#but also holding someone you love in your arms

[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.

[aangelinakii]

BATBOYS + SITTING ON THEIR BACK DURING PUSH-UPS.

note : personally i would love someone to push up w me on their back ,,, and also no damian just becquse i couldn't rhink of a scenario soz aloz

BRUCE WAYNE.

the kids had forced offered bruce a night off, after performing his nightly duties too many months in a row. now, sitting in bed with a book, you found it difficult to concentrate on the printed words as your partner lingered on the floor by his side of the bed, his quick breaths huffing through your shared bedroom. what on earth could he be doing? flipping the corner of your page down to save your place, you folded the book shut and put it down, rolling over the bed to peer over the side... only to find your wonderous bruce wayne... doing push ups?

"what are you doing?" you'd chuckled with a soft shake of your head.

muscles rippling beneath the flesh of his back, bruce brought his body down, and then pushed himself back up again, his triceps straining against skin. with a grunt he glanced back at you, never ceasing movement. "i need to get energy out before i go to bed. mind you, i'm not usually relaxing by this time."

another laugh brushed past your lips. "then that's not tiring you out." but bruce only sent you another glance, more sheepish this time; you couldn't blame him, not being accustomed to how one normally retires for the evening.

before he could reply again, you were slinging a leg over the side of the mattress and landing on the plush carpeting. bruce's exercise ceased in curiosity, his head turning to run his gaze over your legs. "oh, no, don't stop on my behalf," you grinned, carefully tucking one of your shins along his back and lowing the rest of your weight onto him.

but bruce wayne didn't falter a bit.

instead, he took it in his stride, tucking his arms and moving down, and then pushing up even faster than he'd been doing before. but he couldn't hide the crescent of his eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth as they turned up — he could do this all night.

DICK GRAYSON.

bullets of sweat shot to the floor with each punch, his flesh grunting against the boxing bag hanging from the ceiling. it never had the chance to swing too far, for he was already hitting it from the other side. although you weren't going as hard at it as your boyfriend, your own limbs were straining from exercise.

with a loud exhale, dick stepped away from the swinging sand bag, holding out a shaking hand to steady it. before it could stop, he was already moving to one of the ready-laid mats.

without a second too long of a break, he was down on his palms, moving up and down, his triceps tensing and bulging in his flesh. the way he kept glancing at you every few moments was making it very difficult to focus on your own workout.

ceasing your movements, you looked over at him with crossed arms. "anything i can help you with?" it was half a joke, expecting him to just grunt a chuckle and shake his head, getting caught red-handed checking you out. instead, he allowed a few seconds' silence, and then hummed.

"yes, actually." his voice was strained against his action, but he'd be damned if he stopped now just to speak. "come here, will you?"

it's not like you're busy or anything. but who were you to deny one dashingly handsome dick grayson your time and energy; especially when that's what you were dating him for.

unable to bite back a smile, you made your way over. "okay... what now?"

"sit on my back."

despite the tension in his throat as he spoke, dick didn't pause his push-ups — and you were supposed to sit on him like this? right...

however strange it may have been to try sit down on a moving man's back, the sheer fact dick could push-up your body weight made it worth it (no matter how many times you fell off before finally sticking it).

JASON TODD.

relaxing days — no work, no appointments, nothing to do — had to be the best days. especially here, as you and jason lay belly-down on the floor, using your glorious free time to complete a puzzle book you'd found at the grocery store the other day.

well... jason was belly-down on the floor; you were belly-down on his back, peering over his shoulder and pointing at the page, giving your contributions.

it got to the point where you were both on the last page, pen marks etched into the paper from where you'd scribbled answers and numbers and words, but you were stumped. with a huff, jason flicked the pen from his fingers, landing with a thump a metre away. "how are they gonna make puzzles you can't even solve? stupid..."

"hey, hey," you chuckled, bringing your fingers to scratch lovingly at his jaw. "i can get us a new one. want to go now?" as the words left your mouth, you moved one leg from where it lay entwined with his, preparing to get ready for an outing.

but jason was too quick, and too stubborn. before you could react, he'd pulled one arm from beneath him and lightly pressed down on your back, keeping you in place. "no, i'm joking," he mumbled. "please, let's just stay."

anything for him.

and so you fell limp against him once more, arms folding beneath your chin so you could rest your head, eyes fluttering closed. silence ran through the apartment, aside from the soft workings of jason's breathing beneath your ear; outside the city buzzed, but, by now, it was more background noise. perhaps a little nap wouldn't hurt—

something was moving beneath you, and your eyes shot open in alarm, arms shooting out from beneath you and clinging to the nearest thing – which happened to be around jason's waist. although you weren't moving, the coffee table beside you was bobbing up and down, and you couldn't possiblt fathom what was happning, until you realised...

"don't want to miss a workout," jason grunted from below, as if reading your mind. no lazy day was truly lazy when you had a jason peter todd to mind.

TIM DRAKE.

"i bet i could do that," tim spoke from the other end of the couch, where his socked feet were prodding your legs, probably in a surreptitious attempt to get them massaged. "no sweat."

you glanced between the tv and him, your lovely boyfriend tim, who would come up in the dictionary if you searched for the word overzealous. on the screen, playing the scene of a bizarre film you'd flipped to, the main love interest was working out when the main character stumbled into the room; there was some fleeting dialogue, and then, before you could find an explanation for it, she was sitting on his back as he continued his workout.

"what, you—" now when you looked over at tim, he had that wide grin on his face, and you knew you were in for something. "you want to try it now?"

without much of an answer, tim was rising to his feet, adjusting the waistband of the linen pyjama pants he wore, and fell to his hands and knees. "i mean, if you insist," he scoffed playfully. "try not to fall in love with me even more."

something about this didn't feel right... tim was certainly muscular, certainly strong — you'd seen him in action — but you didn't have much trust in him this time. regardless of your worries, you shimmied from your seat on the couch and carefully arranged yourself, legs crossed, on tim's back.

he only shook a bit at first, his legs now outstretched behind him, arms firm as logs. but he wasn't moving, just frozen in the plank position.

peering over his shoulder at him, you asked, "what's with the hold-up?"

pink in the cheeks, jaw clenched, tim's voice barely came out through his teeth. "yeah, just... wait—"

carefully – and very slowly – tim lowered himself, and in addition you, down, until his toned chest was millimetres away from the floor, and then, just as slowly, he pushed back against the ground.

once he was back in his starting position, he shifted beneath you, almost toppling you overboard. "okay, okay, i'm done!" he gasped. "my abs are gonna kill me!"

DUKE THOMAS.

being sick for the past week, you'd found it difficult to encourage yourself out of the house to go visit the gym — so, instead, you'd resorted to working out at home.

duke returned home the moment the sun began to dip below darkening clouds, his warmth radiating through the house as he closed the door behind him. he called something into the living room, but it went unheard beneath the instructions playing on the telly.

"oh, you working out?" he hummed as he entered, raking his eyes over your form and the synchronised movements on the tv screen.

mid-movement, you grunted a yeah, and duke edged around you to sit on the couch.

finally, when your break came, you collapsed to your mat and turned to him, grabbing your water bottle on the coffee table. "how was patrol?" you breathed.

the corners of duke's mouth turned up in a grin, clearly bemused by the sheen of sweat along your brow. "yeah, great." his eyes glanced over to the screen — two more minutes of your break, and it looked like you'd be attempting a five-minute plank. "mind if i work in with you?"

you glanced back, sipping at your water, and gave a half-chuckle. "i would've thought you'd be too tired for more exercise."

duke's bottom lip jutted out with a casual shrug. "i've missed you, we can do it together."

unfortunately, you couldn't ignore that little smile, that charm he held like a secret. and so you put your water bottle back on the table and duke joined you, beside your mat.

when the timer was up, you braced yourself for your plank, but duke, also on his knees, caught your attention — some stupid smile lingered on his lips, like he had a cheeky plan. "i don't know if a plank will be difficult enough for me."

"well done," you scoffed playfully. "just because it's easy for you, doesn't mean it's easy for me."

he held out a hand to diffuse any wrong ideas. "no, i just meant i think i know a way to break a sweat."

at this, you eyed him suspiciously, albeit curiously. before you could question him any further, he was on his palms and tip of his toes, gesturing you to sit on his back.

after a few "are you crazy?"s, you found yourself sitting on his back, trying not to touch him too much with your overly-warm limbs, lowering and raising with ease, your youtube workout by now forgotten.

[calebsmuse]

not me haunting your asks in every single blog you own 😈 sooo, do you write parents!au? bc I wanted to request some scenario abt how sylus, caleb and xavier would react to their kids telling u to shut up. I KNOW ITS WEIRD BUT ITS A OLD TREND I THINK?? anyway, love ya babe 💘💋💋

੭⠀ A little prank.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love parents!au so much 😭

⋆⠀FEATURING: Xavier, Sylus, Caleb.

⋆⠀WARNING: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

Your son’s favorite pastime was annoying his father, and he was certainly better at it than anyone else. Not only that, but he also managed to convince you to help with yet another one of his… pranks.

The boy smiled when he saw his father heading to the kitchen and turned back to his video game. Not long after, you walked into the room with something in hand. “Sweetheart, could you take this—”

“Shut up, mom,” he tried to say in an irritated tone, but a smile was plastered across his face.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀XAVIER

Not even five seconds had passed before your son was groaning in pain, Xavier’s slipper lying on the couch beside him after hitting the back of his head squarely. “Dad—”

Xavier raised the other slipper, pointing it at the boy. “Apologize. Now,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“But I was busy, and she—” Once again, the boy didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the other slipper flying straight at him. Xavier crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on his son.

You widened your eyes and placed a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Okay, okay, it was a… joke, just a prank.”

Xavier gave a faint smirk, glancing at you. “…Yeah, I knew that.” He pulled you into a hug, sticking his tongue out at your son. “You think I’d stop at that if I saw him disrespecting you like that?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀SYLUS

Sylus prided himself on being an exemplary father. He was patient, fun—or so he thought—and wealthy. I mean, surely his son was already having a better childhood than most people who came from the same place Sylus had, right?

And perhaps it was exactly that freedom and comfort in his presence that made the boy feel confident enough to make that kind of joke.

“I must’ve misheard. Definitely,” Sylus said loud enough for both of you to hear. You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression, while your son simply grimaced.

“Dad, she could’ve just asked one of my uncles to go—or, I don’t know, gone herself!” the boy said, spinning the pieces of a pistol between his fingers.

Sylus’s steps were almost inaudible; it was as if he had teleported to his son’s side. He crossed his arms, an irritated expression on his face. His son had never seen that look before—at least, not directed at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that under this roof,” he said. “I don’t care if she could’ve asked someone else—if she tells you to do something, you do it. She brought you into this world.”

The boy couldn’t hold back his laughter, bursting out in hysterics. Your husband opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw you laughing as well. He let out a sigh, rubbing his face. “You too now?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀CALEB

Honestly, your son was expecting Caleb to yell at him or chase after him, but it was even more terrifying to see him stay silent, slowly turning to face the boy.

He froze, setting the video game controller down on the coffee table. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on him, and his silence lingered just long enough to make the boy shift uncomfortably under the stare.

When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was strangely calm—and that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “You have five seconds to do as your mother said and come back here, and another five to apologize and explain yourself.”

You let out an awkward laugh before wrapping your arms around your husband. “It was just a joke, I swear.” Caleb glanced at you, slipping a hand under your shirt to give you a pinch. “Ouch! It was his idea!”

He rolled his eyes but let out a relieved laugh, despite his irritation with your newfound way of spending free time. “I should’ve known.”

[phosphns]

MILAN , chris s.

🫐. you take chris around milan, enjoying a cute night in the sweet italian atmosphere.

warns. bf!chris x italian!reader | established relationship, fluff, cursing, kissing, pet names [babe, pretty], some italian sentences, flirty comments, no use of y/n

The Prada fashion show had been nothing short of breathtaking.

When Chris asked you to go with them at the show, you were beyond excited. Not just because the show would have taken place in your hometown, but also because you’d always loved fashion. You couldn’t believe you were really going to attend a Prada event, so it all felt like a dream when you actually stood in the first line, examining every outfit with heart-shaped eyes.

Chris stood beside you, his hand wrapped securely around your waist. He looked so cool in that black suit, but you could tell that he wasn’t used to this world. His brothers, Nick and Matt, were nearby, doing some comments about the designs now and then and trying to sneak pictures of the show that they would have posted later.

“You okay?” Chris leaned in close, his voice soft in your ear. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the air of sophistication around you.

“I’m better than okay,” you replied with a smile, your Italian accent giving your english words a unique charm that he adored. “This doesn’t even feel real.”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curving into a grin. “It’s wild, right? I didn’t think we’d actually get invited to something like this.”

You nod, your gaze not leaving the runway, too focused on the way models walked or held the precious bags.

After the show wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, Nick and Matt said their goodbyes, leaving you and Chris alone. The night was still young, and the streets of Milan were alive with lights, laughter, and the allure of adventure

Chris took your hand, pulling you away from the crowd of paparazzi and fans surrounding the fashion show area, leading you to a quieter spot.

As soon as you were alone, you wrapped your arms around his neck, caressing the back of his head while his hands moved to your hips. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You smiled, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes. You nodded. “You have no idea how much,” you said, before connecting your lips with his in a sweet kiss that expressed all your happiness and gratitude.

“Thank you,” you added after pulling away. He gave a confused little smile. “For what?” he asked, his fingers running up and down your sides in a reassuring but very sensual way.

