a beat and you hated that fucking traitor of an organ. And then your brain intercepts and reminds you of the images of last night. The way she had her hands all over him, turning him into a blushing mess as they stumbled out of the bar.

You have to shake your head or you'd lose focus and you cannot afford that. Not on a Saturday night.

It's not like you need to wait for him to order something, you know it all by heart, so you set his usual virgin drink in front of him and put some nuts in a bowl. Both containers are hitting the bartop a tad bit harder than necessary and before he could get another word in you were already gone.

Your behaviour took him off guard. His eyes are still following you when you already busied yourself with the order of another patron at the other end of the bar as if you wanted to get as much space between you and him as you physically could and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that crept up on him.

This was so not you. There's a reason why they call you sunshine and that's not just because Rooster introduced you like that. You were always sweet and kind and won over the position of the patron’s favourite from Penny within the first week. You always had a lovely smile on your lips and a nice comment for everyone.

But the thing he had always liked most about you was how protective you were, looking out for the people around you. You were just the kind of person who truly cared and didn't just turn it into a performance.

The longer you are lingering on the other end of the bar without giving him even as much of a glace the more uneasy he becomes ultimately deciding to pick up his things and make his way over to the quiet corner by the pool tables that had been dubbed his even back during his Top Gun time. And from over there he has the perfect view of the bar without the hustle and bustle that would only distract from his actual mission. Figure out what was wrong with you.

You seemed tense and your interactions were colder than usual even with people that he knew you loved to bits.

Dave, one of the veterans who frequented the bar had made it a habit to propose to you whenever he saw you. It was a running gag between the two of you but even he couldn't bring an honest smile to your face.

That sure as hell was a first.

Maybe something happened?

Had someone hurt you?

Or did something happen with your family?

The best way to find out was to talk to Rooster.

He was your best friend after all and if someone knew what was going on, then it would be him.

So, Bob waited patiently until he took a break from the pool game before approaching him.

“Is something wrong with sunshine?”

Rooster arches his brow at the question, stops drinking mid-swig and puts his bottle back down.

“What should be wrong with her?”

Bob tilts his head while he studies the other's features.

He couldn't be serious about that question. Rooster always claimed to know you best of them all and he honest-to-goodness wanted to tell Bob he didn't see what was going on.

“She’s curt and tense. She didn’t even smile at Dave's proposal”

Rooster’s brow arched even more.

God for someone as observant as Robert fucking Floyd he was pretty goddamn blind when it came to you.

“Even if there was something it wouldn't be my story to tell”, he raises his bottle back up and takes a sip of his beer, watching Bob’s mind running  100 miles an hour while he tried to figure out how to proceed.

“If you wanna know what’s going on there is a simple solution”, he prompts him. He had sworn to keep his mouth shut about your feelings for Bob but helping him figure it out on his own was not breaking that promise.

At least not in his book.

“And that would be?”

“Fucking ask her, Baby on board”

Jake groaned over from the pool table and rolled his eyes.

He was so done with this kindergarten bullshit. Watching you and Bob was worse than his dance with Rooster pre-uranium mission and he knew they had been unbearable to watch.

His boyfriend shoots Hangman an angry look as if to remind him of their promise but he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Hangman likes you, a lot. Some might even go so far as to say he loves you. Very much platonic but it's love nonetheless.

You were a major part of Rooster’s life and therefore you became a fixture in his and if he had to listen to you crying yourself to sleep one more goddamn night over fucking Baby on Board then he’d be the one going on a bloody rampage.

So Jake stalked over to Bob and stared him right in his blue eyes, his green gaze cutting like a knife.

“That wasn’t a suggestion Floyd”, he growled, nodding over to where you handed out drinks at the bar, doing everything within your power to not look their way.

Bob had no idea why the other ganged up on him like that but he couldn’t remember the last time Hangman had been this mad. With his gaze flittering between the two men and you at the bar he decided it was indeed probably smartest to talk to you as soon as possible.

“Can you please get a box of whiskey from storage?”, you barely hear Penny’s voice over the constant chatter of the bar and the music coming from the jukebox when she hands you the key.

You had tried to keep your brain busy all night and lucky for you, the Saturday had provided you with enough to do to grant yourself a small reprieve from the pain that had settled in what was left of your heart after last night.

You nod at Penny and weave through the crowd in front of the bar, attempting to smile at the patrons that greeted you but you knew that this was just a facade and considering the many concerned looks, they knew too.

When you finally got to unlock the door of the storage closet stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind you as you were heaving a sigh the muffled sounds of the bar were still echoing in your ear. You loved this place and the Hard Deck had always felt more like home than the house you shared with Rooster and Hangman. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air was stuffy and full of dust but it was the closest to a break you could get just about now.

That was until the sudden creaking of the door made your heart rate pick up.

"This is for staff only", your eyes are wandering around to find something to use as a makeshift weapon just in case one of the guys got so drunk he forgot his manners and basic human decency. You find a large vodka bottle, pick it up from the shelf as you turn around, almost dropping it when you are met with blue eyes.

"Fuck Bob, you scared me", you place your free hand over your heart, putting the Vodka bottle on a small table.

"I'm sorry, sunshine", your eyes wander over him and it's only then that you see how he's not really daring to look into your eyes and he's fidgeting with his hands.

"What are you doing back here Bob?", you are crossing your arms over your chest and take another step back from him, almost making you hit the shelves full of liquor behind you.

He had never seen you so distanced and borderline standoffish around any of the daggers. You were someone who needed to be close, someone who thrived on touch and physical forms of affection, but you were fleeing from him and he couldn't have imagined something as simple as a step back to hurt that bad.

"I... I was wondering...", he started and then you were the third person today looking at him with an arched eyebrow and he felt like a first grader who's supposed to take his SAT.

