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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Summer in the 305 || LS2 {2}

Pairing: Logan Sergeant x fem!reader Summary: Logan comes home to Miami (305) for the summer break and you become attached at the hip. Warnings: 18+ only, made, smut, fluff WC: 1.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

Logan must have managed to get some sleep on the flight because he was already up when you woke at noon. Sooty barely lifted his head from where he lay panting in his favourite spot in the sun, too tired from his morning run. After stopping to pet his head you walked into the kitchen and found your boyfriend shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower he had taken. You wrapped your arms around his waist and closed your eyes again as you rested your head against his back and started to doze off again.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” he said softly. He placed the knife down after finishing the lemon slices for the sweet tea he was brewing and reached over to the sink, almost pulling you off balance with the stretch to wash the acid off his hands.

“I’m good here. You can carry on, you won’t even notice me.”

He chuckled as your yawn warmed his back and he dried his hands. “You’re lucky I already went for a run then,” he teased as he grabbed your thighs and jumped, pulling you up onto his back. “There, better?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck before resting your cheek on his head. “Much.”

“I wonder if this is how the teenage mutant ninja turtles felt carrying their home on their back,” he mused as he crossed the kitchen to put the carafe of tea into the fridge.

“You would be the one that likes pizza. Wait, did you eat dinner for breakfast?”

“Maybe…” He was quiet for a moment, but the shelf it had sat on in the fridge had clearly been emptied and you pouted at missing out. “But I did save you a plate in the microwave.”

You untangled yourself from him and slid down his back onto your feet as your stomach rumbled loudly. He caught your hand as you aimed for the microwave and he tilted his head, tapping his cheek until you gave him the kiss he was after. With a grin he turned his head at the last moment to catch it on his lips and you laughed at the sly move before indulging in another, deeper kiss.

“What’s the plan for today, babe?” you asked while the meal reheated.

He leaned back against the cupboards and crossed his ankles. “Did you have anything in mind?”

You dragged your eyes slowly up and down his body before sending him a suggestive wink. “Maybe…”

He bit his bottom lip as it started to curl up and said, “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think I can fit something in.”

“But not right now,” you stated as the microwave dinged and you hit the button to open it, the mouthwatering scent and steam wafting out. “Carbone’s trumps everything.”

Logan reached past you with a tea towel before you could burn yourself and placed it on the marble island before kissing the top of your head. “Can’t argue with that, sweetheart.”

Logan watched patiently as you speared the food with your fork, following it to your parted lips before he reached out and thumbed a dash of sauce that lingered at the corner. “You are torturing me,” he groaned as you took your time with the meal, humming exaggerated sounds with each mouthful.

“Oh? Did you want some?” you asked innocently.

He pushed off from the kitchen side and spun the barstool around to face him as he stepped into the gap between your legs, forcing them wider as your head tipped back to meet his eyes. “I want something sweet, sugar.”

You could feel his want pressing against you as you pulled his face down to yours, meeting him halfway with a desperate kiss. If you hadn’t been so tired from the late pick up last night this wouldn’t be the first time reconnecting after his two and a half weeks away. All those nights spent without him came roaring back and you moaned as his kiss drifted down your neck and he sucked the delicate spot above your collarbone.

“Lo, take me back to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Logan’s feet remembered the path through the house intimately, not needing to look where he was going when his vision could be completely consumed by you instead. He loved to just watch you, watch your reactions to the world around you, he could spend hours watching you sleep while he battled jet lag and whatever worries plagued his sleep. Watching you calmed him in a way nothing else ever would - it had been that way from the moment he saw you.

“I love you,” he said quietly after laying you on the messy unmade bed, taking a moment to just remember how you looked right there. He inhaled deeply in awe as he saw the love reflected in your eyes and then he noticed your lips already swollen from his kiss and the air left his lungs. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Lo.”

His palms brushed the shirt up your thighs and you lifted your hips up so he could free you of the panties you wore before taking your shirt and casting it away as well. You wanted nothing more than to hook your leg around him and pull him closer but patience was one of Logan’s many virtues and he loved to worship your body before all else. Where Logan was all hard, toned muscles and strength, you were soft and supple, moulding to his hands as they roamed your body.

Your back arched to his touch and a soft moan graced his ears when he kissed his way across your stomach and up to your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut as his warm tongue flicked your already peaked nipple before his lips sealed around it and sucked.

“Logan,” you whined, the sound high and needy as you reached for him, palming the erection that strained in his boxers. “I want to taste you too.”

He smiled at the sound and chuckled as he swiped a thumb over your lips. “Later, sweetheart. The second these touch me I’d be gone,” he admitted unabashedly.

You giggled at the honesty and let him take his time, this time at least. You had three weeks of having him home and you were going to drown yourself in him, but right now you would be patient - as difficult as the task was when his lips were set to ignite your blood on fire.

The room filled with the sound of your moans as you looked down your body and met his eyes, as pure and blue as Biscayne Bay. You could feel every and nothing all at once. Light danced around your eyes even when you closed them and still his fingers and tongue worked to keep the waves of pleasure rolling through you.

“P-please, oh, Logan,” you cried as your legs trembled around his head and he gave one last lick that sent a jolt through you.

“Hmm, taste so sweet, sugar,” he hummed as he licked his lips and kicked his boxers off. His dick spring free and slapped his navel before he wrapped his fist around it and took his place between your legs, a thick bead of precum already welling at the tip.

The first orgasm was still fluttering with aftershocks when he guided his cock to your entrance. You never felt anything more perfect than the moment where a little push was all that was needed, where the resistance broke and he thrust home where he belonged - filling you so completely that your bodies become one.