“For giving me the chance to come,” you answered, looking up at him. It was true; you were extremely grateful to have been invited, but above all, you were proud of him. In such a short time, he had managed to get so far, doing it all on his own, with his brothers. You were thankful to be with someone like him.

He smiled sincerely, then his smile turned into a knowing smirk, and he added mischievously, “You have no idea how many more times I’ll give you that chance.” You gave him a playful tap to reprimand him.

“Can’t you be serious for five seconds?” you scolded, trying to hold back a grin. “Not when I’m around you, pretty,” he replied, making you blush.

You decided to pull away, taking his hand. “I want to show you something,” you said, stopping the first available taxi. Chris didn’t say anything, getting into the car after you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned forward, murmuring the destination to the driver in Italian, so Chris couldn’t understand.

Once back in your seat, the dark-haired guy wasted no time asking where you were taking him. “Wait and see,” you replied simply, leaving him in suspense. He playfully huffed, but didn’t say anything else, partly because he wanted to play along, and partly because he wanted to enjoy the view outside the window: Milan by night was enchanting, whether seen through the eyes of a local or a tourist. The lights, the life, the sounds, never failed to amaze you

Finally, the taxi stopped, and after paying, you both got out. In front of you was the square, illuminated by the lights of the street lamps and the reflections from the lively bars filled with people. Some stopped for a drink, others greeted each other with laughter and chatter.

Chris looked up, his eyes widening when he saw the cathedral. Its gothic facade seemed even more impressive under the dark sky. “Holy shit,” the guy exclaimed, looking at the building in all its beauty.

“Pretty, right?” you asked, standing beside him in front of the majestic cathedral. He nodded, but after a moment, his expression shifted slightly as he turned to look you in the eyes. “It’s almost as beautiful as you,” he whispered, getting closer to you. His low voice carried a teasing tone.

You turned to look at him too, rolling your eyes playfully. “Stop being cheesy.” He laughed and shrugged. “What? It’s true,” he replied, though his tone made it clear he was just messing around. Before you could respond, he turned suddenly and looked around.

“Hey, excuse me, could you take a picture for us?” he asked a passerby, who happily agreed. You looked at Chris, confused, not understanding what he had in mind. You watched as he handed his phone to the man with the camera app open. Then he came back to you and grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him for the umpteenth time that night.

Once again, he didn’t give you time to react, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you slowly and sensually, as if in that square full of people, you were the only ones who mattered. It was just the two of you, and time seemed to slow down.

When you pulled away, you let out a chuckle. “That was definitely corny,” you whispered, our faces still close. He winked at you and took the phone back from the stranger after thanking him.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he said.

Chris gave you a soft tap before wrapping his arm around your waist and dragging you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat down, and you rested your head on his shoulder while he opened the photo app to check out the shots.

“Babe, we need to post these, you look so sexy,” he said, placing a hand on your thigh while adding the photo to his favorites. “Mhmh, sure” you replied, making him smirk, clearly proud of his choice.

“So,” he began, “teach me something in italian. You know, to make me sound cooler.”

You couldn’t hold back a smile at his silly idea, but you didn’t refuse. “Are you trying to impress the locals?” you teased him.

“Of course, I want to show off my italian skills,” he replied with an obvious, cocky tone. “Alright then,” you said, giving him an amused glance. “Sei un coglione di prima categoria, ma sfortunatamente ti amo lo stesso.”

The brunette blinked a few times, as if trying to register the sentence, which sounded so odd to him. “Wait, I caught a ‘ti amo,’ right?” he said, his expression amused but also a little curious. You looked at him, returning his usual smirk. “You only got that part,” you replied, pretending to mock him.

“I got it! Woah, I’m basically fluent now,” he exclaimed, leaning back on the bench and taking a long, satisfied breath.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed.

He shot you a teasing glance. “Yeah, and yet you publicly said, I quote, ti amo.”

yaps. “milano we love you” we all say in unison. ALSO requests are open, so feel free to request anything!

wc. 1.2k

[zerocoded]

summary: headcannons of what caleb is like in bed.

authors note: help me i need him chronically. this is my opinion babes! i can't shut my brain off when it comes to him anymore. waiting for the 22nd to come is like waiting for my husband get back from war. everything here is what i read about his character so far, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: nsfw content • minors dni • SMUT • talks about size kink, teasing, fingering with his prosthetic bla bla, idk what else. A LOT. • this is basically word vomit, i'm sorry.

word count: 1.2k

caleb might be more conscious of his touch, especially with his bionic arm, carefully adjusting his strength to ensure comfort and gentleness.

i KNOW bro can’t keep his grunts down, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

he wants to consume you entirely, like occupy your every thought and feeling when getting intimate with you.

he’s a sucker for your reactions, so attentive to the point it makes you shy.

ALSO he’s so big—like everything about him is just massive. we know that already, right? sometimes HE forgets.

i just got a feeling that caleb's bed is enormous, like king-size for real, made for someone his size. like BIG BIG. because he's a big boy.

he kind of doesn’t fully grasp how strong he is or how big he is compared to you, like the first time he closed his hands around your throat, he gave you whiplash.

everything in his apartment is set high to accommodate him, and you struggle with it constantly.

his frame completely consumes you, overwhelming but in a way that feels safe.

one time, tara walked in on the two of you mid-moment, she was sleeping on your apartment for some reason and caleb came from the farspace fleet really missing you. she asked caleb where you were, and he just casually said "here," while tara bolted out, flustered beyond belief when she realized what was going on.

you were literally UNDER him and to anyone passing, it looked like he was alone lol.

you two have little banter all the time, thanks to growing up together as childhood friends.

tell me i'm not getting too ahead of time, but i gotta say this. when you’re pregnant, caleb has this habit of saying “shush, i’m talking to the baby” every time he rests his head on your belly.

THAT'S SO CUTE, RIGHT? URGH.

he loves being in control – not in a domineering way, but because he wants to make sure you feel completely taken care of. he’s meticulous, learning what you like and pushing those boundaries just enough to drive you wild.

his size is an obsession for him – he’s hyperaware of how much bigger he is compared to you, and he uses it to his advantage. holding your wrists in one hand, pinning you beneath him, or just the way his body completely overshadows yours—it gets him going every time.

he’s vocal, but only for you – low grunts, whispered praise, and occasionally losing control with a deep growl when you hit just the right spot. but he’s also hyperaware of how you react, loving every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips.

a possessive streak – he doesn’t say it outright, but the way his hands grip your hips or how he marks your skin with kisses is all about claiming you. his touch lingers, even when you’re just walking around afterward.

obsessed with eye contact – he insists you look at him, especially in your most vulnerable moments. “keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs, his gaze locking you in place as if the world outside the two of you doesn’t exist.

an absolute tease – he loves winding you up, taking his time until you’re begging him to stop playing around. slow kisses down your neck, feather-light touches that leave you trembling—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

his hands – they’re huge and rough, but his touch is incredibly gentle when he wants it to be. he loves how your body reacts to the contrast, and he uses it to his full advantage, whether he’s tracing your spine or gripping your thighs.

THE BIONIC ARM? OH MY GAWD.

he really hates the fact that he can't feel you - at all. but his prosthetic can come in handy sometimes 😏

he could use his arm’s advanced capabilities, like adjustable pressure or vibration, to focus on your pleasure, experimenting with new sensations. GUYS I HAD TO SAY IT.

i just know he teases you gliding the cool metal over warm, flushed skin and eliciting shivers of delight.

not him using it like your own personal vibrator. turning on subtle vibrations during a kiss or when he's fingering you.

he LOVES to explore areas like the neck, back, or thighs, using varying pressures to heighten your sensitivity.

aftercare king – he’s all about making sure you feel safe and comfortable afterward.

he’s a little shy about certain things – despite his confidence, there are moments when he feels self-conscious, like when you run your fingers along the scars on his body. but your touch soothes him, and he grows to crave the intimacy of being vulnerable with you. again, his prothetic can become a insecurity of him on these times.

unexpectedly playful – he likes to keep things fun, especially when the mood is light. sneaky touches, biting your ear just to hear you squeak, or pulling you onto his lap when you least expect it.

easily undone by you taking control – as much as he loves being in charge, when you take the lead, he absolutely melts. seeing you confident and assertive makes him lose every ounce of his composure. I JUST KNOW HE LOVES IT.

praise kink on both sides – he loves telling you how good you’re being, how beautiful you are, and how perfect you feel. but he’s also weak for your praise—if you tell him how much you want him or how amazing he’s making you feel, it’s game over.

a sucker for your scent – burying his face in your neck or your hair is his favorite thing. he associates your scent with safety and home, and it’s an instant comfort for him, even when things heat up. i just know he missed you so much while he was gone.

light experimentation – he’s always willing to try new things if it means making you happy. he might be cautious at first, but your enthusiasm has a way of bringing out his adventurous side.

he’s an absolute wreck for soft moments – when you’re tender and loving, gently tracing his features or whispering sweet things, it undoes him completely. he’s all about intensity, but those quiet, intimate moments leave him weak in the knees.

he’s competitive – if you ever tease him or play hard to get, he rises to the challenge, determined to win you over every single time. and when he does, he’ll make sure you know it.

obsessed with your reactions – he watches your every move, cataloging the way your body arches, the sounds you make, and the way your breath catches. nothing escapes his attention, and he uses that knowledge to drive you to the brink.

neck kisses – his favorite spot to tease and mark. he loves the way you shiver when his lips brush over that sensitive spot just below your ear.

secretly loves when you’re a little rough – tugging on his hair, biting his shoulder, or leaving marks on his skin? he thrives on the proof of how much you want him. it’s like a badge of honor for him.

he’s insanely attentive to detail – he remembers everything you like, from the way you gasp when he kisses your collarbone to how your breathing changes when you’re close. he uses that knowledge to make sure you’re always completely satisfied.

i need to write about him loving us ASAP, bye.

author's note: i came up with these while trying to write for caleb's love language (the thrid chapter) and i thought i could use it as a solo post hehe. see you guys next! send me a request • my masterpost

[writella]

Here He Is, Finally

Synopsis: “When’s it gonna be my turn? Open me up, tell me you like it, fuck me to death, love me until I love myself—” This is a story about the inner struggles of a desiring Daryl who just wants to be free of the perceptions the town, and his own mind, have put on him, so he can love you and love himself, in the ways he’s always wanted to.

—or: As Daryl becomes the talk of the town, insecurity sets in that hinders him from having sex with you— the thing you most want to do.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, ambiguous age gap, mixing early seasons’ + later seasons’ personality of Daryl, the town being mean but also thinking Daryl’s hot because he is, discussions of gossiping, insecurity, and poor self-image, Daryl fights someone :), and smut— unprotected + he’s nervous but then it gets good, and it’s their/Daryl’s/your first time in whatever way you want it to be.

A/N: He’s literally me (I’m a girl).

— With love from writella. ♡

There it was. You finally said it. You told Daryl that you were ready to have sex.

When you told him, the two of you were having a quiet morning and he was about to leave. Pulling yourself up to his height, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he took you by the waist, one hand reached up to hold your head, rubbing his thumb there. Good, you had thought, he’s reciprocating. That let you know he was okay, but still, underneath, you knew he was embarrassed about last night. You weren’t going to bring it up though, not then. You wanted to move forward, to show him that you didn’t care. “Daryl,” you started, words slow, uneasy in voice but sure in intention, as you whispered to him from above his shoulder, “I just wanted to tell you– that– I feel like I’m ready.” You paused for a moment. “And whatever you feel, I’m okay with it. Just talk to me.” As silence ensued, you kissed him on the cheek, “I love you,” you said, and pulled back.

Daryl kept his hands in yours as he looked at you. His features were sad and soft as much as they were unreadable. He kissed you on the forehead. “I love you too,” he said– it wasn’t the first time you two had exchanged those words– and then he left. Just like that.

You had no expectation for how he would react. You only knew he wouldn’t give you a flat-out no, so this, was understandable. But still, there was something hollow about it, even if his kiss and words were tender. It was another relationship moment that reminded you that these things never happen as they do in fairytale romances.

You see, you had always pictured him or whoever you were with at the time, bringing you close, kissing you, their fingers trailing down and under the hem of your skirt or pants, asking you if you were ready, if you were sure, if you wanted them to go slow, slower, but Daryl— as it turns—was incredibly pure, or at least pretending to be. Either too nervous or sensitive about these things, possibly inexperienced, or much more innocent with his intentions than you ever expected. It’s like you knew Daryl like the back of your hand, but when it came to anything about you as a couple, his history, who he’s dated before– you were clueless. You didn’t know what it could be.

One thing you did suspect, although Daryl has never told you, is that he thought of you as precious, something to be delicate with, like a flower. Sometimes you’d tell him he didn’t have to be so slow or soft when you were kissing– he was always a little sloppy anyway– and whenever there was a task to get done you’d be the first to tell anyone you could do it yourself, he knew this about you. And it’s not like he babies you or anything, that was never his way. Like when you two were fighting walkers, or doing work around the communities, or when he’s teaching you how to do something. You’ve even told him that he could be a bit demanding sometimes, grouchy, rough, and he agreed– that was true. He didn’t do it on purpose, the whole being hard on you thing. But alone? When he was on top of you or you over him? Waking up to you? Feeling your hand reach for his own in the dark? Even just eating dinner with you? The guy was a mess! A little boy, even. Heart racing. Eyes averted at times.