"What were you wondering?", you said, the tense edge still audible in your voice sent a shiver down his spine.

Bob had never met this cold version of you and he hated every second of it. He loved your warmth, the way you were lighting up even the darkest room. You were the embodiment of a sweet summer day, full of sunshine and blooming flowers with enough of a breeze to make it perfect but right now you rivalled the worst arctic winter.

"Why are you so cold with everyone?"

"I am not"

"Of course you are. You didn't even smile at Dave's proposal", he sees the way your eyes get wider for only a moment before you put that facade back in place. So the real you was hiding somewhere behind that mask you put on.

"Yes I did"

"No, you didn't. Not for real"

The fact he had actually noticed took you by surprise, but the dull ache in your chest reminded you that just because he happened to notice one thing today it didn't mean that anything changed.

The silence hanging between the two of you was deafening and the longer it lasted the more nervous Bob got.

You two had never had an issue with talking. You were probably the one person he always felt like he could talk to even if he didn't feel like interacting with anyone else. But now it felt like you were two ships in the night, drifting farther and farther away apart.

"Please. I just want to...", his voice sounds pleading and the way he reaches his hand out for you prompts you to take another step back. You cannot handle his touch, that much you know but in your desperate attempt to keep the tears from running down your cheeks you forget that you have a mouth too.

“It’s like you never really see me", the words are spilling from your lips before you even realise it, hands flying to your mouth to stop yourself. The tears that were pricking at your lashline before began to run down your cheek when you see the way his eyes widen mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice again.

"There hasn't been a single day when I didn't"

You force your eyes shut to stop the tears from running, shaking your head as you hear him take step after step closer into your space and crowd you against the shelves.

"I don't think I couldn't"

"Then why does it feel like I’m standing right in front of you. and you don’t see me?”, your voice is small and quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled sounds from the bar but once they sink in, Bob's eyes are darting all over your face, trying to figure out what you truly meant.

You open your eyes, tears still glittering as you look up at him. He sees so many emotions swirl in them ranging from pain and fear to something softer. Something he never dared to dream of finding in your eyes when you looked at him. And then he caught your eyes wandering from his to his lips and back up.

It was not much more than a flicker, something easily missed if he had blinked at the wrong moment.

"I always see you, sunshine", his voice is soft as he takes another step closer and leans down, slow and cautious as if he's trying to gauge if he had gotten what you implied right, but you stayed frozen in your place, closing your eyes again until you feel his nose brushing against yours and your foreheads touching.

"And what about last night?", you feel like you are caught up in a dream, fearing the moment your alarm would go off and you'd have to get up and back to a reality where Bob dated someone else and you were damned to only stand there and watch.

"Jolene is nice but all she's ever seen is the uniform and the glasses. She never bothered to really look at me. She didn't see me", he lifts his hands and rests them on your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing your skin as his eyes search yours for any sign that you do not want this.

"Not the way you did when we first met", you feel like you are getting lost in the endless blue of his ocean eyes, warm breath fanning over your face as you lean in to kiss him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist here

[inky-writing]

Edward x Adhd reader where he gets so overwhelmed by all of their thoughts and he's just like "you live like this?!" Lol

Hiiii, it took me some time, I really hope you will like it <3

Edward Cullen x ADHD!Reader

Warnings: i am not familiar with adhd so I might have wrote it badly, I had some difficulties with this request :'), maybe some typos, english is not my first langage, ADHD, ...

Word count: 910

You live like this?!

Edward Cullen had always thought of his telepathy as both a blessing and a curse. He could read thoughts at will, navigate social situations more easily, and even protect his family from danger. But when it came to humans, especially the one human who somehow meant everything to him, it was an entirely different matter.

Y/N L/N had wandered into Edward’s life with a chaotic, bright energy that upended everything he thought he knew about himself. She was his mate, his match in every way, yet she was also the most puzzling person he had ever encountered. It wasn’t just her quirky humor or her refusal to treat him like some unattainable vampire god; no, what truly confounded Edward was the storm of thoughts inside her head.

And that storm was relentless.

Edward had long ago learned to tune out the dull hum of human minds, but Y/N? Oh no, he couldn’t tune her out if he tried. It was like stepping into a whirlwind, thoughts spinning at the speed of light, ping-ponging from topic to topic with no discernible pattern. One moment, she’d be silently reciting the lyrics to a song, and the next, she’d be internally debating the merits of grilled cheese versus peanut butter sandwiches as if it were the most important decision of her life.

At first, Edward thought it was endearing. Her mind was vibrant, alive in a way that contrasted sharply with his own still, unchanging existence. But as the weeks went on, Edward began to realize that her thoughts weren’t just chaotic, they were exhausting.

Edward and Y/N sat in the meadow together, sunlight dappling through the trees as Y/N leaned back into Edward’s chest, humming softly to herself. For once, her mind seemed relatively quiet, and Edward allowed himself to relax, enjoying the moment of peace.

That peace, however, didn’t last.

“What if ladybugs have existential crises? What if they’re like, ‘What’s my purpose?’ and then they realize they’re just here to crawl on leaves and look cute? Oh no, what if I stepped on one by accident? Do you think they hate humans?... How do ladybugs even reproduce?!”

Edward blinked, startled out of his reverie as Y/N’s thoughts burst into his mind like an exploding firework.

“What—”

“Reproduction! That’s such a weird word. Why do humans even use it? It’s like, ‘re-produce’? Produce again? Wait, wait, does that mean if you’re a vampire, you don’t—”

“Y/N!” Edward interrupted, his voice half-laughing, half-exasperated.

She turned her head to look up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. “What?”

“Do you ever stop thinking?” he asked, his tone teetering between astonishment and amusement.