You couldn’t think, you could barely breathe. You could only feel him. He surrounded not just your body but your entire being, his natural scent that no body wash could beat, the taste of his skin you gently grazed with your teeth, the vision of losing himself in the moment, the sounds of his uneven breaths in your ear.

“Shit,” he groaned as his head collapsed to your shoulder and you felt his cock pulsing in your cunt. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

You giggled as you picked his head up to see his eyes set in an extremely relaxed face. “It has been a while, Lo,” you assured him with a smile. “I still love you.”

“And you felt so good.” He kissed your lips and made no move to leave as he started to slowly roll his hips. “Still feel so good.”

His release mixed with yours and escaped your body as he fought against the sensitivity he was feeling, basking in the slick warmth your body offered until he started to grow hard again. “This is how good you make me feel, sugar.”

You followed his line of sight to where your bodies joined and watched his long smooth strokes into you, feeling every inch as it disappeared. Your breath hitched as he retreated, leaving you empty as you saw his cock coated and shiny with come after each thrust. “Fuck,” you moaned as your head fell back to the pillow and your core tightened, the vision still playing in your mind as his thumb found your clit. He wasn’t going to come again until you did.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you re-emerged from the bedroom and Sooty seemed to have recovered from his run as he bounced around the living room excitedly. Logan grabbed the ball he dropped at his feet and opened the large glass doors into the backyard, tossing it out onto the grass for Soot to fetch. It was almost instantly dropped back at his feet, the dark tail wagging up a storm.

“You look like you need another run, boy. What do you say? Should we take mommy to the beach?”

You took the two glasses of sweet tea you had poured and gave one to Logan as Sooty barked his answer. “That sounds like a yes to me. Why don’t you see what the boys are up to? They were as desperate for you to come home as I was, Callum especially.”

Logan grinned at the news of his close knit friends and he had promised them a good catch up over the break. Pulling out his phone he fired off a quick message to the group chat and was quickly bombarded with replies and a plan was made. Pocketing the device, he pulled you into his arms and watched the palm trees and ocean move with the breeze.

“Good to be home?” you asked softly as he fell quiet with reflection.

“Better than good. There’s not a word to describe it. It’s exactly what I need right now.”

logansargeant

Liked by yourusername, williamsracing, clementnovalak and 37,273 others logansargeant: Home is where the heart is. Time to rest, recharge and re-emerge stronger. ↳ yourusername: whoever took those stunning photos has serious talent (it also helps that it is impossible to get a bad photo of you) ahem… username1: in y/n we trust, out there doing god’s work for the Williams girlies. view all comments

Click here for part three.

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fanfiction #logan sargeant imagine #Logan sargeant smut #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

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FTC vs surveillance pricing

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

In the mystical cosmology of economics, "prices" are of transcendental significance, the means by which the living market knows and adapts itself, giving rise to "efficient" production and consumption.

At its most basic level, the metaphysics of pricing goes like this: if there is less of something for sale than people want to buy, the seller will raise the price until enough buyers drop out and demand equals supply. If the disappointed would-be buyers are sufficiently vocal about their plight, other sellers will enter the market (bankrolled by investors who sense an opportunity), causing supplies to increase and prices to fall until the system is in "equilibrium" – producing things as cheaply as possible in precisely the right quantities to meet demand. In the parlance of neoclassical economists, prices aren't "set": they are discovered.

In antitrust law, there are many sins, but they often boil down to "price setting." That is, if a company has enough "market power" that they can dictate prices to their customers, they are committing a crime and should be punished. This is such a bedrock of neoclassical economics that it's a tautology "market power" exists where companies can "set prices"; and to "set prices," you need "market power."

Prices are the blood cells of the market, shuttling nutrients (in the form of "information") around the sprawling colony organism composed of all the buyers, sellers, producers, consumers, intermediaries and other actors. Together, the components of this colony organism all act on the information contained in the "price signals" to pursue their own self-interest. Each self-interested action puts more information into the system, triggering more action. Together, price signals and the actions they evince eventually "discover" the price, an abstraction that is yanked out of the immaterial plane of pure ideas and into our grubby, physical world, causing mines to re-open, shipping containers and pipelines to spark to life, factories to retool, trucks to fan out across the nation, retailers to place ads and hoist SALE banners over their premises, and consumers to race to those displays and open their wallets.

When prices are "distorted," all of this comes to naught. During the notorious "socialist calculation debate" of 1920s Austria, right-wing archdukes of religious market fundamentalism, like Von Hayek and Von Mises, trounced their leftist opponents, arguing that the market was the only computational system capable of calculating how much of each thing should be made, where it should be sent, and how much it should be sold for.

Attempts to "plan" the economy – say, by subsidizing industries or limiting prices – may be well-intentioned, but they broke the market's computations and produced haywire swings of both over- and underproduction. Later, the USSR's planned economy did encounter these swings. These were sometimes very grave (famines that killed millions) and sometimes silly (periods when the only goods available in regional shops were forks, say, creating local bubbles in folk art made from forks).

Unplanned markets do this too. Most notoriously, capitalism has produced a vast oversupply of carbon-intensive goods and processes, and a huge undersupply of low-carbon alternatives, bringing the human civilization to the brink of collapse. Not only have capitalism's price signals failed to address this existential crisis to humans, it has also sown the seeds of its own ruin – the market computer's not going to be getting any "price signals" from people as they drown in floods or roast to death on sidewalks that deliver second-degree burns to anyone who touches them:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91151209/extreme-heat-southwest-phoenix-surface-burns-scorching-pavement-sidewalks-pets

For market true believers, these failures are just evidence that regulation is distorting markets, and that the answer is more unregulated markets to infuse the computer with more price signals. When it comes to carbon, the problem is that producers are "producing negative externalities" (that is, polluting and sticking us with the bill). If we can just get them to "internalize" those costs, they will become "economically rational" and switch to low-carbon alternatives.