Whenever he nipped you, on the lips, or the neck, maybe he pushed you on the bed too hard, grabbed your waist too tight that it squeezed the bone, there were always silent apologizes of gentle circles, sweet kisses, and tongue licks to soothe the pain or possible bruises he left on you. And sometimes, when you’re home alone or you shower together, and he starts to kiss you or pull you in by the waist, he almost always sets out with the intention that this time he’d finally do it— the sex thing— he always wanted to. Only if you knew! Honestly, he’d feel like such a pervert if he let you know how many times, both before and after you got together, that he’s thought of being inside you, or you on your knees for him, or him kissing up your thighs and tasting you– he genuinely thinks he’d really like it, all of it, but especially that. But every time you’ve kissed and kissed enough, he’d get too overwhelmed about how to proceed or too nervous to even try. He tells you that you two should shower or go to bed or that he has to go for whatever reason. So all you’ve done is grind on each other, a lot, but that’s about it. You know he’s gotten hard and you’ve gotten wet, but you’re not sure if he’s ever noticed. He wants to put his hands in your pants, he wants to rip your blouse, he wants to squeeze your tits and slap your ass, but every time he thinks about actually doing it, he feels it's too forward or raunchy, or maybe it's not actually like him in the way he’s pictured in his head, or maybe you’d hate it, and specifically the way he did it. And he has thought about doing it slowly, romantically, but every time he thinks about doing that, he feels stupid, thinking he’ll come off as clumsy and pathetic to you. He doesn’t exactly get the concept of slow and sexy yet— reaching up, breathing you in, letting his fingers linger, or hands caress and massage. It’s not that he couldn’t do it though, or so he thinks, if he really tries; it's that doesn’t even think he’s sexy to begin with.

The only thing Daryl knows for sure are the things people call him when they think he’s not listening.

“Deep and… grunty,” one much too young girl said to her equally young friend who giggled, indicating her agreement even if she was too afraid to verbalize it. “I just like his voice,” the first girl said, “it’s sexy.” Or, “Wild,” as one of Aaron’s friends whispered to him, “Like he could throw me around, do it in front of the whole town, and wouldn’t care who saw.” To which Aaron scoffed and replied, “That’s literally my fucking friend.” But in truth, it’s not like he hadn’t thought about it himself, how Daryl looked underneath his vest and button-downs– it was just once though!– he promises!– as if he needed to explain it to himself. He even told his husband about it; they had agreed on Daryl’s attractiveness. Eric called it “rugged,” and they laughed about it over dinner. Now, Aaron would repeat that word as he overheard another group of ladies discussing ways to describe or trademark some of the male leaders in town. As Aaron passed by, “rugged,” was his suggested alternative to the word “beast” when one older lady described Daryl, in a way that would make anyone not a part of the conversation cringe, “Beast, sexy armed beast.” But Aaron was only met with silence and weird hums until a girl replied that “sexy armed rugged,” doesn’t make any sense. To that, all the ladies agreed. As Aaron walked away, wanting nothing more with this kind of conversation about his friends, he caught the new suggestion: “Daddy,” a girl had said with the widest smile on her face— she wasn’t a teenager, but it was obviously her first time being vocal about these things. She must have felt she said something so salacious. And as much as Aaron wanted to gag, there was also a part of him that reluctantly stopped himself from laughing and blushing with the rest of the woman. One of them rolled her eyes saying, “They can’t all be daddy,” to which another girl said, “But they kind of are!” and then he was too far away to hear anymore.

Daryl didn’t get any of it.

The only ones that truly bothered him though were when they added, “I know he’s a little ugly but,” or “I know he’s not my type but,” or “I know he looks a little dirty but,” “And he never does his hair but,” “And he’s not like the smartest but,” but, but, but—

It all made him feel bad about himself; more confused.

Even when it was just generally flattering, he found it hard to take any of it as a compliment. Sometimes he would, maybe the whispers of him being “kinda hot,” on the days when he’d return to his cut-off sleeved shirts, or maybe those moments when a lady would be talking to her friend saying how he’s “handsome,” or how she just knows “he’s packing–big–” and what’s better than a big dick, right? At least that is what Daryl thought– it's the bit of Merle in him– and he bets Negan wished he had one— Daryl was pretty sure Negan’s is a tiny little bitch just like his personality. No one gets to kill one of his best friends and gets more than a three-incher. Right, J.C.? If you’re even up there? Not that Daryl would mind if you were or weren’t, or cares if you did, he wouldn’t mind– Daryl didn’t think about religion that much anymore. And on that note, he realizes that he doesn’t do a lot of the same things he used to anymore. Like the way he would walk around without a care, even confidently sometimes, not thinking about how much he swung his arms or the way he talked or the way his hair fell that day. There was this one time, as he was walking over to Rick in the garden, telling him he couldn’t find whatever particular tools Rick wanted, he yelled, “They ain’t there no more, Rick!” that he heard some older guy say to his friend that Daryl sounded like a “human gremlin,” to which the friend tried to one-up him by saying, “more like a garbage disposal.” Then another day, some girl said he looks like a “wet rat sometimes,” especially when his hair is flat or, as said in the phrase, wet; and he never forgot it, either of them or anything anyone has ever said about him. It’s always been like this. Even when he was a kid.

Daryl tries to remember that people have just gotten too comfortable now that Alexandria is back on track, at least that’s basically what you had said. One day, Daryl came into your room, huffing and throwing himself on your desk chair, saying, “Some people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.” To which you had asked him what was wrong, but he shook his head.

“Well,” you begin, responding to his un-answer, “some gossip is misogynized. It used to be a way for women to spread information, but–” you avoid the lecture— “I get what you mean.” You look at him, seeing the way his eyes still drift. “I can’t tell you everything, but Rosita and I had heard some people speculate on the whole her and Saddiq and Gabriel thing.” You shook your head, your eyes rolling a little, “It made her upset. I could tell. But it took her a while to talk about it. I think some people forget they can talk behind closed doors now. Our porches aren’t as private as they used to be, and people have gotten mean.” To that, you both nodded in agreement and then you climbed toward the edge of your bed to hold his hand. Something was obviously wrong. “Has anyone said anything about you?”

Again, he shakes his head and you have to leave it at that— all he wanted to do was ask questions about you now, and he wouldn’t let you change the subject.

But at home, alone, he stares at the mirror, trying to see what other people see: handsome, rugged, possibly wild… but all he saw were things he didn’t l understand, things that made him feel he wasn’t good enough. Did they really think he was attractive? And if so, why did they always have to bring up that there was something completely unattractive about him before the compliment? And why were those remarks always easier to believe? Or was it all just some weird fantasy they felt dirty about having? And was being rude behind his back was some sort of justification for it? Was it all of them above? Most importantly, did you think any of this?

Next Saturday, a week after you told him you were ready, the town gathered in the church during the evening for the monthly communal meal. This was something that started during the rehabilitation of Alexandria, another thing that the population was getting too big to contain, but Rick and Judith liked it. So, Michonne agreed to keep it— for now— despite reasoning that “this is what holidays are for, Rick.”

It was about an hour in, 6pm and sunset now past. Some people who had been busy working were still filing in, little by little, but for the most part, a majority of citizens were seated, eating, and chatting. There was a steady rain outside that made everything smell fresh, and if it wasn’t for all the chatter, you could even possibly hear the light drumming on the church walls. Everyone was quite pleased about it, spring seemed to be coming early.

Daryl had not come to see you last night and left early this morning so you didn’t know where he went or what he did, but what you did know for certain is that he never carried an umbrella. Therefore, when he finally arrived, 30 minutes later, his hair was soaked, and since he didn’t even wear his jacket, the long sleeves of his shirt were drenched with water droplets sticking to his vest and shoes that sloshed and left wet footprints on the wooden floor.

Obvious to say, he was noticed by all.

There is a fine line with Daryl between not giving a fuck about how he was perceived, and caring far too much while not willing to do anything about it, and of course, with all that has happened in the past few weeks, it was the ladder. He hated being the center of attention, but it was hard for him to not be noticeable, it never was, especially now. He felt ridiculous.

As he walks onto the stage– where all the tables of food are placed– you follow him.

“Hi,” you say next to him.

“Hi,” he replies, calling you by your nickname kindly enough, but not ever looking at you.

“You know, I think Rick was hoping you were coming back on time. I don’t know why he put all that stuff on his chair if it wasn’t for you or Michonne and Michonne sat with me.”

He simply nods, humming as acknowledgment.

“Daryl,” you move to the other side of the table as he gathers his food so he can look at you. Quietly you say, “We don’t have to talk about it now, but– I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable the other day. Or if it was about the night before, you just have to tell me.” You poke his shoulder, “You’re acting weird and you know it.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” is all he grumbles.

“But I still want to say I’m sorry if I did.”

Daryl quickly finds some napkins to dry his hands and wrists with and comes over to place them on the sides of your head to kiss you there. “You ain’t got anything to be sorry about. Alright? I’m fine.” His hands drop and holds you by the neck for a moment, the movement makes some water droplets bleed onto your clothes, you feel it but you say nothing. The only thing Daryl notices from you is that your eyes look almost identical to his despite the differing color– his mood is affecting yours, but he doesn’t know what to say right now to make you feel better so he opts for something he always know is true, “You’re perfect. You know that right?” And I’m just fuckin’ weirdo, he wants to add, but he doesn’t.

You were smiling at him. He doesn’t get it. He looked like an idiot all soaking wet and you were smiling at him. There couldn’t be a better reaction, but still, it’s moments like this where he can’t believe you’re real. All you say is “Okay,” never taking a compliment, just like him, instead of finding a way to break-up with him like he always nearly suspects. “Come to me when you finish, alright? We can leave if you want?”

“Alright,” he responds and you leave him be.

As Daryl goes down the rows of tables picking out what he wants, he heads to the last one. The way the event was set up was that everyone who came early had the opportunity to take a seat at one of the four tables that were placed along each corner of the stage and the rest sat in the pews, but despite the higher vantage point the stage gave, that did not mean Daryl couldn’t hear what those around the stage were saying around him— as always. It must be a hunter’s ear or something.

“Be careful,” a woman says smirking, her eyes gesturing to Daryl. “Let’s hope he doesn’t wet us.” The friend in front of her snickers, looking back to see that Daryl is now by the table just above theirs. Whispering, the first woman continues, shaking her head, “I don’t know how Rick or the girl put up with it. She just acted like nothing was wrong. He’s mudding up the whole damn church!”

Daryl keeps his back turned. This ends up being his last straw. “How about you shut the fuck up,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

Louder, facing no one in particular he yells, “Why does everyone act like I don’t got ears?”

You look up, synchronized with everyone in the church and get up with Rick who is already slowly approaching him, but Michonne yanks you down.

“What is your problem?”

To that, he turns back to the woman, “How ‘bout you say what you said again and stop talking shit under your breath.”

“What?”

“I said,” he starts yelling again, “if you got somethin’ to say about me lady, say it to ma’ face. That’s what I said.”

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Rick asks almost warningly, but not before someone yells, “Who the fuck are you talking to, man?” from one of the aisles in the back. It was her husband, now standing from his seat. He and his wife make eye contact, and instantly he’s moving closer.

Daryl walks to the edge of the front stage, barking a quick “move” without any pause and Eugene and Siddiq violently bob their heads and grab their plates as Daryl steps on the table and jumps to the floor.

Rick tries to push him back but it’s no use, Daryl pushes him in return and he and the husband are charging at each other, speaking over each other: “What did you say to my wife?” “Told her to shut the fuck up. Thought I said it loud enough–” “Nah, man you were mumblin’ like always–” “Or d’you need me to say it louder with ma garbage disposal mouth?” Daryl pushes him, “Huh?” “I’m not fighting you, man.” But Daryl persists, getting in the man’s face, their noses almost touching. He whispers, “You know, maybe your wife’s got everyone’s name in her mouth because she don’t fuckin’ like you.” The man keeps shaking his head, but Daryl surprises him, he isn’t the only one the town gossips about. “She’s fucking Mark,” he tells him. That was true, and people knew it. “He’s your friend, ain’t he? Maybe that’s why she’s always–” But no, not him, her husband did not know, so he punches, straight in the eye. Daryl almost smiles as he takes the next swing.

The two are tussling, but not for long as Rick takes the chance to get Daryl from behind, taking him away with Gabriel’s help. “You done?” Rick asks as Gabriel holds him on the other side, His grip honestly does nothing though and Daryl shrugs him off. Poor Gabe looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm to see the church– practically his church– in such disarray.

With that, and with Daryl raging too much to contain, he shrugs Rick off and stomps out.

Michonne finally takes her hand off of your wrist and you make you way to leave too. As you walk, you look back to Rick who is already trying to follow, and wordlessly tell him that it’s your turn now, then, turn to awkwardly dodge the people still standing in the aisle and collect your things to go.

Daryl was not hard to find. It almost made you think he wanted to be found or knew you’d go after him— he’s being such a child today. Despite the town lights, you hold out your flashlight to find him sits on a tree stump on the edge of town next to one of his favorite trees. The leaves did a terrible job of covering him from anything but you knew he didn’t care. It was almost laughable honestly. Still, you take pity, he was yours and you were concerned. “I know you don’t care about getting wet,” you say with no malice or disappointment in your voice, “but all that water in your shoes can cause blisters. You didn’t even wear the ones that don’t have holes.”

He just shakes his head, as always, and water droplets fall from the tips of his hair.

“Remember when that happened to me and you drained them with needles even though Saddiq told us not to?”

He stares at you, stone-faced for a moment. “You’re the one who told me to do it.”

“Because they hurt really bad!”

“You were being a baby.”

“Really?” You ask ironically. “So if I’m the baby why are you acting like one right now? It’s been raining since morning, Daryl! Not even a jacket? You’re obviously upset about something but I’m not going to continue this with you in the rain, looking like a sad, wet puppy.”