Y/N tilted her head, considering the question. “Not really. Why?”

Edward groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I can hear all of it.”

That night, the two of them were sitting in the Cullen family living room. Y/N was nestled in Edward’s lap, idly fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The rest of the Cullens were out hunting, leaving them alone in the grand, quiet house.

Edward tried to read a book, but Y/N’s thoughts were unusually loud tonight.

“I wonder what Alice is doing right now. Do you think she hunts deer? Or rabbits? Do vampires even care about meat texture? Like, do deer taste better than mountain lions? Oh my God, I’m starving. Should I get pizza after this? Or tacos? I could make a frozen pizza, but then I’d have to preheat the oven, and that takes forever—”

“Y/N,” Edward said, setting his book aside and giving her a pointed look.

“What?” she asked, blinking at him innocently.

“You’re thinking about pizza,” he said flatly.

“So?”

“Do you realize you’ve thought about at least fifty different topics in the past five minutes?”

Y/N grinned. “That’s… probably true.”

Edward shook his head, exhaling a breath he didn’t need. “How do you even function like this?!”

“Like what?”

“Like this!” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entirety of her existence. “Your thoughts... they’re everywhere. Constant. Chaotic. I feel like I’m drowning in them.”

Y/N frowned, her brows furrowing. “Well, yeah. That’s just how my brain works.”

Edward stared at her, his golden eyes wide with disbelief. “You live like this? Every day?”

She shrugged. “Pretty much. Welcome to my brain, babe.”

Edward had heard of ADHD before, of course. But experiencing it firsthand through Y/N’s thoughts was an entirely different matter. He decided to do some research, poring over books and online articles to better understand it. The more he learned, the more he realized just how much she had to navigate every single day.

Her racing thoughts weren’t just random distractions, they were part of how she processed the world. And while they could be overwhelming, they also made her who she was: curious, passionate, and endlessly creative.

The next time Edward felt overwhelmed by Y/N’s mind, he didn’t groan or roll his eyes. Instead, he reached for her hand and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at him with a shy smile. “What was that for?”

“For being you,” he said simply.

Y/N beamed, her thoughts momentarily quiet as a wave of affection washed over her.

Edward still didn’t entirely understand what it was like to live with ADHD, but he was determined to try. Because Y/N was his mate, his love, his everything, and if she could handle the storm inside her mind every day, then he could learn to navigate it too.

Even if it meant occasionally hearing about existential ladybugs.

[nayaheartskth]

Glory Box

summary: prof! taehyung x student! fem! reader. in which mr. kim finally gives in.

warning: lowercase intended, age gap, taehyung is 30 - reader is 22, SMUT, mdni, raw sex (wrap it before u tap it xx), p in v, exhibitionism, praise kink but also degrading kink... idk y/n likes it all.

word count: 2k

!AUTHOR'S NOTE!: heyyy!! first ever post on here but also my first fanfic EVEEERRRR. idk much abt the american or korean school system saur dont judge🙏 idk guys I hope you like it!! also i didn't really proofread it so of there are any mistakes, lmk! feedback is always appreciated mwah >3<

kim taehyung, the hottest prof at your college. no wonder everyone fails his class, ain't nobody paying attention to a word he's saying. how can you? with the way his shirt fits his broad shouders just right, tucked in his pants, the way you can slightly make out the print of his cock through his pants. drooling.

"alright, that's it for today. remember the assignmet due next tuesday and make sure to study for next week's exam." he speaks out to the class, making sure his students don't forget anything by the time they're back in their dorms.

as you were packing your bag, making sure you do not forget anything (like last time), mr. kim says

"y/n, just a word..". the way you turned your head, one could think you broke your neck.

"yes?" you mutter, confused as to why your professor would need you after class. you walk to his desk, mentally preparing yourself to get scolded for something you haven't even done.

"this has been like the 20th time you've came late to class y/n. i just can't comprehend how one can get to class late everyday?!" he states, his expression not so friendly anymore.

you look down at your feet, fidgeting with your fingers as you try making up an excuse as to why you're always late to class. the reality is that you spend so much time getting ready, especially for his class, that you forget the literal concept of time.

you want him to notice you, to look at you, to bend you over and fuck you dumb...

"i'm sorry mr. kim... i just spend a lot of time getting ready.." your voice barely above a whisper.

"why does one need so long to get ready for school?" he asks, confused.

"i just... i want to make sure i look good-" before you could end your sentence, taehyung interrupts you.

"you always do." he speaks, taken aback by his own comment. his intrusive thoughts winning.

"...sorry?" you trip over your own words, not realizing what just happened, what mr. kim just said.

"i-i'm just saying... y/n, you always look good. which is why i dont understand why you need so long to get ready, to the extent where you're late to class." he stutters, clarifying his comment.

"for you.." you murmur, eyes on the ground again.

mr. kim's eyes widen, posture straightening as he coughs.

"why that? if i may ask.." he asks, flustered by your confession but at the same time.. really, really confused.

"i just.. want you to look at me for once, for your mouth to say my name, i want you to notice me, mr kim.." you look up at the man standing in front of you, confessing your need like the world was ending.

he needs a few moments to register the words that came out of your mouth just now. taehyung takes a step towards you, cupping your face with his right hand. his very, very, very veiny hand with oh so slim fingers that make you wet just by staring at them.

"i do.. i notice you, i notice the way you stare at me with your gorgeous eyes. and i do look at you.. oh how i look at you. every damn day." he whispers, cheeks flushed as he maintains eye contact with you.

your heart feels like it's gonna explode out of your chest any minute now. he keeps moving closer to you until your bodies touch. his eyes now focused on your lips, as if he has been waiting for the day to come in which he can destroy them.

"fuck..." he sighs, eyes shutting. "you're making this really hard for me, y'know that?" he whispers, words full of lust behind them.