That's the theory behind the creation and sale of carbon credits. Rather than ordering companies to stop risking civilizational collapse and mass extinction, we can incentivize them to do so by creating markets that reward clean tech and punish dirty practices. The buying and selling of carbon credits is supposed to create price signals reflecting the existential risk to the human race and the only habitable planet known to our species, which the market will then "bring into equilibrium."

Unfortunately, reality has a distinct and unfair leftist bias. Carbon credits are a market for lemons. The carbon credits you buy to "offset" your car or flight are apt to come from a forest that has already burned down, or that had already been put in a perpetual trust as a wildlife preserve and could never be logged:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/18/greshams-carbon-law/#papal-indulgences

Carbon credits produce the most perverse outcomes imaginable. For example, much of Tesla's profitability has been derived from the sale of carbon credits to the manufacturers of the dirtiest, most polluting SUVs on Earth; without those Tesla credits, those SUVs would have been too expensive to sell, and would not have existed:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

What's more, carbon credits aren't part of an "all of the above" strategy that incorporates direct action to prevent our species downfall. These market solutions are incompatible with muscular direct action, and if we do credits, we can't do other stuff that would actually work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Even though price signals have repeatedly proven themselves to be an insufficient mechanism for producing "efficient" or even "survivable," they remain the uppermost spiritual value in the capitalist pantheon. Even through the last 40 years of unrelenting assaults on antitrust and competition law, the one form of corporate power that has remained both formally and practically prohibited is "pricing power."

That's why the DoJ was able to block tech companies and major movie studios from secretly colluding to suppress their employees' wages, and why those employees were able to get huge sums out of their employers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation

It's also why the Big Six (now Big Five) publishers and Apple got into so much trouble for colluding to set a floor on the price of ebooks:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_v._Apple_(2012)

When it comes to monopoly, even the most Bork-pilled, Manne-poisoned federal judges and agencies have taken a hard line on price-fixing, because "distortions" of prices make the market computer crash.

But despite this horror of price distortions, America's monopolists have found so many ways to manipulate prices. Last month, The American Prospect devoted an entire issue to the many ways that monopolies and cartels have rigged the prices we pay, pushing them higher and higher, even as our wages stagnated and credit became more expensive:

https://prospect.org/pricing

For example, there's the plague of junk fees (AKA "drip pricing," or, if you're competing to be first up against the wall come the revolution, "ancillary revenue"), everything from baggage fees from airlines to resort fees at hotels to the fee your landlord charges if you pay your rent by check, or by card, or in cash:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's the fake transparency gambit, so beloved of America's hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/13/a-punch-in-the-guts/#hayek-pilled

The "greedflation" that saw grocery prices skyrocketing, which billionaire grocery plutes blamed on covid stimulus checks, even as they boasted to their shareholders about their pricing power:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/

There's the the tens of billions the banks rake in with usurious interest rates, far in excess of the hikes to the central banks' prime rates (which are, in turn, justified in light of the supposed excesses of covid relief checks):

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-11-what-we-owe/

There are the scams that companies like Amazon pull with their user interfaces, tricking you into signing up for subscriptions or upsells, which they grandiosely term "dark patterns," but which are really just open fraud:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-10-one-click-economy/

There are "surge fees," which are supposed to tempt more producers (e.g. Uber drivers) into the market when demand is high, but which are really just an excuse to gouge you – like when Wendy's threatens to surge-price its hamburgers:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

And then there's surveillance pricing, the most insidious and profitable way to jack up prices. At its core, surveillance pricing uses nonconsensually harvested private information to inform an algorithm that reprices the things you buy – from lattes to rent – in real-time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Companies like Plexure – partially owned by McDonald's – boasts that it can use surveillance data to figure out what your payday is and then hike the price of the breakfast sandwich or after-work soda you buy every day.

Like every bad pricing practice, surveillance pricing has its origins in the aviation industry, which invested early on and heavily in spying on fliers to figure out how much they could each afford for their plane tickets and jacking up prices accordingly. Architects of these systems then went on to found companies like Realpage, a data-brokerage that helps landlords illegally collude to rig rent prices.

Algorithmic middlemen like Realpage and ATPCO – which coordinates price-fixing among the airlines – are what Dan Davies calls "accountability sinks." A cartel sends all its data to a separate third party, which then compares those prices and tells everyone how much to jack them up in order to screw us all:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

These price-fixing middlemen are everywhere, and they predate the boom in commercial surveillance. For example, Agri-Stats has been helping meatpackers rig the price of meat for 40 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

But when you add commercial surveillance to algorithmic pricing, you get a hybrid more terrifying than any cocaine-sharks (or, indeed, meth-gators):

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/tennessee-police-warn-locals-not-flush-drugs-fear-meth-gators-n1030291

Apologists for these meth-gators insist that surveillance pricing's true purpose is to let companies offer discounts. A streaming service can't afford to offer $0.99 subscriptions to the poor because then all the rich people would stop paying $19.99. But with surveillance pricing, every customer gets a different price, titrated to their capacity to pay, and everyone wins.

But that's not how it cashes out in the real world. In the real world, rich people who get ripped off have the wherewithal to shop around, complain effectively to a state AG, or punish companies by taking their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, poor people aren't just cash-poor, they're also time-poor and political influence-poor.