He sneered at the comment, wet.

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let me take you.”

“We don’t live together.”

You frown. “Don’t be mean, Daryl,” you gently warn. “You know what I mean.”

You hold your hand out for him, water collecting in your palm as you wait. It was more of a gesture than actual help as you two were still a few feet away from each other. “Please? You could have already ran away on your bike or gone home and locked your door but you didn’t. I don’t know what’s going on but don’t act like I don’t know you.”

Reluctantly, he gets up, walking to you in almost slow motion. You wish you could call him the drama queen he is right now, but it was time to get out of this rain– you would hold it in for the time being.

As you enter the small place, you make no conversation. You simply get to work and he doesn’t stop you. You take off your rain jacket and boots, then you take off his vest and boots. You drag him to his room and hang up your sweater and take off your jewelry, then you empty his pant pockets. Finally, you hold his hand as he trails behind you and into the bathroom. You unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants and place them all in the hamper. He takes off his underwear and helps you take off your clothes too. When you’re done, you turn on the water and go in, he follows. You bathe and wash his hair in silence. You are tender and gentle, and he knows it, he appreciates it, but his mind is loud, and angry, and he feels so pathetic as you wash him like he’s 5 years old. You turn around to start washing yourself as he takes care of cleaning his legs and lower area. After he’s done, all he can do is look at you, your body, the soft humming you can’t help but do when you shower. It’s exactly as he said, you’re perfect. He wants to bang his head against the wall because of it.

When you two finish, you sit on his bed, wearing one of his white shirts and a pair of boxers, he wears the same except his bottoms are sweatpants. He hates these kinds of casual clothes actually, he’s only okay with wearing it sometimes, but he has nothing else at the moment. All he had to do was give his clothes to Carol to wash, but he didn’t. He hasn’t really done anything this week.

“Ms. Ellen is a bitch.” You finally say, giving him an ice pack for his eye. “And so is Mr. Gary and they both have the whiteness names in the world. And they’re both lazy as fuck and reek of nepotism because they only had one of the biggest houses and biggest egos in Alexandria because they were friends with Deanna and they’re still bitter that their house being destroyed in the fire— which I get— but it’s not okay that she uses her bitterness to talk shit about everyone. And it’s also not okay that you used your anger to fight someone who didn’t deserve it. That wasn’t like you.”

“Maybe it is. You didn’t always know me.”

“Well, sure, can act like a tough—”

“I don’t act like anything—”

“Fine, I’ll change it: Can you be a tough guy? Yeah. But do you pick fights and make big scenes in front of the kids like that? No, you don’t.” You stare at him, tapping him on the knee and forcing him to look at you. “You not talking is obviously not working, Daryl. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He takes a moment. “I just—”

“What?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he finally says lowly.

“I don’t think you could,” you answer, “I’m not even now, I’m just frustrated. Or confused really. Why do you think you would?”

He lowers his ice pack, “Cause I’m not fuckin’ Rick.”

You laugh a little. “Well, I did have my suspicions, but great, that’s good to know. I’m glad you’re not fucking Rick.”

He sucks his teeth. “Be serious.”

“Have you not realized I’ve been trying to be? For weeks now? It obviously doesn’t work.” Both of you look down as you continue, “And I finally tell you how I feel and what I want and you just leave and barely talk to me for the rest of the week. And before you even mention coming into my bed at night or saying goodnight or good morning to me and telling me what you’ll do that day, that’s not talking, it's just saying stuff. At some point I can’t always chalk it up to Oh, that’s just Daryl; at some point, a person starts thinking that they're the problem. That I’m the problem! That I’m not good enough.”

A tear falls down your cheek involuntarily, then another; you were clenching your jaw after you finished speaking but it was no use. After everything, all the bullshit and the girls and the punch to his eye that really fucking hurt even though it was his fault he got it, this is actually the worst thing that has happened to Daryl in the past months– making you cry.

“You’re more than good enough,” he says in his mumble, still not looking at you. “I’m just stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” You yell frustratingly as you wipe tears away. “Stop talking down about yourself!”

Daryl looks off into the window. He wants to speak, he does. The words are all on the tip of his tongue but they cannot come out, they never do. As he watches you wipe away your last tears, he thinks everyone is right, that that guy is right, he has a garbage mouth, his voice is poison. He never makes any sense and he always says the wrong thing. Why speak anyway?

“I can’t help you or at least try to understand if you don’t say anything. I know it's hard— I don’t like doing it either. I was scared to tell you what I did last week. But it just starts with one thing.”

“It's too hard to.”

“But I’ve never judged you, right? ”

He shakes his head. You haven’t.

“The first thing that comes to your mind when I say, ‘what’s wrong?’, what is it? Just say it. I don’t care what it is. I’m not going to judge you, I’m not going to say you’re wrong, anything—”

“People think I’m ugly,” he interrupts, “I’ve heard them say it.”

Your eyes widen, in shock for him and in shock that people could still care about such stupid things right now. “Who said that to you?”

He shakes his head. “That’s why I mentioned Rick. No one says stuff like that about Rick.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be like Rick and you don’t have to be.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He gestures to himself, slapping his hands on his thighs, “Look at me.”

There’s something about the way his hand then reaches to cover his eyes in frustration, the way he slides it down to scratch his beard, accidentally magnifying to you the wisps of salt and pepper among the brown that gives you a clue to what he means. “I’m not some little girl, and I haven’t been for a long time.”

“I know, but you’re not my age either. And I don’t always think about you when it comes to it, it’s about me- I think about me.”

“So what about it? When it comes to the hair on your head and your eyes and the way you talk— that has nothing to do with how old you are, that’s just who you are. You didn’t choose to look as you do. And you and Rick have always looked the same age if I have to mention him, and his beard is whiter than yours at this point. Neither of you look old, or bad.” Your words do nothing so far. “You also have a better build than plenty of people in town. You’re stronger too.”

“But when they talk about Rick, all they say is that he talks too much and that he’s bossy and hardass and at least that’s true.”

You couldn’t help but smile, almost laughing a bit at that. It kind of was true.

“I’ve never heard anyone say things about him the way they say about me. Never anything about how he looks. But when they talk about me— they think I’m a fuckin’ animal.” There is silence after this. The word wild lingers in his mind and animal in yours. Again you want to ask, who could say that and have they not realized all Daryl has done for this place? Then, the more you listen, the more you realize that hidden beneath those with endless respect are some with hearts of cruelty and minds stuck in the regular old world ways that don’t exist anymore. “And sometimes, when I think about why you like me, I think that maybe it’s despite other things.”

“Despite?”

“Despite.” He practically spits.

“We all have bad qualities though. We’re not perfect.”

“I mean that I’m not some regular good looking guy.”

“Why would I want regular?” Your smile fades as his sad eyes persist. “Daryl, I can’t change your mind or make you feel the way I do about you, but why can’t you trust that I like you, and that I want to be around you? And that I’m,” you blush, “very attracted to you and I’ve felt like an embarrassing teenage girl the past few months waiting and trying to get you to have sex with me!” Quietly you say, “Have you not realized how much I really want you? How much I care? Everyday I feel lucky.”

He can’t take it. “Guess it’s like you said— can’t believe it if I don’t see it myself.”

His mouth is screwed shut, his throat tight, but just like you, it’s no use, a tear rolls down his cheek. Immediately you hug him. He holds you tightly in return and even though it makes your ribs hurt a little, you let him. All of this makes you see how much you two are alike than you’ve ever realized.

“You know,” you say into his hair, “there was this one time, I was up super early and couldn’t go back to sleep so I went out for a walk. I passed by Olivia’s house and she waved me over from her window and asked me if I could help her restock the pantry before Rick came later in the day to check it because she had this huge migraine. Well, that turned into me doing the whole thing for her. She said she was going inside for a break and some water and the next thing I know she’s asleep on her couch! And you know how her niece lives with her? I guess she runs in the morning and while I was finishing up, her and her friend lean up against one of the garage doors and I hear them talking. I was just about to open the door to leave but then she says, ‘She’s sweet but kind of a kiss-ass, right? Like a try-hard?’ And then her friend goes, ‘Yeah, she really wants to be one of them,’ ‘But all she is, is just Daryl’s little girlfriend.’” Daryl lets go to face you, his eyes incredulous just as yours were when he said someone called him ugly. “And then they started saying how I insert myself into places or something, so thought if I came out right then and they see me having done Olivia’s job for her… I didn't want them to get an up-close look of them being right. So I waited until they went in the house and then I left and for the whole rest of the week I was upset because I thought I was becoming friends with those girls but really I wasn’t, and I questioned if Rick and Michonne or Rosita or Glenn and Maggie even thought of me as a friend because they actually like me or if I’m even good enough to be one or if it’s only because I’m associated to you that they care to talk to me. I felt pathetic too.” You pause. “So, I’m really sorry, Daryl. You don’t deserve to feel like you’re being picked on in the town you live in— in the place you helped create.”

“It ain’t your fault.”

“That doesn’t make a difference. I should have said something.”

“You didn’t have to. I wanted that to happen.”

“But I wish I knew. Cause I would have if I knew. I feel like I let Michonne stop me because I didn’t understand. And all I’m saying is whether I've had it as bad as you or not, I do get it. And I’m angry for you. And you don’t have to be embarrassed to tell me things like this. It was dumb of me to keep my feelings in, just like you do with everything.”

Daryl swipes his hair to the side, parts of it are dry and waving while other areas are still wet, making him think about the rat joke. “No one likes you because of me,” he says. “You’re likable because you’re you and you care. And fuck those dumb-ass girls. They’re idiots for saying that.” He rubs your thigh. “I didn’t say anything the other day because when we were in the shower the night before I,” God, he feels stupid, “I got hard and you saw it and I realized it was the first time you saw it like that before and, I don’t know, I got scared.”

“Did you think that I’d think you’re ugly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Daryl,” you tisk, “after the amount of times we’ve showered together already?”

He gets defensive, “I don’t know! Felt different.”

“People usually get excited to know their partner is excited because of them.”

“I just feel like you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“Why do you always think that? I don’t have any expectations. I just want you to show me you love me.” You begin to look nervous, “I want to feel wanted too.”

“But I do… I do want you.”

“Then show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

You try to think, “Daryl— what is it that you picture when- when you want to do it?”

“I picture you,” he says simply.

“You do?” Your face is immediately warm.

He laughs, “Of course I do.”

“Well what do I do? Or what do you do to me?”

“Depends.”

“Pick one,” you say, almost desperately.

“Sometimes it just starts with what we always do. Kissin’. Maybe you’re on top of me.”

You waste no time; you get on top of him.

“And I press you down.” Daryl’s hands are now heavy on your hips, your hands are on his chest, you rock into him slowly.

“And sometimes I think about you bouncing on me or-” he pauses, the way you rock and the way he pushes up to you hitting a perfect spot of friction that makes the both of you gasp.

“Say it,” you tell him.

“I’m fucking you from behind. Or you're on the bottom and I’m going hard or being all gentle and shit like you but I don’t know how.”

“You know we can do all that, right?”

Daryl is red. Both you and him are surprised at yourself, but his bashfulness almost brings it out of you naturally. And honestly, your jacked and grumpy dilf boyfriend has left you repressed for far too long— you’re horny.

Suddenly, you move yourself onto one of his thighs and start palming his bulge as you rock. “Do I do this in your dreams?”

He almost groans, “Now you do.”

You move yourself from his thigh and lay down to start kissing him. He reciprocates, grabbing your face and pulling you close. Daryl starts nipping at your neck and you try your hardest not to yelp so he won’t stop. As you two continue, your slick starts to wet his boxers and you press your legs together as he gets harder under his sweatpants.

“Have you ever noticed how wet I get when we kiss?”

“Only at night,” it’s hard for his words to come out as you continue palming him, “when you don’t have clothes on.”

“And you never did anything about it?” You whine. “Do you know how bad I need you? How much I think about you?”

“I think about you more.”

“You do?

“Yes.” Daryl swallows, whimpering a little. You now stroke him, his dick riding up against his thigh, and it feels too good. “What- What do I do in your dreams?”

“You lay me on the bed and put your dick in me and fuck me and it feels amazing,” you say between hot breaths. “And you’re not scared to do it.”

“I wanna do it.”

“So, please, Daryl, do it. I want it so bad.”

Daryl uses your words as courage. He takes you off of him and goes over you.

You both take off your shirts and he strips you from his boxers and him from his sweatpants.

Finally, without regret or without him turning away you see his cock stand. It’s proud, meaty, and you can’t lie, a little scary, but you’ll never tell him, even if your widening eyes give you away. It’ll fit, you assure yourself. You won’t be afraid.

“You okay?” He asks, timidity setting in again.

But you nod assuredly. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You pout, he’s stalling. “When you look at me, what do you see?”

“Beautiful.”

“And you're handsome. No pretenses. No exceptions.” You come up on your knees to face him, kissing his lips softly. “It’s like we said, we’ve dreamed about this.”

You lay down again, and Daryl places his hands on your inner thighs to spread them, making space for himself. You watch as takes hold of himself, mouth agape and pumping himself a few times as he stares at your body before slowly entering you. Your pussy is drooling at the sight.

Your eyes instantly close and scrunch. Although it worries Daryl, he’s glad you’ve shut them so he can continue looking up and down— up at your face to see if you’re in pain and down as he watches his cock enter you for the first time. You were incredibly tight to him, tighter than he ever imagined, he wasn’t used to this feeling and he liked it, a lot. It made his stomach clench and all his muscles flex as his breathing gets heavier, trying to stop the possibility of him moaning at the sight of it all.

“Are you okay?”