"do it. show me how hard i'm making it for you, sir." you say, voice low and bold.

taehyung doesn't hesitate when he crashes his lips onto yours, tongues dancing. his hands everywhere, your hips, your face, your ass, your back, everywhere.

you whimper into the kiss which turns him on even more. hand tangled in his blonde hair while the other struggles to unbutton his shirt.

you break away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you desperately try to get rid of his tie and his shirt.

"calm down now, bunny." he chuckles as he sees how desperate you are. his hand slides to the hem of your shirt as he lifts it up to get rid of it. leaving you only in your pants and your black, lacey bra.

"you're driving me crazy." he leans closer, hand on the nape of your neck.

your hands traveling to his bare chest as if it were brail. touching, feeling every muscle, every bump, every vein. your hands unbutton his pants leaving him in his boxers. you see how hard he is, for you. how his underwear is restraining him, waiting to break free.

you pull his underwear down, his cock springing free. taehyung is big.. like really big. you're not even sure how he's gonna fit. he winces at the contact ur hand makes with his balls. cupping and messaging them as he whimpers.

"y/n, dont you fucking dare tease me like that." he warns through gritted teeth. still cupping his balls you look up at him as you reply "and if i do? what would you do about it?" you ask head tilting to the side, looking at him with a hint of mischief.

"this." he replies as he grabs you and bends you over his desk. delievering a slap to your ass as he pull down your pants along with your panties.

taehyung takes his dick in his hand as he teases your entrance. up and down between your slick folds, getting you wetter by the second.

"fuck... please.. just-" you plead, eyes shutting. all you want is for him to slide his cock into you and fucking you until the only thing you've ever known was his dick.

"beg. beg for it you fucking slut." he hisses as he kept teasing your oh so wet folds.

"please, sir. i need you. need you filling me up... please." you beg like the whore you are. (for him.)

he slides his cock in, hissing at the contact of your tight, warm pussy. inch by inch he gives it to you. with every inch you hope he's done, but he's not. just how big is he? as he's now fully in you he thrusts his hips forward for the first time and you swear you see stars. hands gripping the papers underneath you as he keeps bucking his hips in and out of you.

his hands on your waist as he rolls his dick into your sweet spot just right.

"fuck... feel so good baby.." he moans, head tilting back aas he feels your pussy clenching around him.

his slim hands deliver a smack to your ass.

you moan at the feeling of it stinging now.

"want me to fuck you dumb, huh?" he asks cocky, still thrusting his hips into you.

"need my cock so fucking bad, don't you?" he grabs your chin to make you look at him.

"fucking answer me." he warns, grunting with every thrust.

"shit.." you moan as your eyes roll to the back of your head. "yes, yes needed you to fuck me dumb" you manage to speak.

you feel taehyungs thrust getting more sloppy as he's close. pussy clenching around his cock, feeling his every vein and just how long he is, you can feel yourself getting closer aswell.

" 'm gonna cum..." you whimper, back arching.

"cum baby. show me how bad you needed my cock." he grits through his teeth.

those words made u snap. the big knot in your stomach exploding. taehyung can feel you cumming around his cock and that's what does it for him. feeling your pussy clenching, he loses his mind.

his hips stutter as he releases his warm cum in your walls. painting them white. his heavy breathing calming as he comes down from his climax.

"that'll defenetly get you an A+..."

[puzzleglum]

I posted the original version of this giant Lanyon and Hyde analysis essay (plus theories!) on the 30th of December last year. That was when this page was the latest. Since then, I’m happy to say that it still holds up well, so far! But since I never posted it properly on Tumblr itself, I thought I’d do so now. Especially since I’m planning to write more about Lanyon and Hyde very soon! That will be a bit of a follow-up to my thoughts in this. This version includes edited in comments to account for the NEW pages that came out since I first wrote this essay. So for anyone who’s read it before, you’ll find the new stuff I wrote between brackets! [Like so.] It ended up being about 750 words longer. Total wordcount is now around 3150. I had…a lot of thoughts. For future reference, the latest page, as of the time I posted this edited essay, was this one. Enjoy!! ——— I believe this conversation has the potential to be radically important to the story, the themes, and character arcs. Even lifesaving. Why? Because Hyde has already given up. He knows that saving Jekyll is impossible. It’d be like diving into a black hole and then trying to get out again. You just can’t do it. Hyde would get exactly as stuck in their mind as Jekyll currently is, if he tried to go after him now. But, he didn’t yet try to think of a way around that problem. It’s hard to think when you’re having a mental breakdown, though, so I don’t blame him. What Hyde needs is some help. A chance to calm down and think about any and all solutions he missed. Enter: Lanyon. One of the stubbornest people Jekyll and Hyde have ever known. And thank heck for that, because that stubbornness might be exactly what Hyde needs, right now. There is no way in hell Lanyon is just going to stand by and let Hyde give up. Just like how he couldn't just watch as Jekyll was sacrificing his health and sanity in the name of the Society. He even threatened to close the Society to try and save him!

What Jekyll has done, his mind-suicide attempt, is exactly the end point of what Lanyon was worried about. Because Jekyll did it to save the Society from being destroyed by his secret getting out. He’s placed himself on the altar, deliberately, to bleed out. One final sacrifice as their leader. But of course, on an emotional, visceral level, he really did it to make Hyde suffer.

Hyde’s the one who is now literally bleeding. He’s been abandoned, condemned, and feels like a worthless monster. This is the end for him, and he knows it. So. What will Lanyon do, now that he’s let himself into the office? If I were him…I’d get out the first aid supplies, because Hyde’s glass cuts aren’t going to clean themselves up. [EDIT: this prediction about the first aid turned out to be right! Hooray! But that still leaves the question of whether Lanyon will convince Hyde not to give up on the idea of getting Jekyll back…which requires a more emotional kind of help.]