When the dollar store duopoly forces all the mom-and-pop grocers in your town out of business with predatory pricing, and creating food deserts that only they serve, no one cares, because state AGs and politicians don't care about people who shop at dollar stores. Then, the dollar stores can collude with manufacturers to get shrunken "cheater sized" products that sell for a dollar, but cost double or triple the grocery store price by weight or quantity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Yes, fliers who seem to be flying on business (last-minute purchasers who don't have a Saturday stay) get charged more than people whose purchase makes them seem to be someone flying away for a vacation. But that's only because aviation prices haven't yet fully transitioned to surveillance pricing. If an airline can correctly calculate that you are taking a trip because you're a grad student who must attend a conference in order to secure a job, and if they know precisely how much room you have left on your credit card, they can charge you everything you can afford, to the cent.

Your ability to resist pricing power isn't merely a function of a company's market power – it's also a function of your political power. Poor people may have less to steal, but no one cares when they get robbed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/19/martha-wright-reed/#capitalists-hate-capitalism

So surveillance pricing, supercharged by algorithms, represent a serious threat to "prices," which is the one thing that the econo-religious fundamentalists of the capitalist class value above all else. That makes surveillance pricing low-hanging fruit for regulatory enforcement: a bipartisan crime that has few champions on either side of the aisle.

Cannily, the FTC has just declared war on surveillance pricing, ordering eight key players in the industry (including capitalism's arch-villains, McKinsey and Jpmorgan Chase) to turn over data that can be used to prosecute them for price-fixing within 45 days:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/07/ftc-issues-orders-eight-companies-seeking-information-surveillance-pricing

As American Prospect editor-in-chief David Dayen notes in his article on the order, the FTC is doing what he and his journalistic partners couldn't: forcing these companies to cough up internal data:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-07-24-ftc-opens-surveillance-pricing-inquiry/

This is important, and not just because of the wriggly critters the FTC will reveal as they use their powers to turn over this rock. Administrative agencies can't just do whatever they want. Long before the agencies were neutered by the Supreme Court, they had strict rules requiring them to gather evidence, solicit comment and counter-comment, and so on, before enacting any rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Doubtless, the Supreme Court's Loper decision (which overturned "Chevron deference" and cut off the agencies' power to take actions that they don't have detailed, specific authorization to take) will embolden the surveillance pricing industry to take the FTC to court on this. It's hard to say whether the courts will find in the FTC's favor. Section 6(b) of the FTC Act clearly lets the FTC compel these disclosures as part of an enforcement action, but they can't start an enforcement action until they have evidence, and through the whole history of the FTC, these kinds of orders have been a common prelude to enforcement.

One thing this has going for it is that it is bipartisan: all five FTC commissioners, including both Republicans (including the Republican who votes against everything) voted in favor of it. Price gouging is the kind of easy-to-grasp corporate crime that everyone hates, irrespective of political tendency.

In the Prospect piece on Ticketmaster's pricing scam, Dayen and Groundwork's Lindsay Owens called this the "Age of Recoupment":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/03/aoi-aoi-oh/#concentrated-gains-vast-diffused-losses

For 40 years, neoclassical economics' focus on "consumer welfare" meant that companies could cheat and squeeze their workers and suppliers as hard as they wanted, so long as prices didn't go up. But after 40 years, there's nothing more to squeeze out of workers or suppliers, so it's time for the cartels to recoup by turning on us, their customers.

They believe – perhaps correctly – that they have amassed so much market power through mergers and lobbying that they can cross the single bright line in neoliberal economics' theory of antitrust: price-gouging. No matter how sincere the economics profession's worship of prices might be, it still might not trump companies that are too big to fail and thus too big to jail.

The FTC just took an important step in defense of all of our economic wellbeing, and it's a step that even the most right-wing economist should applaud. They're calling the question: "Do you really think that price-distortion is a cardinal sin? If so, you must back our play." Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

https://clarionwriteathon.com/members/profile.php?writerid=293388

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

#pluralistic #gouging #ftc #surveillance pricing #dynamic pricing #efficient market hypothesis brain worms #administrative procedures act #chevron deference #lina khan #price gouging

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artyandink · 5 months ago

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amoralism | two

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Blood, firearms, organised crime, talk of drugs, Agent Dean Winchester, sexual tension, wet dream, awkwardness, unsupportive mom, dramatic sister, consensual crime

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: People I Don’t Like - UPSAHL

materialism

Family dinners took the hell out of you.

They were so awkward, and for what? It was a few hours of pushing food around plates, unwanted conversations and criticisms about your home life and job. Of course your mom wasn’t proud that you were FBI. Were they slightly averse because she carries a truckload of deep seated traditionalism? Definitely.

Your mom, Elena, took a pointed bite of salad as she flitted her eyes disapprovingly between you, your slouching and your less than socially satisfactory manner of eating. Practically assaulting your food with a well timed fork stab and shovelling it in your mouth.

You were a federal agent, not a damn princess.

At least your younger sister had gone to deb balls and beauty pageants and gotten married fresh out of college and landed a job as a secretary for a wealthy CEO in Delaware while you apparently ‘slum it’ and put serial killers behind bars.

Putting your life on the line to make your country a better place. Totally something undesirable, a horrible job, only bozos and hobos would do it.

Your dad, Richard (but he had everyone call him Rick, your mom never listened), was proud of you. More proud than he could put into words. He’d once come to visit you after work to congratulate you on a case that you’d solved (confidential, of course), and his heart burst with pride upon seeing his little girl dressed in a formal suit and storing her government approved handgun.