It was big and there was something about it that felt good but it hurt, the stretch indescribable, but you nod and tell him, “I like it,” because that was true, and everything else felt like too much to explain right now, your thoughts almost dissipating.

“You sure?”

You just nod again, whining.

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands on the bed to start.

Once more your eyes screw shut. He almost takes himself out before he pushes back into you again. He doesn’t know if he went slow enough but he tried. Your eyes wrinkling because of how hard you closed them doesn’t help though. He wants to tell you to relax but he’s not even relaxed himself to even make it sound believable.

He tries again, not going so far out this time and slowly goes back in to the hilt again, so slowly in fact he thinks that must have been awkward for you. He stops, tries one more time, then stops again. Your sounds seem like you’re hurt. He knows you’ll say it’s just pain and adjustment to his size but he instantly perceives it as disgust. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help it, he can’t. He must be ‘too much’; ‘too big,’ that’s what it is. Those are things he has heard in porn tapes Merle used to give him or things he noticed in porno mags he maybe used to read that he had found in a store near Hershel’s farm all those years ago, and supposedly it was a good thing for it to be too much, but now, look at you: you were in pain. And it was taking everything in him not to ram into you. He felt pathetic, again. Stupid, again. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he should just withdraw right now, clean you up, try to give you a sympathetic look through his hair that said he was sorry for defiling you and not even make you feel an ounce of pleasure in the process. Everyone was right, he is a joke.

“Daryl,” you say, looking up at him, “you don’t have to keep stopping for me. I just need to relax and you just need to be slow. I think I can take it.”

“I know,” he responds, kissing your forehead.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. “Do what feels right to you. You have to trust me to tell you if it hurts or not.”

He almost laughs at that. You think he’s so strong; that he has all the power. It’s so strange to him.

Daryl puts his head in the crux of your neck, closes his eyes, and tries again. He holds your waist, thumb on your ribs and the other fingers on your back as he pushes his hips into you.

You hug his chest and feel all of it. “Make yourself feel good Daryl, it’s gonna feel so good to me if you do that, I promise.” After his 4th small pump you let out a whiny moan of relief. “Oh- okay- keep going.”

Daryl moves his elbows to the bed by your head and starts pushing his hips against you, finding a rough yet steady rhythm. He loves the slapping sound your bodies are making and can’t help but speed up. He goes deeper and you start moaning. He already feels he’s losing himself. He tries to kiss you to slow down, but realizes he can’t plow into you the same way he just found out he likes. He goes back to it and he starts grunting and groaning— there is a part of him that is embarrassed by it but it just feels so good. “Are you gonna come?” He asks between sharp thrusts.

“Don’t focus on that,” you tell him. “Stay like this. Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he really can’t think of anything anymore than continuing to pump himself in you so he does. You try your best to rock up into him, but he has full control, his hands on your hips still as tight as ever as he pushes into you, making you and the bed bounce at his mercy.

You’re more than fine with it all. Even better, you couldn’t believe this meant that Daryl was about to come inside you. Something in you knew it was about to happen. It was the way he placed his elbows by your head and started cursing and ramming into you harder and even whimpered in your ear and gave you these little puppy kisses there before getting back to it. You were surprised by how noisy he was but you didn’t dare say a word other than panting and whining back into him so he’d continue, even in moments when it felt too much and too hard. He was forgetting all his doubts and that was the goal right now. You lock your legs around his hips and tell him, “You feel amazing inside me. My handsome man,” and that does it, “Oh, fuck,” he says as he releases every last drop of himself inside you.

Now, as he slows down, he looks at you, thumb on your bottom lip and chin as he tries his best to keep rolling his hips on you as he comes down from his high, but you ask, “Will you kiss me down there, Daryl? I’ve always wanted that.”

“You don’t want me to make you come?”

“I think it’ll happen if you do it like that. I just want to know what it feels like.”

He stops for a moment deciding if this means he’s failed or not, but he simply says, “Okay,” all kindly and nodding like it was your idea even though it was because this means another one of his dreams were coming true.

Instantly, he’s licking you, feeling more assured of what he could do— this was one of his most vivid fantasies so even though he doesn’t know for sure, he thinks he’s got.

“Oh, oh my god,” his tongue is bringing up wetness to your clit and sucking on it, “that’s good.” He starts licking your clit, going fast, “Daryl, that’s so good.”

He looks up at you, dazed already, “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes.” You fix his hair and he loves the feeling. Truly, he was going a little too fast actually, going up and down and this way and that way too much, but the sounds his mouth and your pussy were making together were too glorious. You let him go, you let him be proud, and either way, you’re whining and moaning because of it. He’s perfectly imperfect and he doesn’t even know it. But you’re too in love with the feeling of him to explain what that means right now so all you say is what he told you about yourself in the church, “I think you’re just perfect.”

To that, he stops again and he looks up at you, smiling. It’s one of those rare ones he seldom does, teeth and all, and your slick coating his lips all the while. His eyes are shining, and he gives you the smallest, sweetest, most innocent kiss to the most obscene place on your body— your clit.

At this point all your sounds have been short, quiet, filled with whines but to this, you moan at the sight, full and loud. It’s involuntary. It’s pornographic. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life. His cock stirs, springing up again as he goes back to giving you your first and forever the most slobberiest head of your life.

After a while he beckons you from below, “Hey, angel,” he calls.

“Mm,” you respond lightly. You’re nearly blissed out. He’s going to make you come.

“I think those girls were right.”

Your eyes become so cute yet so sad— you just want him on you again. “What do you mean?”

“You are sweet. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh,” you whisper, moaning again as he goes back to licking your clit. “Oh. Fuck.”

He starts licking and kissing your puffy lips, making wet sounds with his tongue, slurping little bits of you where he can. He loves how slick and noisy your pretty pussy is. Your clit throbs and he hums into it all dark and grumbled and husky going, “Mmmmmm.”

You tell him, “God, it’s so good, Daryl.” To which he responds, referring to a different it, “And it’s mine.”

Oh, so he’s cocky now? Well, that’s new for him. You lay back at the thought, at the feeling, reveling in delight.

Here he is, finally.

[yrlocalwerewolf]

caitlyn kiramman x reader hc's ! ✩ (MEN DNI.)

this girl so always organized, always striving for perfection. no matter what it is. her work, her clothes, house, even you. fixing your necklace or brushing that piece of hair out of your face.

she doesn't take hot showers anymore after what happened with Jinx because she's scared of someone appearing out of the steam again. but if you insist on taking a hot shower with her maybe she'll consider it.

caitlyn loves cuddling with you. especially after her shift as an enforcer, when she's all tired.

this woman hardly drinks, but she always keeps her mother's favorite champagne in her pantry (even if she doesn't particularly like it).

if she does get drunk, it's almost always off wine. she gets really affectionate, clinging to you and slurring drunkingly about how much she loves you and leaving marks all over your face and neck with her lipstick.

after she lost her eye, she couldn't sharpshoot for a while after. due to her depth perception getting messed up. she also struggled to track moving objects and judge distances properly. so before she fully adjusted to the lack of vision and the after effects she was grabbing things that were actually farther away then she thought. you teased her about it, and even if she rolled her eye with a huff she found it endearing.

jealous, possessive, fucking everything. even if she even sees someone looking at you the wrong way, or dare flirt with you, she's sure to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you away.

she's always touching you in public. holding your hand or arm, a hand on your knee under the dining table. you're her girl, and nobody can take that was from her.

whenever she leaves hickeys on you, caitlyn always admires them. if you want to hide them, of course she'll let you, but she'd rather you show them off.

she calls you hers. not in a 'this is my property' way, but 'we're meant to be together' way.

always spoiling you. you mentioned a book you wanted? it'll be here in a week. new movie or a concert you want to see? she just got you front row tickets. she loves hearing about your hobbies and will always get you stuff relating to them.

black cat energy, but she owns two dobermans that she used to go hunting with, but usually just takes them on walks and hangs out with them now .

early bird. she sleeps late due to cases she has, but you'll never catch her not getting up at six am sharp to get ready for the day. but if you beg her to stay for a bit longer and it's cold... well, everyone comes a little late to work once in a while, right?

total sap. always going on dates with you or giving you silly pickup lines and flirting with you.

a/n : i don't have any good fic ideas man ,,,,,, send requests please !!!! also the dog thing is canon :)

[muletia]

I just found a Transformers prime fic that makes cybertronians small and the human trio has to take care of them.

Now imagine this.

This happens with obsessed!Optimus, now he can go anywhere with you, gets hugs and warmth from you, and be able to be kept inside the house with you.

Especially if he has to be carried by you because of his size(maybe the size of your knees) so stay in the base is off limits because of his side, especially with the danger of being squished.

What do you think?

what a silly (affectionate) scenario

wrote some short of headcanons because this is such an adorable concept <3

At first, Optimus would be terrified. Going from a height that allows you to look down on everyone to having to tilt your head all the way back just to meet Rafael’s eyes isn’t something easy to adjust to, or accept. New dangers and uncertainties also arise. Will they manage to restore him to normal before the Decepticons find out (imagine a mini Megatron lmao)? Or before someone accidentally steps on him?

That terror quickly dissipates when you discover what has happened, replaced by embarrassment. You weren’t supposed to see him in such a state. Once, he prayed every night to Primus for just a sliver of your attention, but now he’d give so much just for you to look away. He wanted you to always see him as a worthy partner, not a sparkling utterly dependent on the care of others.

He abandons that mindset just as quickly when it turns out you feel an overwhelming need to care for him. To stay by his side and make sure no one steps on him. You practically never leave his side, every now and then stroking his helm or grabbing his servo.

Oh, holding his servo. Imagine you grabbed it instinctively, wanting to protect him from Smokescreen’s pede or another less careful bot. From that moment on, the two of you are inseparable. Seeing you apart, without any form of physical contact, becomes a true rarity because Optimus will take every opportunity to bask in your closeness. He becomes your shadow. A clingy companion who won’t let you take a single step without him.

Humans have a tendency to shower affection on anything adorable, and I think this case wouldn’t be an exception. It’s so easy to lose control of yourself when a mini version of Optimus is constantly looking up at you with big, puppy-like optics, clutching your hand tightly as if afraid you’ll vanish at any moment. And although he won’t be thrilled with public displays of affection, feeling uncomfortable when you shower his faceplate with kisses while Ratchet watches from the sidelines, his restraint evaporates the moment you have to take him home.

That’s when it becomes clear just how touch-starved he is and how much he craves being spoiled. Even as someone small and irresistibly cute, able to use those traits to his advantage, he still won’t want to impose his feelings on you. But honestly, he doesn’t even need to try. Because you’re always there for him. Your hand is always in contact with him — holding his servo, stroking him, or wrapping him in a hug.

And oh, he will hug you often. Mostly because of you—it’s nearly impossible to resist when you have such an adorable sweetheart by your side. The best part is that you can squeeze him tightly without worrying about hurting him. Mini Optimus absolutely loves it. He delights in your affectionate tendencies and lets you do whatever you please as long as you’re giving him attention.

He especially loves it when you cover his faceplate in kisses, making sure not to miss a single millimeter. He must have been a truly good mech his entire life if Primus himself rewarded him with such treatment.

So don’t be surprised if, when Ratchet eventually finds a way to restore Optimus to his proper size, he becomes very, very reluctant to return to being the leader and a Prime.

But what do you mean he can’t spend the rest of his life being spoiled by you and carried around in your arms?

[wtfaniii]

Hii could I do a request :) if so could you do a front max x niece reader where she’s me hot cops daughter and she goes looking for him:) and at the cliff he reveals himself and she’s feeling so many emotions because she looked up to him a lot and him and his wife basically raised her because mr hot cop had he quite young

I hope this makes sense Tysm !!

Love your work :)

I love this idea, lots of drama and the reader would practically be in Jun-ho's place as In-ho's searcher.

Tough Decisions, Strong Wills

Summary: At sixteen you should be painting your nails, sneaking out to parties and making all kinds of changes to your hair, but no, you were standing on the edge of a cliff with a gun in your hands and suffering a great disappointment from someone you always admired.

Warnings: Only drama, angst and sentimentality

Hwang In-ho (Front man) x fem reader niece

It was almost midnight and the rain had just begun to fall on the street when a knock on the Hwang couple's door interrupted their peace.

In-ho walked to the door and opened it to find his eighteen-year-old brother, sweating and holding his seven-month-old baby.

—She has a temperature and I don't know what to do —Jun-ho said, panting from exhaustion and stress.

—Give it to me —he said calmly, taking his niece in his arms.

He then invited Jun-ho into his house, it was not the first time his brother had come at unwise hours to ask him and his wife for help.

But he was always willing to help him, he knew he was young to do this task on his own after his sister-in-law ran away leaving him with the burden of a daughter.

—You like to upset your father —In-ho said with slight mockery, leaving the baby in his wife's arms, she was also willing to help.

—I'm flattered that you consider us more trustworthy than a doctor —The woman smiled warmly at the infant as she rocked her to sleep and walked to his room for some medication.

[...]

The night breeze hit your face, the sweater you were wearing was a great help but your school skirt left your legs exposed to the cold.

Once again your cell phone vibrated in your pocket, you took it out and saw the photo of your father, you turned it off and looked up again at surroundings.

It was almost one in the morning, Jun-ho was desperate to locate you, you had not returned home after school and that alarmed him, however, his boss was not willing to help him in your search because it was not the first time you escaped.

But it would be the first time that you would not return for a long time.

You loved your father but after the disappearance of your uncle In-ho and the death of your aunt it affected your family so much that Jun-ho immersed himself in his work and you in your unstoppable search for In-ho.