But the question is, can Hyde allow himself to be helped? He’s prideful, and stubborn. Always has been. And just like Jekyll, he hates to feel emotionally vulnerable. That’s why Hyde’s first reaction when Lanyon opens the office again is to taunt him. Anything to get back even the smallest feeling of control. He refuses to drop the act and admit the obvious: he did make quite a mess of himself. But Lanyon sees through him easily. He, too, knows the feeling of wanting to seem in control. [EDIT: there’s also an element of fear as to why Hyde tries so, so hard to keep up the act. I’ve written more about that here. And, on the latest page, Hyde DID admit that he made a mess of himself! Gradually, Lanyon is managing to chip away at Hyde’s mask. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of time before he drops the act entirely.] But before I talk further about Lanyon and Hyde, I want to talk about Jekyll for a bit. I’ll circle back to those two, no worries. Jekyll never wanted to ask Lanyon for help, either. When Not-Lanyon suggested it, he shut it down immediately. Looking anguished at the very thought of Lanyon finding out about his secret.

It’s not that he didn’t need help. He knew he was struggling, that the conflict with Hyde was wearing him down. But, it’s the idea of letting others in that’s torture to him. The moment he’d let anyone in to help, they’d see how profoundly imperfect he is. They’d see him as a monster. He can’t stand the thought of being seen as anything less than “good.” So he thought he could fix it by himself, because he had to. It was always about shame. He couldn’t let Lanyon know how he had failed to “fix” himself with his experiment—the thoughts he shouldn’t have, the things he shouldn’t want. All so terribly improper. So evil. Asking for help would mean they’d see how truly “rotten on the inside” he is. And Jekyll would’ve rather died than let that happen.

And now they can see it. The secret is out. It’s over. This is the end for him. All his failures, his madness, on full display for everyone to see…it’s his worst nightmare come true. And the worst part is Lanyon seeing him like this. Jekyll has always admired Lanyon, always considered his opinion highly, always cared what he thought of Jekyll. He even used to think of Lanyon as exactly the kind of Perfect Gentleman that Jekyll so desperately wished to be. Until it became clear, during Hyde and Lanyon’s first talk, that Lanyon is simply human, not perfect after all. But I digress. Jekyll was very good at hiding his secrets, until the events of the story slowly took that away from him. Suffering in silence, until he couldn’t anymore. The involuntary transformations, the instability of his and Hyde’s form, was the final nail in the coffin for that secrecy. Lanyon finally got to see why Jekyll thought he was “rotten.” Because the rot has a name, and it’s Hyde. The embodiment of everything Jekyll hates about himself. Everything he could never show others. Everything he tried to separate himself from, in the pursuit of perfection. Everything he never wanted Lanyon to see in him. But, let me rewind a moment. What happened before the reveal? What did Lanyon do?

While Jekyll never asked Lanyon for his help, that doesn’t mean that Lanyon wasn’t trying to help him anyway. He’s been trying to help Jekyll this whole story. But he had no idea what the problem was. And you can’t truly help someone if they refuse to let you in. It hurts, when you want to help your loved ones, and they don’t trust you with knowing what ails them. It hurts, to reach out and be rejected. So Lanyon tried again, desperate to be let in. To help, no matter what it was.

Lanyon still doesn’t know what the problem is, but he can make a reasonable guess. After all, he’s no stranger to internalized homophobia. Or fear of commitment, or attachment. Not to mention that the kind of relationship they have will always carry risk with it. We can’t forget that it was criminalized to be gay in the Victorian period. That fear is perfectly understandable. Which is just one of the many reasons that Lanyon confessing his love for Henry carries such weight for them. He truly wants to be there for Jekyll. No matter what it takes. Even if it means being emotionally vulnerable, something he’s usually quite allergic to himself. It’s something he, Jekyll, and Hyde all have in common. All of that is to say, it’s such a shame what happens next, isn’t it?

Hyde refuses Lanyon’s attempts to reach out, just as Jekyll did. He tricked him so he could make his escape attempt. Once again, Hyde runs away. How ironic then, that Lanyon was just talking about how he understands the urge to run away! [EDIT: not only does Lanyon understand wanting to run away, he also understands putting on an act. Keeping up a certain reputation. Something Jekyll and Hyde are both concerned with. Lanyon’s persona of a cynical dandy who doesn’t care about anything, Jekyll’s persona of a perfect gentleman, Hyde’s persona of the evil spirit of London at night…it’s all a performance. It’s defense, and sometimes offense. It’s excuses. It’s coping strategies, and armor to hide behind. It’s a lot of things, for all three of them. Personas are tools, and we may adopt them for lots of different reasons.] Of course, it’s different from Hyde’s perspective. From Jekyll’s point of view, Hyde is the problem he so desperately tried to “fix” on his own. Obviously, Hyde doesn’t want Jekyll to succeed in his efforts to control or contain him, or get rid of him. What he ultimately wants, what has always motivated him, is to be free. And to that I must ask, free from what, exactly? I’ll get back to that question later. Let’s put a pin in that for now. [EDIT: this is one of those things I’ll talk about more in a follow-up post. No worries!] I’ve seen one read of this scene being that Hyde is jealous. That he wishes that love confession was for him, not Jekyll. Which could certainly be true! But I’d like to add a different read, or at least, to add something else to that read. Earlier, Hyde had been taunting Jekyll with the idea of Hyde stealing Lanyon away from him. Jekyll, naturally, got defensive. What could Lanyon possibly see in Hyde? To that Hyde replied, what could Lanyon see in Jekyll?