“Darling?” Your mom trilled in her fancy accent and high pitched voice, which caught your attention. You looked up, halfway through a sip of wine, same as your dad. Holding it wrong. Again, not a princess. “When will you be getting married?”

You almost did a spit take, but swallowed so it wouldn’t happen and coughed as it almost went down the wrong way, Rick doing the same at the exact same time. Your sister, Cassie (short for Cassandra), glanced between the two of you with a look of judgement identical to your mom’s.

They were carbon copies of each other. Same with you and your dad.

“M-Marriage?” You spluttered, still recovering from the notes of chamomile that stung at the back of your throat. Chamomile’s meant to be soothing. “I-I’m a federal - ahem - agent, I don’t have t-time to-” You cleared your throat loudly, “- marry.”

Your mom scoffed, waving you off with a manicured hand. “You blab on about this federal agent business, but we have no clue what kind of cases you deal with.”

“Honey, we can’t push her.” Your dad vouched, and you internally cheered him on, swallowing down a sharp retort with a shovelling down of spaghetti that earned you an eye roll from Cassie and an exasperated sigh from Elena. “Her work is classified.”

“Classified from her family?”

“That’s generally what it means.” You added with a clearing of your throat. “A brief overview of my work in Major Crimes is literally the major crimes. Serial killers, mob bosses, organised crime.”

Your mom gave a loud, false laugh. “Hush, hush. Mafias only occur in dramatised television shows and movies.”

“Elena, you should be proud of our daughter.” Rick sighed, pointedly staring at his wife. “She works to keep everyone safe. Debutante balls and beauty pageants aren’t all the glory.”

And now Cassie was throwing a fit, her blonde hair almost torn out by her pink-painted claws. Jesus, if you went into the office with those monsters? You didn’t even wanna know.

While your mom ticked off your dad for saying such an insensitive thing, you nudged his foot with yours as a silent thank you for defending him. And his foot tapped yours back as if to say don’t apologise.

God, you cherished your dad.

“Don’t pay attention to your mother.” He’d told you in a calm, soft voice as you two steadily worked on the dishes, the quiet noise of the sponge spreading soap suds on the plate not the best ambience but alright all the same. “She’s a little dramatic.”

You raised an eyebrow, getting the itch out from just above your eyebrow using the back of your hand. “A little?”

Rick shrugged, then chuckled. “Alright, you got me there. She’s extremely dramatic. But she’s my wife, and I love her, regardless of whether I think she should take up a role in Broadway.”

“Or a soap opera.” You both shared a laugh, but then you subsided into a rather wistful state of mind. “I just want her to understand that even though I can’t talk about it, I still do something worthy of recognising, right? I mean, not everyone can say they’re one of the best agents Major Crimes has to offer.”

“She’ll come around.” Rick planted a kiss on your temple that felt a little scratchy from his stubble. “I’m so proud of you, y’know that? My little girl’s grown up to be an incredible woman.”

Your phone rang, and you shook your hands off, towelling them before taking out your phone and picking up the call.

‘Took you long enough, princess.’ Agent Winchester’s voice came from the other line, and seems like your dad heard a man’s voice, because his eyebrow raised past what was the beginning of his receding hairline. Princess. It took you back to the night you had your first wet daydream of your case partner, Dean goddamn Winchester, three years ago, working the very case you both were heading now.

Except with much higher stakes.

“You’re far from on my priority list, Agent.” You huffed out a breath, mouthing to your dad to behave as you knew he had the strong urge to find out who exactly you were talking to. And if there was a possibility that he’d need to grab his baseball bat and go warn this guy off breaking your heart.

Federal agent or not, he’d do it. He’d do anything to keep his daughter safe.

‘You’re gonna break this young man’s heart.’

“We’re 35.”

‘Exactly. Young.’ His tone sounded like he was holding off laughter, adopting a voice which resembled Mrs Doubtfire. ‘We’re youthful, innocent little whippersnappers-’

“Agent, if you’re just going to waste my time, you better hang up.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Your dad gave you a look which said damn, don’t do him like that. In truth, neither of you were exactly innocent. You had unholy, R-rated thoughts of each other every time you did so much as think of each other.

You definitely wanted to do him.

You heard Dean clear his throat, getting back on track. ‘Right. Yeah. So, there’s some of our double agents in crime circles that reported back to me after I dropped ‘em a little message. They’re sayin’ that there’s an auction happening at a charity gala in a week, and they’re pawning off this necklace-’

“Yeah, you’re wasting my time.” You scoffed, wondering why he was into getting jewellery. Unless it was to pacify a girl he two timed. Then again, he could probably do it with his panty-soaking, money-winning grin, smooth winks and some cheap pickup line he stole off the Internet.

‘Hey, let me finish. The necklace has a USB chip inside. It contains videos of our syndicate’s work, so if we get a hand on that, we know what we’re dealing with.’ He chuckled at his own brilliance, making you roll your eyes at his ego. ‘And, uh, you’re about to pick apart and criticise my plan by saying that there’s no way in hell that we have the money to buy that thing, so… I talked to Director Singer, and he had a chat with the board and they gave us a pass for as many consensual crimes as needed.’

“So, where do we factor in all this?” You asked, making a mental note of everything he was telling you.

‘That’s the fun part. We got invites to that event, so we’re gonna go together as a doting, wealthy married couple and steal it.’

“It’s not my first undercover gig, so as long as we don’t run into any complications, it could work.”