You were outraged by the fact that Jun-ho didn't talk about the subject with you, you thought he didn't care but you were wrong, he, like you, also tried hard to find him.

But when he didn't get anywhere he decided to focus on you, In-ho wanted that but he didn't count on you being so focused on finding him.

You didn't have any friends, missed a lot of classes, spent most of the day on the street and you had gadgets that a girl your age shouldn't have access to.

It was surprising and he even felt proud but you were taking it too far.

Now you wait for a limousine to pass by you while look at the curious card with three figures in your hands.

You weren't planning on entering those damn games, you wanted to infiltrate, you suspected that In-ho was related to this after finding a similar card in his apartment.

It was difficult but after dedicating a whole year to this you were finally close, you felt it, the salesman even talked to you out of simple curiosity, the man found it intriguing and curious how a girl of your age managed to find his organization in such a short time.

As you got into the vehicle that was driven by people dressed in pink and wearing masks with circles, you held your breath as much as could so that you wouldn't be knocked out by the smoke they released with you and the other people inside.

You were smart and agile, infiltrating as just another soldier was an easy task, now you just had to find out everything you could about these games.

You mentally thanked your father for teaching you how to use weapons and fight to defend yourself, if not you would surely be dead already.

You had found out many things, including that In-ho participated in these games and won, but if they had given him all that money ¿Where was he now?

You took photos and videos of everything but now you were running for your life on the island with those soldiers and the front man following you, you were wet from trying to swim away, how stupid, you were far from civilization, your breathing was labored and were trying to find some signal to send all that evidence to your father.

—Damn shitty cell phone —You grumbled when you didn't get a single bar, you'd be lying if said you weren't distressed, of course you were, you didn't want to die.

When you heard a shot near where you were, yoy kept running to try to hide, but it was impossible and reached the edge of a cliff.

You looked down, there were only rocks and the tide.

You kept your gun in left hand and turned around pointing it forward when you heard those masked men approaching you.

—Don't come closer, I already sent all the evidence to the police station — You threatened with lies, raising the cell phone and showing them some photos.

—The signal here is poor —said the masked man dressed in black and gray —And your battery died.

You cursed under breath as you saw that it was true, your cell phone was now dead.

The front man took a step closer to and you pointed the gun in your shaking hand at him.

—One more step and I'll kill you —You threatened again even though you still weren't able to kill a fly and he knew it.

—I can tell from your posture and the sweat on your hands that you've never shot a person before.

Hearing you cut the cartridge In-ho stopped, maybe you were able to shoot, you were scared and obviously were going to defend yourself.

When he called your name you paled and took a small step back.

—¿How do you know who I am?

Front man didn't answer anything, he just slowly raised his hands towards his head so you wouldn't feel threatened, he lowered his hood and finally took off his mask.

Your eyes widened in disbelief and your hands hesitated for a few seconds but you maintained your stance with the gun facing him.

—You....

In-ho was standing in front of you, with an expressionless face and the coldest eyes you had ever seen in him, you wanted to scream in helplessness.

You had so many questions, you were overwhelmed and the worst thing was that you didn't know what to do, you couldn't shoot him, you didn't want to, but he was the leader of all this, you saw so many people die in so few days and knowing that he was behind it all made your heart break.

You admired him, he and your aunt had been with you for as long as could remember so they had become your inspiration, you wanted to be like him.

Now you just needed a hug from your father.

In-ho remained silent, he didn't want to overwhelm you more than you already were, he just extended a hand towards you for you to take, you were very close to the shore and it gave him goosebumps.

—Put down the gun —He said calmly and staring at you.

You hesitated for a few moments, not knowing what decision to make and the tears in your eyes threatened to overflow.

In-ho really wanted you to hold his hand, otherwise he would have to kill you and he didn't want it to end like this.

—Please put it down —He repeated.

You finally made a decision.

You slowly lowered the gun and took a few steps forward to take him hand.

As soon as he had you close he hugged you affectionately, deep down he was amazed by everything you did for him, it was nice to know that there was still someone in his family who was willing to go this far for him.

—I missed you so much... —You whispered through tears, hugging him tightly as well.

—I know, I know... it's okay

He let you vent, you were still wondering if this was for the best, you had been missing for six days, you were sure your father was losing his mind.

But In-ho was very important to you, he and your aunt had heard your first word, your first steps and you perfectly remember that father-daughter school dance that Jun-ho couldn't go to because he would be presenting a project at his academy, In-ho went with you to that dance.

—You'll be fine... —In-ho whispered to you as they walked away from the edge of that cliff.

[...]

It had been three years since you disappeared and people were judging Jun-ho regarding his sanity.

—¿Are you sure you don't want to return to your post? You were the best here and...

He interrupted his boss by getting up from the chair in front of his desk.

—You didn't help me when I told you that my daughter was lost, you thought it was just another insignificant action of hers.

He was hurt, he still had hopes of finding you and In-ho again now that he had found all the information you gathered under your bed but he couldn't afford to trust his police unit again.

Not wanting to continue talking to his ex-boss, he left there. There wasn't a day that he didn't look for you, you were his only daughter and even though most people told him that you were already dead, he refused.

Even when they found your school backpack with all your things inside on the riverbank, he had a feeling that you were still alive and not underwater like most people told him.

Not knowing if you were okay, if you were eating, if you were happy, sad or scared was killing him every minute.

His only chance now was Seong Gi-hun.

Jun-ho would find you, you and an in-ho.

[wholoveseggs]

I am currently dealing with my mother being in end care hospice for Alzheimer’s, dreading every time my phone makes a noise because it could be the worst news. I am spending my time either sobbing or a complete zombie with a barely functional brain. (I put a spray bottle in the freezer instead of the drink I was chilling). I live alone and have no close friends or family near me and I just wish I had an Elijah to hold me. I just wish I could lay on top of him in bed, him holding me and petting my hair while I cry.

I totally understand if this is not something you’re comfortable writing, but if you are, I’d really appreciate it. If nothing else, I thank you for reading my message.

Anchor

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} Grief threatens to overwhelm you, but Elijah's calming presence becomes your anchor, reminding you that even in your darkest hours, you are not alone.

♡♡ I love you, anon, and I’m so incredibly sorry that you’re going through this. My heart aches for you, and I hope that this fic can offer you even the smallest moment of comfort. You are not alone, and I’m sending you so much love and strength~ ♡♡

672 words - Warnings: angst, grief, comfort & cuddles

When you are a child, your parents are this big, strong figure. They seem invincible and all-knowing. But then you grow up. And one day, you realize that your parents aren't superman. They aren't invincible and they certainly aren't infallible. Your parents, the same people who were your entire world as a kid, are suddenly human. And sometimes, humans get sick.

Everyone reacts differently, and there's no right or wrong way to feel. There's no road map or set of instructions on how to mourn. You can be angry, or sad, or numb, or all three at the same time. It's a roller coaster, a freefall, and you never know when the next wave of emotions will hit. It's okay to feel what you feel. It's okay to want to hide. And it's also okay to want to be with someone, to have someone to lean on.

You can't change the fact that your parents got sick, and you can't change the outcome. The limbo of losing them while they are still alive is a terrible feeling, like an emotional purgatory. All you can do is focus on yourself, and remember that the pain will pass, eventually.

It was one of those nights when the weight of the world felt unbearable, crushing your chest and making it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on your couch, terrified to look at your phone, waiting for a call you dreaded yet knew was inevitable.

You didn’t notice Elijah’s presence at first. It wasn’t unusual for him to move like a shadow, quiet and gentle, especially when he knew you were hurting. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his dark eyes full of concern, before approaching you with the kind of care only he could manage.

"My love," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He knelt in front of you, resting his hand on your knee. "You needn't face this alone."

His words broke something inside you. The dam of composure you tried so desperately to maintain crumbled, and the tears you’d been holding back poured out in waves. Elijah didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as your sobs wracked your body.

He carried you to your bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and coaxing you to lay on top of him. His arms wrapped securely around you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other ran through your hair with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

"You’re allowed to grieve," he murmured against your temple. "You’re allowed to feel lost, to feel overwhelmed. But know that I am here. You do not have to carry this burden on your own."

You clung to him like a lifeline, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though letting go would send you spiraling into the abyss.

"I feel like I’m breaking, Elijah," you choked out. "I don’t know how to do this."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You don’t have to be okay right now. You’re enduring something no one should have to endure alone. But you are stronger than you realize, and I will hold you through every moment of doubt and despair."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and though the pain didn’t vanish, the sharp edges dulled ever so slightly. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear became an anchor, a reminder that even in your darkest hours, you had someone who cared deeply for you.

As your breathing evened out and the tears subsided, Elijah continued to stroke your hair, whispering soft reassurances. His presence didn’t fix everything. It couldn’t. But it made the unbearable seem just a little more manageable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you closed your eyes and let yourself rest, knowing that Elijah would be there, steadfast and unyielding, for as long as you needed him.

[obscureother]

i rolled the f/o wheel so we're doing inkubus next. -v-

old man slasher demon for those who need the warning. his name is literally "Inkubus," for further note on him. .

What do your f/o's hugs feel like? very tight and protective. . he wont let anyone else keep me from him 👉🏻 👈🏻 but he can be gentle, holds with one arm under his coat sometimes or both arms keep me close to him. .

What are your favorite dates to have with them? i like when he shows me secrets in the dark spooky places :0 he can be very fancy and cool sometimes with money he poofs into existence with his demon magic (cos man does not have a job. his existence IS his job.) but i mostly just like going through the darkness with him. .

What are their favorite dates to have with you? i think he also likes those very one on one, private wander-through-the-dark nights. . there's nothing else to keep our attention off each other like dinner or some event (although he doesnt mind going to those either), so he gets to absorb all the attention he gets basked in lol. it is also very intimate, in a way, that isnt something he is used to doing with others.

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you? i have a couple of them, but one that is more of a comfort song between us is Mr. Kitty "After Dark." I think it is mostly the noise of the song, but the lyrics some too. i forgot to do it on the last one, but i dont really know if i could guess songs they have for me. . i dont normally think of the reverse of these types of questions cos idk how f/o always perceives me lol. he does tease sometimes about how i pout referencing Jazmin Bean "Puppy Pound" because he's heard me listen to it, although he doesnt treat me like the supposed person being "sung to" in that song (he has a superiority complex but he doesnt treat me like nothing lol)

What's the height difference between you and your f/o? he is tall 😳 he's 6'0. Going from the middle height between me and s/i 1 who are only a couple inches apart, he is roughly. . 8 inches taller, i think. . not including horns in his demon form.

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you? it is hard to say. . he does not normally do things in public deliberately (not that he's against it, he just. . doesnt really do that more or less commonly.) unless he feels the need to like someone is trying to get s/i 1's attention that he does not like for them to have, to which he will 100% 10/10 do something about it even if it is only some kind of semi-slow kiss before muttering something like "we need to keep going, my dear. tell the man goodbye. :)" ya he's a jealous f/o. . dont mind him. jshflks-

What's your favorite feature about your f/o? mmmmbbb demon form :)) i like his horns. GOAT MAN, GOAT MAN- i do like his goat lap :0 and his lil goatee. .

What do you think they smell like? he gets the colognes he knows are sort of. . night time, "come close to me," warm or vintage smells. . theyre probably fancy old ones. .

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love. if he is tender in. . any way. that is love from him. he is not known for being gentle or caring. one would even say it is the polar opposite of what he is normally. but when he silently helps take care of you or something for you, that is him not wanting to admit that he does care and consider your comfort or needs or convenience but he does things for you anyway. fixing your shirt, helping you get out of bed, making sure youre fed or that youre not hurt somehow. . he does not ask people those things or do them for just everybody. you must remember that he is normally a terrible demon who manipulates people for nothing but his own amusement or use. he does not normally say "i love you," sometimes it is even hard for him to return it with "i love you too" instead of going "yes, i know you love me :))" but when he does, you can get him to say "i love you/i love you too" if you simply wonder of him of how he feels. if you are seen as "not inferior to him," basically, that is also him liking you (assuming its not a rivalry sense for other demons). if he is hanging out with you and not somehow exploiting you for lust energy or blood or horrible manipulation, that is also him caring about you or your company. He could be doing anything right now, things that would feed him or help him towards becoming the most apex demon of all time. . but he is here with you instead. he's a very selfish man, but if he likes you. . he becomes slightly less selfish on rare occasion. until he loves you. then youre not getting rid of him. you get to listen to his superiority complex all the time in your ear. :))

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them? sometimes he does sleep with me, yes. . he doesnt always actually sleep, but he will lay there like a haunting guard. other times he stays in the room, he may have things to do during the night (he's a very particular demon if you did not already figure that out.) but he normally does like to lay with me or s/i 1. he doesnt have his own place normally besides returning to hell on occasion for things he needs, so he usually stays with the person he's attached to sometimes if he has nothing to do other than to keep them safe or from missing him for too long.

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o? most headcanons i have are ones ive made cos half of his lore is MINE. *chomp.* but i do like the ones about how his demon forms are or work. like the only reason he turns into his little black goat form (its not little actually, he's like. . a mountain goat size or so i would think.) is because s/i 1 loves him as a goat :D he is cute and fluffy and silly and he makes funny noises and he is less than impressed with goats as but mere insignificant creatures but he supposes he can use it for incognito sometimes. . and for s /i 1 to hold him on her lap. . on rare occasion. blood moon rare occasion.