So another read I have is that Hyde finds a certain bitter irony in Lanyon’s love confession. Because Lanyon doesn’t even know who Henry really is, and he doesn’t know that Hyde is the Sweetheart side of Henry that he so jealously wanted for himself, fifteen years ago. So, from Hyde’s perspective, perhaps that love confession actually IS, or at least SHOULD be, aimed at himself. And Lanyon doesn’t know there’s such a distinction to be made in the first place. Isn’t that just so deliciously ironic? To say you love someone, without even really knowing them? Maybe Hyde thought that Lanyon got the wrong guy when he said that he loved Henry. (But, in another sense, he absolutely didn’t. Because Hyde is every bit Henry, too.) …But, that read only makes sense if you take Hyde’s taunting towards Jekyll seriously. Obviously, he said all that stuff about stealing Lanyon to upset Jekyll. But does he actually believe any of it? I think he wanted to. Tried to convince himself. Because it would prove he wasn't NOTHING. Remember, he had that whole identity crisis where he realized his Spirit of London persona is, and always was, a lie. But if he can be the Doe-Eyed Sweetheart instead, then he must still be worth something. Still the owner of some kind of identity. But now, with Jekyll gone, he might feel different; he's a worthless monster, and it's silly that Lanyon could ever think otherwise. After all, just because Lanyon wanted the Sweetheart…doesn't mean he actually wants the rest of Hyde, too. The destruction. The ruin. The pathetic, worthless wretch that he is. There is NO WAY Lanyon cares for THAT. Could ever love him when he's obviously NOT being the Doe-Eyed Sweetheart right now, and isn't capable of it in such a bad state, either. So Hyde clinging onto that label of Sweetheart was foolish of him, he might think. Maybe he believes he was delusional to think he was ever anything more than an evil monster. That he COULD be more.

(To be extra clear: I, myself, don’t believe any of the harsh judgments of Hyde in the previous two paragraphs. I just wrote it how I believe Hyde might be seeing it right now. His personal perspective. My own thoughts are very different!) Thus, the insincere taunting towards Lanyon. Because he knows he's no sweetheart, and Lanyon was a stupid lover boy for ever giving him that false hope. That hope of an IDENTITY. A place, or person, to belong to. But, moving on. I can totally see a moment, in the current confrontation between Lanyon and Hyde, where Hyde might be confused as hell if Lanyon doesn’t just…abandon him. Because he should, right? Jekyll is gone. It’s too late to rescue him, as Hyde already told Lanyon. What reason could Lanyon possibly have to stick around? To Hyde, it’s clear as day that he’s hopeless. Saving Jekyll, and thus saving Hyde as well, is a futile endeavor. So that’s my first theory: Lanyon will stick around, and try to help Hyde. Likely starting with cleaning up Hyde’s glass cuts. Hyde won’t get it, at first. Lanyon knows Hyde’s not Jekyll, right? He knows Jekyll is never coming back, right? Then, why, pray tell, won’t Lanyon just leave? Can’t he see that Hyde is evil, and doesn’t deserve any help? [EDIT: judging by how shocked and bewildered Hyde looks when Lanyon goes to patch up his injured hands, I think there is truth to how I envisioned Hyde’s thought process here. But it will be clearer as the scene goes on. Hyde asking whether the fact he caused those injuries to himself horrifies Lanyon also fits with Hyde’s very negative self-image and self-hatred. He’s expecting the answer to be yes, of course it horrifies and offends Lanyon’s sensibilities. Jekyll and Hyde share this fear that Lanyon would hate them if he knew the truth about them. But thankfully, Hyde is wrong. That’s clearly not what Lanyon is leading up to with that “But…” and as for me? I’m expecting a note of acceptance from Lanyon, and likely a re-affirmation of love. That’s what I predict, anyway.] And thus I circle back to my question at the top of this post: Can Hyde allow himself to be helped? Can he find it within himself to let Lanyon in? And to that I say: may I present some visual parallels? :)

“Now, it’s only a matter of time.” This was the start of Jekyll’s resignation to his own fate. There was no getting better. There was no saving him. Inevitably, his secret would get out to the wider public, and then the Society would fall. Everything they’d all worked so hard for, sacrificed for, lost in an instant. The only option left, he realized later, was to bury himself within his own mind, and let his secret die with him. Note that the door is closed. He’s alone, isolated, and left with no hope. Barely any light in his dark office. Now check this out:

It’s the same angle on the office. The same top-down view. This was right after Hyde threw Lanyon to the ground and tried to escape the Society. Both Jekyll and Hyde had refused Lanyon’s attempts to reach out, to help, and be let in. He’s utterly confused, powerless, lying on the floor. But look at the door. It’s halfway open. It’s letting light in, even if it’s not enough yet. The secret is so, so close to being revealed, and very soon after, it will be. Soon, Lanyon will know what Jekyll was dealing with, this whole time. And that brings us to the end of this lovely trifecta:

What a stunning reversal! Now, the one with the power in this scene is Lanyon, unlike before when Hyde was in power. Hyde’s the one who now lies powerless on the office floor. His taunts are completely ineffective. Note the way Lanyon looms over Hyde. Those beautifully piercing eyes of Lanyon, the eyes that Jekyll and Hyde always loved so much, are trained directly on Hyde. He has no intention of letting him out of his sight, for Hyde to run away again. This time is going to be different. The doors are now open all the way. Letting the light in. Because Hyde will not escape being known, anymore. No more secrets, and no more hiding. [EDIT: I love the fact that Lanyon sees through Hyde, just like how Henry saw through Lanyon’s nonsense, all those years ago. I hadn’t expected that flashback story from Lanyon, but it was SO lovely, especially in how it was used to illustrate that Lanyon GETS IT. He understands the desire to keep up an act, a reputation. He gets what it’s like to hide certain aspects of yourself from the wider world. He can RELATE to both Jekyll, and Hyde. Love it!!] In other words, here’s a handy dandy tweet from Sage, which perfectly illustrates my point:

(This was a comment on an update post for the last page of Chapter 15, where Lanyon finally showed up.)