‘So, I’ll see you at my place tomorrow to discuss logistics. I’ll make sure Sammy- Detective S. Winchester - is out of the house.’

“Alright. Bye.” You cut the call, and spotted your dad smiling proudly at you. His eyes twinkling, and his steady scrubbing hand paused. “What?”

Dean’s back hit the bed, your lips moving up to claim his exposed throat and freckled, exposed chest, making a steady trail to his shoulder and nipping until there was a forming hickey. His breath laboured, mind spinning and body on autopilot. He could feel your nails over his abs, tracing and mapping out every contour, his eyes locking on you, looking like a vision in black lace, a garter and pretty, matching, sheer, thigh-high nylons.

He was always a sucker for a woman in lingerie.

“God, baby, c’mere.” He groaned, hands finding purchase on the backs of your thighs and yanking you forward, settling you closer as his hand teased at the hem of your panties, one sharp flick of his wrist tearing the flimsy material and leaving it beyond repair, drawing a gasp and barely restrained whine from you. He chucked the remains off the bed, that hand, already glistening from having touched your soaked panties, found your cunt, sliding his fingers back and forth before roughly thrusting two up and into your soaked pussy, crooking them just right in order to have you clamping down and already rocking up and down desperately. “So tight. Gonna ride my fingers already, sweetheart?”

“Mmh- mhmm.” Was all you could get out, barely noticing how his free hand reached behind you to unclip your bra, propping himself up so he could latch his mouth onto your nipple and suck, causing you to mewl and let out an even more sinful moan right as his thumb found your clit right as the pad of his index found your g-spot, his third finger joining the party and pressing on it.

Layering and layering and layering until your mind was blank, thighs shaking, mouth open and eyes rolling back until they saw stars and the brief outline of God.

Looks like he does have a beard.

“Dean, g-god-” You were cut off by a moan, biting your lip, and Dean nodded encouragingly, free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip to ease it free.

“Waited so long for this.” He murmured. “Gotta hear you. Look so pretty, baby-”

“Dean, wake up!” Dean shot up and spluttered when a glass of ice cold water hit him like a bullet train, finding you to be the perpetrator. No lingerie, just a simple sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a loose rope braid over your left shoulder.

Still hot. Still infuriating.

“Woah, hey!” He raised his hands in disbelief before running one down his face to rid him of the water dripping down it, then onto his grey-blue flannel shirt. “The hell was that?! And- how did you get in here?”

You put the glass down in frustration, the sound thudding against Dean’s oak dining table, partially wet from the thrown water. “Sam let me in.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

“You’d been passed out at that table when I got here. Tried to wake you up fifty ways. You sleep like a rhino.” You scoffed, but your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the way the water traced his jaw, down to the curve of his neck and beneath the neckline of his shirt, which exposed a hint of defined collarbone. You felt like an eleven year old seeing a man shirtless for the first time. Except you were going feral for a fleeting glimpse of your colleague’s collarbone, watching the way his flannel clung to his frame.

You were beginning to get the tantalising thought of seeing Dean, washing that gorgeous ‘67 Chevy Impala of his. Shirt off, water dripping down his bare torso and giving you an illegal hit of his v-line. And his abs, tracing every contour that you knew was there. It had your body warming up and your thighs clenching and rubbing.

You hoped to God that Dean didn’t see you doing that.

So instead, you took a random kitchen towel and threw it so it hit him right in the face, and he flinched, grabbing the towel off his face and rubbing the water off in a disgruntled fashion as you moved to grab a beer from the fridge. He was irritated beyond belief. He knew you two had unresolved sexual tension that went back in the history books about five years but that was uncalled for. He was your partner on this mole case, and was heading an organised crime case with you, he deserved some respect-

Your ass framed by those jeans. The denim clinging to your legs that went on for days. Goddamn days, ending in sensible lace-up boots. That sweater with a scoop neckline. Your ass in those jeans, the curve of your pretty neck, the pout of those plump lips. Did he mention your ass in those jeans?

Suddenly he didn’t feel so vexed. And… respect? Who needs respect? Who needs… goddamn. Who… needs…

No thoughts. Head empty.

Sweet Jesus.

“What did you say?” Your head turned to face him, eyebrow raised in the middle of sipping your beer, and he realised that he’d muttered that out loud (while also realising he was staring at your lips touching that bottle rim. He’d never wanted to be a glass bottle more in his life.). He snapped out of it, blotting his flannel gingerly with the towel. Missing the way your eyes locked on how it pressed flush against his chest (you’d never wanted to be a plaid shirt in your life, but times seem to change).

“Nothin’, Agent.” Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head to rid him of the bad, bad, unprofessional thoughts clouding his head. But god, did he need you bad.

He might get through a whole box of tissues tonight.

“Kyle, what do you mean, you don’t know how to use a washing machine?” You asked with a scoff, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you spoke to your cousin Kyle, who was in college. Of course, it was the first time he’d ever worked a washing machine on his own and of course, you were the first one he called.

‘It’s not something I’m used to, ok?’ He was scared of your mom, his mom (your aunt Olivia) and Cassie, and you taught your dad and his dad - uncle Tom - how to use the washing machine so Elena wouldn’t go on a rant about men’s uselessness when it comes to household chores.

You took out a paper and pen, writing down a list of instructions as quickly as you could in your nearest handwriting possible, and then you put your phone on speaker, snapped a photo and sent it. “There. All set. I’ll write up a small guide on how to work the rest of your appliances, I’m just knees deep in an investigation.”

‘You’re a lifesaver, I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life.’