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have? [ ʀ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ᴅ . ] sorry wow what a funny glitch, uhmbb,, anyway-

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day? he holds me and plays with my hair. . he mutters to me things to make me feel better, or keeps me to him in his coat in his wings. he protects me from other things bothering me. on a more specific note, he does help a lot with things in the dark. he goes to stand by the door to keep the monsters away. he looks to me to tell me that the shadow im seeing is just him, or if the shadow is scary, he turns to the shadow to get it to go away. he big scary demon. . he doesnt let them come into my room. .

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like? he doesnt much do it himself other than to keep me or s/i 1 from running off cos we get distracted from things :0 but he does let me hold his hand if i want to tho uvu sometimes s/i 1 will get to hold his tail, but only if he says so. . his hand usually holds firm. not hard exactly, but tight to keep grasp of me or s/i 1 to keep us close to himb, but he can be very gentle and careful of us when he is talking to us or holding us on his lap.

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc) he does give kisses sometimes. . mostly they are private ones, but he does very sensual things. . he likes to give neck kisses, back kisses, or wrist kisses i think, but sometimes when he is being tender he will give temple or forehead kisses. . dont tell him i told you these things btw lol. he gets mad at me when i reveal his secrets -v-

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them? i love to give him kisses :D i give him kisses on his horns and forehead and cheekies uvu sometimes i kiss his chest and arms fbgkhdf <33

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o? i play with his tail like a cat toy. technically im not supposed to touch his tail or horns without his permission, but sometimes he lets me almost play with it 👀 where i can "try" to catch it, but not really, i just get really close. . but if i accidentally bump it for those things, he wont get mad at me for them. he just looks at me funny like he's suspicious of me but not really hbfsj <33

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one? idk how much depth i can really go into because it can sometimes tend towards a more spicy sense, but know it is not always in a spicy sense. most of the time its not. but he calls me "pet". . but i just mostly like to be called "his," i like when he goes "mine". . 👉🏻 👈🏻

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them? there's not good words to describe him to me. . he is just the prettiest demon to me. . i call him lots of things, but generally it is just things like calling him pretty goat man or that he is the handsomest demon. . as for nicknames:

ink inku inkioli inkybus bus-bus inku binku inky binky inky bonky onky bonky inkibink onkibonk binky boo inky doo inkus binkus inkers binkers inker bink-bus dinkus beepus binkees inky-bees inkybebop ink-bonk inkububs binky winky binky dink inky wink binku bee boo binkuboo binky bonk binkerbus binkubees beepus dinkubus beep-bus beepers jeepers where'd you get them binkers-

he loves those, i swear :)) (he doesnt, he's less than enthused, but he takes them anyway only from the one person he lets get away with most things. .)

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Oh well, since you encouraged me... Something that's been on a mind since I've read your older brother!Dick I just keep thinking of the incest potencial... Even with the more than controversial ages

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍…

!!! 18+ THEMES, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, GN reader, fauxcest, age gap, toxic dynamic, noncon, making out, disgusting touching, brief hints of sexual content, general yandere fuckery, manipulation, kind of grooming(?), controlling behaviors, poor reader trying to cope so hard.

GGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA—

Don’t worry, pooks, I saw all of your other asks about this idea and I’ll try to remember to hit all of the points you bring up. I just wanna keep it all in one place.

ALSO, ALSO, ALSO, LIFE WITH OLDER BROTHER ENJOYERS. HEY. HEY. LISTEN. If you’re not fucking with this ask and you don’t want the wholesome platonic dynamic you conjured in your brain ruined for you, DO NOT PROCEED ANY FURTHER. LIKE, AT ALL. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You literally clocked me so badddd. Yes, the undertones in that series are 100% intended. I’m not gonna add anything overtly incestuous, but like… the subtext is there for the freaks to pick up on. Platonic incest where the lines blur every now and then, I love you so much.

Anyways, lemme get to yapping for real.

If we’re going to vaguely follow the Life With Older Brother series, Dick suddenly being so friendly to you would be… a little bit jarring. But try to think about it from his perfective: he wasn’t really there for Jason, and the thought of failing another younger sibling is too much to handle. Maybe he’s just trying to be more present for you. As weird as he may come off, you should at least give him a chance.

The beginning isn’t all that bad. Even if he’s relatively new to the older brother thing, you can tell he’s trying his best, and dare you say it, he’s actually fun to hang out with. Playing video games, going out for ice cream, trashy movie marathons… it almost makes you forget about those weirder behaviors. Almost.

Now, one thing you quickly noticed is how touchy-feely he is. Whenever you’re together, it seems like he’s always got sort of body part touching you one way or another. Sometimes, it’s subtle: a knee resting against yours, a very quick head-pat, his hand brushing against you as he gestures at something. Nothing all that noticeable unless if you’re very sensitive to touch. But then there are times where it’s a little more… overt. Like when he slings an arm around your shoulders. Or when he holds your hand while out and about. Or when pulls you against his side by your waste when it’s a crowded area. Every now and then, you find yourself wondering if this is normal. Do siblings usually touch each other so often? It kind of makes sense, but… considering you haven’t even been siblings for a full year, should he really be this comfortable around you yet?

If you think you can set boundaries with him, good fucking luck. He might’ve made it seem like he was hearing you out, but it won’t be long before he’s back at it with the touching. Okay… maybe this is something he really can’t help. As annoying — and weird… and uncomfortable — it may be, you’ll probably just have to suck it up and get used to it. Some people are just very handsy. But not like that! Oh my god, no. Dick’s Nightwing; a good guy, for Christ’s sake. He would never do anything like that!

(… Right?)

Here’s the thing about platonic physical affection: how weird can it get before people finally draw the line? Is it forehead kisses? Hugging someone by the waist? Having them sit in your lap whenever the opportunity arises? Are any of those things actually weird, or does Dick somehow make them weird? Because, yes, he still most definitely acts like an older brother — he certainly teases you like one, and you constantly have to fight against the urge to bite him like a feral weasel — but the touching… well… maybe familial affection is just a concept foreign to you (thanks in no small part to Bruce), but Dick somehow makes it feel like something else.

And you’ll admit; you don’t actually know what that something else is. All you know is that you’re pretty sure big brothers do not do that gentle, extremely intimate thumb-stroke thing to their little sibling’s face before a forehead kiss. And they also do not come up from behind their little sibling for a hug.

And the lap thing?

That was probably the turning point.

Because what older brother has their little sibling sit on their lap while watching TV? One hand on your hip, the other on your thigh… he’s doing that weirdly intimate thumb stroke thing on your bare skin, and all you can do is sit there and think, oh… I don’t like this. If you’re brave enough to ask him what he’s doing, he’ll play dumb. Hm? What do you mean, kiddo? He’s not doing anything… what are you talking about?

Before you can even begin to express how uncomfortable you are, however, his fingers start toying with the hem of your shit. You’re acutely aware of his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your torso, sending an uneasy shiver up your spine. Dick’s no stranger to touching your waist area, and while you still don’t really like it that much, you’ve gotten used to it. But this? Something about the actual skin on skin contact makes you freeze up entirely.

“You know,” Dick would thoughtfully begin, “I’m probably the luckiest big brother in the world. I don’t think you realize just how cute you are, (Y/N).”

His hand then inches its way up your shit.

BadbadbadbadbadbaDBADBADBADBAD—

Don’t bother fighting back. Don’t bother yelling at him. Don’t even bother squirming as he gently begins to run circles into the skin under your shirt. His grip on your thigh is like iron, holding you down to his lap and making any struggle futile. In fact, if I were to venture a guess, you’d probably be too petrified to even move, the shock of the moment rendering you completely immobile. This was supposed to be your big brother; yes, he’s a bit weird and overprotective, but he’s still your fucking big brother. And while your knowledge on big brothers may be extremely limited, you know for a fact that this is crossing a line.

Your faces become closer and closer until his breath is ghosting against your lips. “I love you, kiddo. You know that, right?”

You don’t dare to offer him a response. Hell, you don’t even know what you could say to that. The only thing filling your brain is the brazen warning bells screaming for you to get the fuck away from him. Except you can’t. For whatever reason, your body’s frozen in place, limbs weighing you down like heavy ice blocks.

You can’t move.

You can’t fucking move.

And, of course… he takes advantage of that.

By the time his lips softly plant themselves on yours, it’s too late. The lines between platonic and whatever the fuck this is have long been crossed, and you can never go back to pretending like everything is normal between you two. All of the subtle warning signs you opted to ignore were now blaring in your mind like loud sirens, almost mocking the fact that you didn’t fucking trust yourself.

This can’t be happening. This absolutely can’t be happening. You thought of this creep as your big brother; was this really the same guy that helped you with homework and let you play games on his laptop? Was this really the same guy under the Nightwing mask?

While the kiss evolves into something a little more passionate, he doesn’t take it too far. Just a gentle make-out session with roaming hands. He ends it by holding you against his chest, seemingly content with just occasionally peppering kisses to your face for the next hour or so. Neither of you say anything during this time. Even if you want to yell at him and demand why the fuck he did that, you’re too shocked to even form a coherent thought.

The man you thought could be your big brother is a massive fucking creep.

You think you’re going to be sick.

He doesn’t go out for patrol that night. Instead, he simply picks you up and carries you to his room, dressing you in his clothes for bed. You’re still trying to process the humiliation of letting this all happen as he slips you under the sheets with him and cuddles up to you. Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night. How the fuck could it? Not only do you have that stupid fucking kiss haunting you, but now you have this sicko’s hand playing with the waistband of your shorts (his shorts), and god. You’re not sure how you didn’t throw up then and there.

So. What happens afterwards? Well, first off, no more phone. Dick’s not an idiot; he knows the lines he crossed that evening and would rather you not call Bruce or Alfred or the police. You’re also not allowed on his laptop unless if he’s supervising you, and your ass is not going outside anytime soon. Then we have the gross shit… yeah, now that he’s had a taste, he’s gonna be all over you. It won’t go that far just yet — he’d rather ease you into that territory, much like what he’s been doing before — but it can get a bit steamy. At least for him. You might still be grossed out over all this or whatever.

You know what the worst part is? He still has the audacity to act like your older brother. It doesn’t matter how many times he touches you or forces you to kiss him: he’ll call you kiddo through it all and offer to play some video games afterwards. In fact, are times where you both return to your previous sibling banter and you can almost convince yourself that things are totally fine. There you go again, falling for his meticulously set up trap.

This new dynamic might take some time to get used to, but Dick will try his damned hardest to make it seem natural. So what if Big Brother sometimes wants to pin his cute little sibling against the counter and leave love bites on their neck? Sometimes, it just has to happen. No harm, no foul. This could be normal if you stopped being so weird about it, you know.

And, you know what… you may find yourself finally accepting that this is your new normal. What else are you supposed to do? You can’t call anyone, you can’t run away, you can’t even fight back because he was trained by fucking Batman… you sure as hell don’t have to like it, but maybe you can make peace with it. This is nothing more than an annoyance from your big brother. That’s all. It’s not him grooming you. It’s not him taking advantage of you. It’s just him being a little irritating at times. Ignore the urge to throw up… ignore how your skin crawls whenever he’s near you… every sibling has their flaw, and being a total creep is Dick’s.

You’d probably begin to despise Bruce a little, too. Did he know how fucked up his former ward is? Or is the exact same way? Guess you’ll never know, because the man can’t even bother to check up on you. He essentially took you out of the system and threw you into the den of a wolf, subjecting you to a new personal hell you can’t even escape from. And Alfred… you thought he actually cared. Is he not concerned about the sudden radio silence on your end?

You really can’t help but wonder if anyone even thinks about you outside of the apartment, and with Dick being in control of what information he feeds to Bruce over the phone, all you can do is guess at this point. In the meantime, Big Brother just came back and needs a hug… why don’t you come on over to the couch, kiddo?

Ugh. There are so many fucking directions I can go in from here. You mentioned Bruce (or eventually Tim) becoming suspicious and finding out what’s going on, and GRRRRR. SO GOOD. SO FUCKING GOOD. I need to write a blurb about this. It’s so addicting. I just had to get some of the base ideas on this out because this concept has been marinating in my brain for way too long. I’m not kidding, I was going to actually explode if I didn’t get to talk about this. I NEED MORE OF THIS TYPE OF SHIT.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Family

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: While you thought you're about to spend your perfect anniversary night with your boyfriend, life reminds you otherwise.

Warnings: sadness, depressive thoughts, infertility, pregnancy, endometriosis

Word count: 1k

A/N: What can I even say.. I've been at the doctor's today, for check up after my surgery, which was a year ago and I got confirmed that my endometriosis is growing back. Not that I wouldn't know, because I know my body, but being said the facts out loud is hard. I spent my afternoon crying, curled on the couch, questioning myself in case of being able to have a child one day. To get myself out of the misery, I wrote this, because I would like to have someone to come home to me and hold me in his arms, just giving me the support through all this shit. I already wrote a few pieces endometriosis related, so if you want, check it out too. Love you all. <3

---

It was meant to be a perfect day, you had plans to cook some dinner and also had some spicy things in your mind for the night.

Getting through your doctors appointments was something you got used to in the last year, after you had a surgery for your endometriosis. You felt something was off for a few months, your cramps crawling, stabbing you in the back again, those flares being harsh to the point you couldn't even sit. But you held your optimism, trying not to scare George, because worrying him while he was at his prime perfomance during the season wasn't on the list.

Today was meant to be special because you had a two years anniversary.

"Can you see these lesions here? It's back again, I'm sorry."

The words you somehow expected, but didn’t want to hear. The same spiral of pain, hormone shots, nausea and... infertility.

Yeah, you discussed it with George, because everything seems so easy to talk about with him, the idea of having kids.

It gutted you deeply, that you might not be able to give him a child.