And it IS mortifying, letting people in! I get it! I do. But sometimes, there is no other option left…except for accepting your own annihilation. Resigning to suffering. But Lanyon has always been familiar with Henry’s tendency to resign himself to his own suffering. For fifteen years, in fact.

And he’s not afraid to force the issue. Lanyon, as I’ve said before, is one of the stubbornest people Jekyll and Hyde have ever known. And sometimes, that’s a really good thing. So Hyde will probably try to reject Lanyon’s help at first. But it won’t stop Lanyon from trying to help anyway. And I do believe Hyde will be the first to give in. He’s in a crisis, remember? One’s stubbornness may tend to give way in such extremely high stakes circumstances. The stakes are literally life and death! What’s worth more, then? One’s pride? Or one’s very life?

———

Final new writing starts here: It’s interesting to me that Hyde didn’t physically push Lanyon away when he started with the first aid on Hyde’s poor bloodied hands. I was right that Lanyon would just help him anyway, without waiting for Hyde’s approval, but I was wrong in thinking Hyde would clearly try to reject it. Instead, he’s just…bewildered. Like he has no idea what’s happening anymore. Lanyon isn’t acting how Hyde would expect at all, and that’s throwing Hyde off in a big way. Hyde is probably thinking something like, if Lanyon knows I’m me and not Jekyll, but he’s helping me anyway, then…?! And it just…doesn’t make sense to him. It does not compute. It goes against all of Jekyll and Hyde’s views of themselves, and of the world. If Lanyon--a handsome gentleman who dislikes gross stuff, and never understood Henry’s fascination with monsters or rogue science--is willingly helping Hyde, who believes himself to be a wretched monster (brought forth with mad science! Wicked alchemy!) who ruined himself, ruined everything, then what is even going on anymore? Has the whole world turned upside down?! And so it becomes clear that, not only are Jekyll and Hyde bad at understanding themselves, sometimes they’re quite bad at understanding their loved ones, too. But to be fair, Lanyon was putting on an act, too. He spent so long brushing off any accusation of feelings, of sentimentality, and worry for his best friend. It’s only recently that Lanyon decided to be open with how much he truly cares about Henry. And it’s still a bit hard for him, I imagine. Being vulnerable. Opening yourself up. But Lanyon has learned that it’s worth it, when it counts. And this? This is absolutely the time when it counts the most. The stakes are the highest they’ve ever been. And I hope, and theorize, that soon enough, Hyde will learn the value of opening himself up, too. It might just help save his life.

It might just help them save Jekyll.

...And that's the end! Thank you so much to anyone who reads to the end, and leave a comment in the post reply section, if you feel like it! I love any and all feedback!! I'll be back soon with a follow up where I examine some other things Lanyon and Hyde have in common, among other topics. Stay tuned! :D

[reddevilmcnt]

Ross is getting all shifty and silly from feeling the vodka. Recognizing as much pulls a deliciously devious grin across Maksim’s face, though he doesn’t call him out on it. That’s what the vodka was for, to grease the wheels of this conversation and keep things rolling smoothly. Not that their conversations were ever awkward or terribly strained... they had a knack for swinging wildly from laid-back teasing to absolute batshit behavior without missing a beat. Nonetheless, after that last phone call? Maksim had been a bit nervous about how to approach Ross. He’d already been branded a dangerous fuck up, and that much he could live with. Dangerous was part of the package, especially when you stacked him up against anyone Ross had ever known. But being an emotional fuck up? That was a different beast entirely, and while Maksim could more than handle the 'dangerous' label as it immediately formed boundaries, kept things in check, letting his more tender emotions trickle in? Was opening a door of way too much risk, of closeness no one outside his kind, or even his pack, had ever truly earned. It sounds snobbish as hell, and it was, but to Maksim, it was all about loyalty. Trusting Ross above those he held dear, or even so much as putting them on equal playing field? Would make him a disgrace of an Alpha. But, well, it wasn’t likely to become a problem anytime soon, now was it?

Luckily? ...The conversation takes a raunchy turn and stays there, and Maksim doesn't seem to really mind. He’s a damn apex predator, with probably the highest sex drive of them all. Of course his mind’s filthy as hell, and he’s experienced more than his share of equally lewd and enticing gossip. What’s starting to grate on him, though, is the way Ross keeps painting certain images in his head. For instance, there’s no reason he should be abruptly thinking about how pretty Ross’s ass might look while riding dick. None. But that isn’t about mutual attraction. No, it’s just the way Maksim’s mind and body are wired------- always ready to take a comment or stray detail and run wild with it. He reminds himself that Ross isn’t trying to provoke him, not like that. And even if he were, Maksim knows better than to go there with someone he could end up accidentally killing, after he swore protection.

"You? Into being degraded? With that fucking mouth?" Maksim snickers, his voice dripping with disbelief. There’s no way he’d let any man talk down to him, even in bed. Right? Right. (And surely Ross wouldn’t be crazy enough to take Maksim’s various threats to rip his throat out as some kind of fun, right? He’s not that insane.) But the next short story gives him some time to deliberate, humming lowly from the bottom of his chest and finally wiping off his mouth with a napkin. "Well, not every man has that 'Alpha Dom' thing in him, or whatever you call it. But, speaking from experience, it could've just been a bad match. I've known bottoms who get off on being overstretched more than anything----- and then there are the others, like yourself, who probably need something more average sized or smaller, that can hit the right spots." Maksim's smirk widens, taking on a comically evil edge as he imagines Ross struggling with anything bigger. And that's----- well, fucking funny, but also somewhat disappointing for an Alpha with a big cock and knot. But, you know what? He doesn't need to be bringing any of that up. No point in teasing Ross about their hypothetical sexual incompatibility------ it's obvious enough, after all. "...I do see your point, though. Just because it's big doesn't mean you sling it around without knowing who you're dealing with. But, yeah, pace yourself, little one."