“This is a washing machine, not selling your soul. You don’t owe me. Now, see you on Thanksgiving. Bye, Kyle.” You cut the call in time for the doorbell to ring, and you rolled your eyes.

You get no breaks nowadays.

But when you opened the door, you were met with pearly way-too-whites, bouncing ginger hair and shiny blue eyes, complete with what looked like five neon-coloured dress carriers. “Why hello there, babes!” She trilled, sashaying in with her faux fur-trim coat. You rolled your eyes again, but playfully and partially in relief. “I got your message and came as quick as I could.”

“Hey, Dré.” You smiled wearily, closing the door behind her. Andréa May-Reynolds was your best friend since the early days of high school and probably the only person you could tolerate who cared that inexplicably much about their looks. You’d texted her for help with the dress picking for your undercover gig (but you told her it was merely one of your mom’s gatherings as she was a socialite). “Thanks for coming, exorcism I texted you ten minutes ago.”

She waved you off, tutting rapidly. “It’s my job. Whenever a friend has a fashion emergency, I need to be there.” Andréa started rifling through the clothes options she brought. “Ok, so, you mentioned a plus one. Who is he, cause we need to decide whether we want the option Lukewarm, Getting Warmer, Pretty Warm or Smoking Hot.”

You knew that she knew the name you were about to say, so you said it. “Dean Winchester.”

You almost pulled out your firearm with the scream she let out.

“God, Andréa!” You hissed, rubbing your ear while Andréa searched through her selection and pulled out one bright red case.

She just squealed again, giggling. “Dean Winchester? Never thought I’d hear that name again. Smoking Hot ain’t gonna cut it for him, you need the Nuclear option.”

“There’s a nuclear option now?”

“Duh.” She ceremoniously yanked out a dress and held it out for you. “Try it on.”

You took the dress from her with a raised eyebrow and disappeared off into your bedroom upstairs to change. When you looked yourself in the mirror with the dress on, you didn’t recognise yourself. In all honesty, you probably looked ridiculous.

But when you made your way downstairs, trying not to trip on the fabric, you almost did fall when you heard Andréa’s shrill shriek of delight.

Jesus, you thought as you grabbed the railing, she’ll be the death of me.

“Sammy.” Dean had hurried over to Sam’s place, knocking rapidly on the door while holding a lot of tux choices. “Sammy, open up, it’s me! Dean.”

Sam opened the door with a bleary eye, rubbing it. “Dean, it’s ten in the night- Jess, hon, it’s just Dean!” He called back to Jess, who appeared in the doorway with a nightgown on. “I’ll come back in a minute.” Once Jess had returned to bed, Sam turned to his older brother. “What?”

“Which one?” Dean held up the options, looking between them. “I don’t see the difference, but I thought you would. You’re fancy, I just pick what I see first in the closet.”

“You’re hopeless.” The younger Winchester groaned, rubbing his cheek before gesturing to the options. “It’s an undercover gala, you don’t need to properly think about what to wear.”

“I don’t give a damn about the gala, I hate those fancy schmancy, pretentious excuses of a party. They don’t even have beer.” Dean smirked, then chuckled deep. “It’s about who’s going. Agent Hot Chick.”

“We’re still using that code name?” Sam frowned, hands now on his hips. “She’s our coworker.”

“She’s our smokin’ hot coworker.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and dumped the options on the sofa. “Pick one. C’mon.”

Sam browsed quickly through the options, then picked one out with a low groan. “I need to get paid. Here. Two piece tux, can’t go wrong.”

Dean took the tux, examined it, then hummed. “I can hide my gun in here, right?”

“Yeah. Just take it and go, I want to go to bed. With my wife.”

“Sammy, you sly dog.” He clapped his younger brother’s shoulder. “Well, don’t keep the missus waiting, and I’ll be out of your glorious hair.” Before Sam could react, Dean was out of the door and had left the substandard suits on the couch.

“Glorious hair?” Sam muttered, running a hand through said hair.

He didn’t know what had gotten into his older brother, but he didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated.

Probably both.

The gala itself was nothing short of fancy as hell. Almost like out of a spy movie. Marbled floor, cream walls that looked gold in the lighting, tables of hors d’oeuvres that Dean’s stomach instantly felt a magnetic attraction to.

Fancy snacks are still snacks. Back to the story.

A red carpet that made Dean feel like he was walking in the Met or some movie premiere, with everyone dressed to the nines. Eating snacks.

He popped one into his mouth, chowing down on it and finding that the cheese-based delicacy wasn’t so bad, and he swiped a glass of champagne from a server’s tray in order to blend in.

One sip and he was spluttering, putting it back on a tray again, and that’s when he saw you.

He’d call you a snack, but you were the whole damn buffet.

Dean was pretty sure he was looking at a weapon of mass devastation. To his self control at least - there was a smoking crater in the middle of that. And there were some thoughts in his head that definitely wouldn’t be praised by polite society. He’d be damned for it.

You were clad in dark red silk that melded to your figure, almost like waves on your body, like water. Water had never seemed sexier. Your lips were a shade of scarlet, your clever eyes highlighted by the makeup surrounding it. Your knee just poking out from the slit at the thigh, hands clasped delicately at your midsection.

You looked expensive.

And delicious.

It had Dean’s jaw dropping before he picked it back up, straightening the lapels of his tux and trying to think of non-sexy thoughts so he wouldn’t sport a very visible attraction to his fake wife in polite society. He’d gone the full way, even getting a gold-plated ring so he’d look married and expensive but it also wasn’t too costly. He wasn’t made of money.

He didn’t belong in this party. You definitely did, looking like that.