As you got home, the space was quiet, only the soft humming of aircondition was heard, making your heart clench, that he's not even there to embrace your mess, even though it's not his fault. George was meant to be home in the evening, but you had a message in your voicemail, that he can’t get home in time, because of the delayed flight. Okay, he'll be here in the morning.

But your sadness and depresive thoughts will be with you through the night. Torturing your mind, getting the best of you, making you feel worthless and weak.

---

"Baby...?"

The faint sound of the deep voice woke you from the nap. You cried yourself to sleep in the living room, still wearing your clothes you went to the doctors in. The coat scattered on the ground next to the couch, your shoes kicked in the hallway, tissues to which you drowned your tears everywhere around you.

George knew something happened, it tugged at his heartstrings, when he saw you like this. Sad, messy and depressed.

You groaned a little, disoriented, while he sat beside you, his gaze locked on your face.

"What happened?"

Softly, he took your hand into his, brushing over your knuckles, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

Then it hit you again. "It's back again, I'm sorry."

Tears burning in your eyes, you avert them to the side, not able to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

"Hey, love... Don't do this. I know, that something is wrong, but don't try to avoid me, I'm here for you, remember?"

The flicker of hope, that you’re not that worthless went through your mind, your gaze finally locking on his, pouring all your hurt into the pool of his positivity.

"I was at the doctor's today."

Oh no. There's was only one thing that was able to get this reaction out of you.

"How bad is it?"

His hand wander slowly to your cheek, brushing a thumb over it.

"It's not worse than last time, but still... It's there. Again. For fucks sake, again. I hate it so much. I hate myself."

The breaking point, your emotions flew out, your voice cracking and your tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red even more than before.

George pulled you closer to him, letting you lean against him, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him mixed with his cologne was enough to calm you down a little bit. He was your safe haven.

"Shhh... It's okay, just- just let it out. Be angry, scream and cry. Don't hold it in your mind. I'm here to hold you, to pick up your shattered pieces." his voice was soothing lullaby, when your cries got louder and more desperate. Brushing his fingers through your hair, he pressed the kiss on your temple, rocking you as his arms were wrapped around you tightly.

"I might not be able to have a child, George." you choked out between your sobs, and he looked down at your face with frown.

"Is that the thing that concern you the most?"

"Obviously. What a woman I am, to not give her man a child."

George felt partly offended by your words, but he kept his composure, because he was used to your hateful comments towards yourself, even, for the most of the time, you were a hell of a confident woman, loving yourself.

"Don't talk like this, please. You're much more than a baby machine." he tried to be funny and.. it worked. You smiled through your tears. He reached for your cheek, wiping off your emotions, smiling a little.

"You can't lose hope just like that. We can be lucky, you know. We just have to try, be patient and somewhere along the way, we're gonna be blessed. I don't care if it's gonna be in a month or in years. I'll be there for you along the way. As I always am. And even though we don't get lucky, I'm lucky to have you. And that's all that matters in my life, because you're my family."

And as ever, he managed to give you peace, calming warmth flooded your soul, making you sure in that George is the one.

---

Watching the screen of the ultrasound machine as you laid down on the examination table at your doctor’s, you couldn’t shake the excitement. George, holding your hand, standing beside you, was watching your expression, his chest fluttering at how happy you were.

"Ah, seems like you got very lucky." The doctor chuckled, pointing to the screen, showing two strong fetuses.

"What does it mean?" George asked first, clearly confused.

"That means that you're gonna have twins."

You nearly passed out while you gasped loudly.

"What?! Two of them?"

George only chuckled, kissing your forehead, nuzzling his nose to your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

"Guess we were pretty thorough with our trying." he whispered with teasing tone in his voice.

[yup-thats-me]

slipping through my fingers • Lee Byung-hun

pairing: husband!Lee Byung-Hun x wife!reader

summary: funny tricks of time; growing old with your husband

warning: growing old, age gap. please, please i beg of you don't think too hard about byung-hun and the reader's ages, please. when I tell you me and my friend had to storm our brains for an hour to calculate their ages. please. also, i suggest you listen to the song while reading this<3

"bye bye, momma!" waved goodbye your little girl. she was in high school now, and you and your husband were grateful that your prized girl was not like most teenagers. she was understanding, gentle.

byung-hun stood beside his wife, eyes on the yellow school bus. "seems like yesterday that she came into this world, doesn't it darling?'' he said as he laid his head on her shoulder.

"Mmm", she nodded. "time is cruel."

it really was. how can it be that your daughter is almost at the age where she'll be leaving home when it barely feels that you've been with your husband for barely two years? oh, at it had been eighteen years when you had met Byung-hun.

Byung-hun was a regular at the cafe y/n worked at. he would go there as soon as he wrapped up filming for the day. from the early days of his acting career, he frequented the cafe but it had only been a few months since the waitress. y/n had joined.

she was so sweet, smiling at everyone, not an ounce of anger or tiredness in her eyes. he knew he was at least twenty years older than the girl but it didn't matter, right?

"can i get your name, sweetheart?"

it'd be a lie if y/n said she didn't feel like melting onto the earth. his voice dripping with honey, his eyes smiling.

"y/n."

that had been their first date. Byung-hun had asked her manager if she could leave early. she of course, agreed. how could anyone would deny Lee Byung-hun anything?

that day was eighteen years ago. how time flies.

Byung-hun kissed his wife goodbye. "when I come back let's go out for a movie? with d/n?" she nodded.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you ready, sweetheart?"

y/n asked fixing her daughter's veil. her little girl was getting married, she's truly going into the world, with someone she loves, adores.

no words could explain how y/n felt. this is the same girl she had given birth to, her little fingers had wrapped around her thumb so adoringly. so naturally.

it's time for her little girl to hold someone else.

y/n wiped the corners of her eyes, not wanting to let her daughter see her cry. "your father is waiting outside. let's go?" her voice trembling slightly.

Byung-hun stood outside the doors, his mind replaying the old times. it feels like yesterday that he held his daughter for the first time, only yesterday had he heard his little girl call him 'appa' for the first time. oh how he had felt the world around him stop at that moment. he really missed the old times.

when his wife came outside holding his daughter, he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

"you look so beautiful, princess." he said hugging his girl.

d/n wiped her tears as well. it felt surreal having her father cry while holding her. "appa, I'm still your little girl. I promise."

y/n patted her husband. the rays of sun falling onto the family, making them look ethereal. after they had composed themselves, y/n softly pushed through the doors of the altar.

she held her daughter's hand, her husband linking his arm with d/n. the music wafted through the venue. some of byung-hun and y/n's friends had tears in their eyes too. to them, d/n was also their beloved girl. time really flies.

when the priest pronounced officially d/n and her lover, y/n had intertwined her arms with her husband. it was much very hard for Byung-hun than her. the man saw his girl as the world, ready to bring the world at her feet. he would become so proud at all of d/n's achievement, no matter small or big. he really was d/n's greatest fanboy.

y/n rested her head against Byung-hun's shoulder, comforting him as d/n and her lover kissed.

beautiful.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you look so beautiful, my love," came Byung-hun's voice as he handed his wife a cup of coffee as the sat on their porch.

y/n laughed. time had certainly left its marks. "you've been telling me that for the last 35 years, my love."

"and," byung-hun leaned down to kiss y/n's hand. "i would continue to do so till my last breath, sweetheart."

"I love you."

[daenerys-apolog1st]

Something I've seen Team Green bring up is the idea that we should all feel bad for Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena because they weren't "welcomed into the Targaryen family" and were "ostracized from the family" or whatever, but like...the only people holding them apart from "being true Targaryens/being apart of the Targaryen family" are the Hightowers, namely Otto and Alicent.

In Season 1 we saw glimpses of how Alicent's kids and Rhaenyra's kids interacted when left to their own devices: in one episode we see Aegon actually getting along with Jace and Luce and joking with them, in another episode we see Jace dancing with Helaena while his siblings watch and smile, and all the "bullying" TG brings up Aemond facing is just like...standard kid stuff- (and was led by Aegon, I might add) -not really anything particularly bad, and I say this as someone who was bullied---it doesn't make it right, but it's what kids and siblings tend to do. There's even a deleted scene where Rhaenyra dotes on Aegon and bonds with him, and in the books Rhaenyra refers to Helaena as her "sweet sister" and said she'd welcome her brothers with open arms if they bent the knee. Not to mention that Viserys constantly reminds everyone that they're family and they need to stand together.

(Driftmark is an entirely separate thing that I'm not gonna comment on here, I'll make another post about it later, but essentially it was an emotionally charged, high-stress, situation---but clearly an accident and something outside of the norm for EVERYONE)

In short: for the most part, they seem to get along pretty well. Yeah there's disagreements and they sometimes don't like each other, but that's standard family stuff---sometimes you hate your family a little bit, sometimes you feel like they hate you, but it passes and in the end you all love each other. You're still family.

The separation doesn't come from the Targaryens, it comes from the Hightowers.

Alicent, in like one of the first scenes we get with her actually interacting with her children, tells Aegon that he can bully Aemond in private but in public they need to stand together because it's them against everyone else---she tells Aegon that Rhaenyra will kill him to secure her inheritance and doubles down after Aegon says that he doesn't want the throne/won't challenge her. We also see through Aegon and Aemond's conversations with each other that this is sentiment she's expressed before to ALL of her children.

Alicent, when Rhaenyra tries to make peace by betrothing Jace and Helaena together, basically spits in her face and refuses before telling Viserys that it'd happen over her dead body---once again, separating the family. Alicent and Otto were plotting usurpation since Aegon was born and even BEFORE, and that clearly spread into how they raised Alicent's children---hereby separating them further.

Even before Rhaenyra had children of her own, Alicent showed distain for Targaryen culture saying- "you Targaryens do have queer customs" -which separates her, and then her children by proxy, from being Targaryen---and later on we see this taken further when she and Otto remove all the Targaryen cultural items and decor from the Red Keep and replace it with their own religious items. This continues to separate her children from being Targaryens by separating them from their history and culture.

All of this separation doesn't come from Team Black or Rhaenyra or even Viserys---Otto and Alicent are the ones doing everything they can to keep Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena separate from their Targaryen family/heritage, and everyone suffers for it.

If TG wants to feel bad for them for being kept separate from "the Targaryens," have at it, but place blame on the people who actually ostracized them instead of just pretending Viserys/Rhaenyra/whoever were the ones who did it.

[ropebunnykant]

i've already talked about it a little here but i've got to talk about it more because there is actually SO MANY layers to the brothers getting physical injuries in ep7 and how it's being used to represent the betrayal.

agatha @bisonsclothespin pointed out their tags on that post here that the use of physical injuries to represent emotional hurt/betrayal has already been used in the show by way of fadel having a physical scar, presumably from some kind of stab wound, over his heart in reference to the way his ex likely hurt him. and i don't think it's a coincidence that bison ends up with a stab wound as well!

i actually find the choice in injuries to be extremely interesting when you consider the betrayals and how they impact the brothers individually. bison is stabbed, and fadel breaks his arm. for bison, this is the first time he has been through this kind of heartbreak and betrayal, and his injury is far less common than someone breaking their arm is. which is why fadel gets a broken arm, because this has all happened for him before.

additionally, a broken arm is going to take a lot longer to heal than a stab wound. a stab wound will likely scar, yes, and take time to heal, but depending on the break, a broken arm can take up to twelve weeks to heal, and even then you may need physical therapy after - your arm may never have the same function and strength it once did. it's an interesting parallel seeing as fadel is the one that is taking so much longer to heal!

i also think the fact that bison got stabbed in the stomach specifically is VERY interesting. because when it comes to betrayal, the more common phrase is to get stabbed in the back. but to be stabbed in the back, you have to not only not know it's coming, but it also often implies that you could assume at one point that person was on your side. that's not the case for bison and kant in any sense. kant was keeping this from bison for nearly the entire time they've known each other, he was never on bison's side. and not only that, but bison knew something was off. we see him questioning kant all the way up until ep5, we see him realize and recognize in ep4 that kant drugged him and then willingly close his eyes to that and give kant his heart anyways. bison wasn't stabbed in the back by kant - he was stabbed in the stomach, closing his eyes to it despite knowing it was coming.

the way the injuries are addressed in ep8 is also very interesting to me from this angle! with bison specifically, every single time that his stab wound started hurting was in direct correlation to when he's forced to acknowledge his feelings for kant - ie when kant is pouring salt on the wound by making bison acknowledge he loves kant while bison still doesn't believe kant loves him back! it happens first when kant tries to make bison say what he feels for kant and once bison shoots him down and insists he's not in a place to negotiate and that he'll die here, he clears his throat and that's when kant is able to recognize he's in pain. then it happens again after kant takes a protective stance for babe and explains why he actually took the job in the first place - there's more distance between that and when bison holds onto his stab wound, but given that we know one of the reasons bison fell for kant in the first place is because of the fact that he's a caring older brother, i don't think it's a coincidence that those are in the same scene. the next time it happens is IMMEDIATELY after bison gives kant the band aid and kant tries to get bison to admit he's worried about him - as soon as kant finishes, bison is holding his side again. bison's wound isn't brought up again after that, and i don't think it's a coincidence because after that, we get the penguin scene and then the reconciliation. the wound has healed.

while fadel's isn't brought up in the same ways throughout the ep, i do find it very interesting that only after style has managed to regain some of fadel's trust is when he helps fadel take the sling off. and then by the time they're in the bath, the cast is gone as well - and if we go off the trailer, it doesn't come back again, either. i said it in my tags, but i'm willing to forgive incorrect healing time when it's meant to symbolize forgiveness!