He starts going for the nachos, easily clearing half the box of them within moments. Big wolf, big appetite, you know how it is. Doesn't look like Ross can keep up anyway (poor thing already getting too tipsy,) so he might as well put most of it away himself. "What's a William Golding?" Whatever. "Oh, yeah? You'd train them? I mean, I know how I would do it, but this I gotta hear. From the perspective of a bottom who probably only handles below average dick at best." Something dark flashes in Maksim's eye, and finally, he wipes his fingers clean, then folds his broad, beefy arms on the counter, locking eyes with the swaying fool in front of him. "...Fine, let's make a bet. I'll go on the stupid blind date, but if it fucking sucks? You have to introduce me to someone else instead. At the club." It's not just a ploy to get his boring ass out and slutty-drunk... but if that does happen? Well, Maksim's fully prepared to laugh it up, snap a few pictures, and keep them as blackmail material he’ll gleefully hold over Ross for the rest of his life.

this feels easy, and that feels scary to ross. as the food is splayed out, as the drinks flow (and ross finds himself deep into glass number three of vodka), and the apartment fills with the sound of warm laughter and lighthearted fun, something grips in his chest, that always present fear that something's going to ruin it, destroy the small moment of happiness and come crashing in to shove him back to the bottom of the well when he's finally started to see the sun at the top of it.

he thinks he's good at not letting it show, with the way he laughs, takes bites of food or sips of vodka, slower now as his face starts to warm, cheeks redden, and especially when the sweater comes off and gets tossed into a chair so that he can cool off from the heat inside of him, leaving nothing but a worn old tank top hanging loosely from his frame. "i'm not in a school and you are certainly not a child, so i think you can handle hearing the word slutty, big guy." the words come out through bites of taco, as his eyes roam a little more than they should across a strong jaw and a built frame.

maksim is hot, and it definitely isn't fair, but ross, even slutty vodka ross isn't going to just throw himself at the guy and beg to get fucked like an animal in his own living room. he's got some self respect left, and maksim seems to be quite clear on the lines he's drawing, the teasing is one thing, but going beyond that feels absolutely like crossing those.

instead, he takes another bite of food, chews thoughtfully, and then shrugs at the man, finishing yet another glass of that vodka and moving a little more playfully where he stands in front of the counter, the perch he's taken so that he can look at the man head on. he's swaying a little on his feet, keeping his body moving in an almost constant rhythm to music that isn't playing. "for someone to split me open and tell me how bad of a boy i've been? abso-fucking-lutely. let me tell you, this guy i was dating before, total snore. like, what's the point of having a nice cock if you don't know how to use is properly? and he wanted to be the big strong alpha dom, but didn't even know how to properly hold me down. wanna talk about boring. that guy." he's definitely talking too much, sharing too much, and yet he can't bring himself to care, because he's laughing still, filling the air with the soft melody of it.

"i am really good at my job. i can teach kids about william golding, and i can probably teach aspiring sluts how to properly take dick. maybe a side business, if i'm ever hurting for cash." a small nod follows his words, as he pours himself yet another glass, reaches for one of the shrimp that maksim is definitely hogging to pop into his mouth with a cheeky grin. "but please, do tell me how it goes if you do go on that blind date. i'd love to know what other people think of you, see how it compares to my notes."

[sashimew-the-cat]

Faraway brothers

This is a scene from @the-peak-tmnt ‘s fanfic reciprocity (chapter 13 specifically)! You should give it a read, it’s really good https://archiveofourown.org/works/49607587/chapters/125206036?view_adult=true

(Click for better quality, text-less version under the cut because I was stupid while making these)

[imclou]

can't believe fnaf brought me out of art hibernation man what a turn of events

[fantasykiri5]

Ticklish

[canisalbus]

So i remember an ask mentioning your mortal enemy, Felis Atra and their cats, and i thought it'd be fun to draw what Felis Atra's version of your italian dogs would be.

I think they would be called Butter Knife and Flamengo! Butter Knife is not his real name, it's an nickname given by his peers because of how harmless he is. I choose Flamengo because that's the name of Vasco's rival football team here in Brazil, so i thought that was the perfect name :)

Cat Machete was slightly inspired by the Oriental Shorthair cat because of their long noses and thin head shape.

Cat Vasco was inspired by the Scottish Fold cat, because FLOPPY EARS. I gave Flamengo longer ears and orange fur to make him more like his look-alike.

The last doodle is a reference to this ask (https://canisalbus.tumblr.com/post/728923918314946560/me-i-am-machete-ear-fan-number-1-those-ears) and contains the tumblr ask stand-in dog, whose cat version was inspired by the American Curl cat! They have round ears that are slightly floppy outwards.

Final notes: I know cardinal clothes don't come in vibrant blue, but i was ADAMANT on switching Machete's and Vasco's clothing color patterns. I would draw the rest of Butter Knife's and Flamengo's clothes, but i suck at designing cool outfits.

Speaking of outfits, for Machete's iconic void outfit, i figured it would be fun to make it more baggy for Butter Knife, in contrast to Machete's, that looks very tight-fitted. I think it's cute, it kinda looks like a sweater. Also i can't imagine a Machete doppelganger without high heels boots, so those HAD to stay.

Oh, and just to be clear, i'm not like, claiming ownership of these guys or anything. I just thought it would be a fun exercise. Hope you like them!! I love your art and your characters.

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