You were in the very place that you’d been trying to run from again. Fancy parties, posh vocabulary and exaggerated accents. Your mother or Cassie would be a social butterfly in this situation. Not you, you were quaking in your borderline painful heels. Feeling all too out of place in the sweeping curtains, silk, satin and chiffon couture dresses and the gales of fake, exaggerated laughter.

Then there he came, Dean frickin’ Winchester, in a two piece tux. Sure, his bow tie was a little wonky (understatement) but the rest of him had your thighs rubbing together. As usual, he donned a suit that stretched over his well built muscles and gave you a good outline of the contours on his chest, powerful thighs looking good to ride in those trousers. Lips pouting every time he chewed on the delicacy he plucked from a side table and forcing thoughts of those very lips devouring you the same way.

He looked expensive.

He looked irresistible.

The image of the normally cocksure and obnoxiously confident Dean Winchester in high society had you swallowing on a dry throat and thinking un-sexy thoughts to rid you of the incredibly unprofessional ones in your head (one of which included him ripping the dress off your body), all of them sending a quiver down your spine. A very, very good quiver. Oh, god, this wasn’t helping.

You felt out of place here. You didn’t belong here, but Dean certainly did in that getup. You were so absorbed in checking out the stretch of the fabric over his biceps that you missed the way he sipped some champagne and gagged on it.

Then you quickly clacked over in your heels, linking your arm with his to sell the act. “Husband.” You said stiffly, and he nodded back.

“Wife.” He replied, swallowing at the adrenaline rush at having Aphrodite incarnate on his arm. Hell, you might just be Aphrodite in disguise. He could never tell.

“Alright, by inside intel, the necklace is kept upstairs in a six inch safe carbon and iron steel alloy safe with a biometric lock. We have no welders on us, and the case is fingerprint security.” You muttered while crunching a breath mint between your teeth. You never know, the locals may demand a kiss and you’d be damned if you got teased for bad breath.

“And how do you propose we breach that, honey?” Dean got out through a forced smile.

You smirked, the plan in your head. “I’ve got a blush compact in my holster. And a tape roll. We can get the print through that easily enough.”

“That holster deserves a medal.” He murmured to himself, then steered her towards a group. “We need to mingle. We’re not single, but blending in and finding a way to go upstairs is best, if you know what I mean.”

Mhmm. You very much got it, and it thrilled you slightly.

You had no time to dwell on the thought as an elderly group of women caught your attention and trilled for you two to come over. “What a lovely young couple.” One crowed, gesturing to the both of you. “Married, I’m assuming?”

Dean drew you closer into his chest, and your hand landed there by impact- a solid goddamn wall. Oh, holy mama. He let out a low chuckle, pumping his eyebrows. “Ma’am, you can’t find a woman this gorgeous and not, to quote Miss Knowles, ‘put a ring on it’.”

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

“I’d go as far as to say I had gotten myself a catch.” You affirmed, but inside you were rolling your eyes. You didn’t expect to spend the evening complimenting Agent Winchester of all people. “He’s so firm, ladies.”

Dean laughed deeply, one which you knew didn’t have only your thighs rubbing and pressing together on instinct. “I take immense care of my physical appearance. I’d do anything for my darlin’.”

“And you look handsome.” You straightened his bow tie and made a show of biting your lip and looking him over, which got a sly smirk on his face. All forced, and you knew he couldn’t tell that you actually meant the comment. He looked sexy, not just damn handsome. In fact, words failed you when it came to describing Dean in high society.

Scrubbing your hand with an antiseptic wipe wasn’t an option when he took your hand, lifted to his mouth and kissed your knuckle. Those warm, plump weapons of destruction corrupting your newly purified and professional brain.

Expertly sowing thoughts of them travelling down your neck and sucking on the skin in your dirty mind.

Brain malfunctioning.

Brain.exe has shut down.

Hail whichever deity’s the Almighty because you got the pleasure of feeling this man’s lips on your skin.

You’d felt them on your temple and cheek when you’d last worked a case with him, but after being deprived of his contact for five years now made you like a nun breaking her chastity vow, if they have one.

You had no idea how nunhood worked.

You couldn’t be bothered to find out when this man next to you was robbing you of coherent words or thoughts.

“While you look stunning, my love.” Dean murmured, shooting you a quick wink that would’ve had an average Jane swooning over.

Damn Dean Winchester and his ability to flirt.

Damn Dean Winchester for being a lady killer. Damn him to hell.

“Such lovebirds. My husband Terrance and I were like that once, all over each other. The magic of youth, I dare say.” One lady fawned, but her husband - Terrance - tugged on her arm.

“Edna, we’re in polite and present company, let’s not regurgitate details of our marriage.” He muttered, leading Edna away, which dispersed the other partygoers. You smirked at Dean, fixing the neckline of your dress (which he didn’t waste a moment ogling, which would arguably be in character).

“Shame.” You clicked your tongue, outwardly and inwardly amused. “I liked Edna.”

“I feel for Terrence, if I’m being honest.” Dean snickered, then nudged you. “You ready to go upstairs for a lil’ somethin’-somethin’?” That statement earned a swat to the back of his head, and he shrank away from you in shock. “Woah, hey, not actually going up there to get some, alright? We’re on a federal investigation, I’m not about to bang my partner. Jesus, woman.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Just pretend to be all over me, ok?”

You rolled your eyes, but obliged as Dean steered you both to a guard waiting by the stairs. “Mmh, honey,” You purred, your lips faux-chasing his neck, as Dean veered away from them reluctantly.

“Hey, man, do you have a place where my wife and I can get some privacy?” Dean’s strong hand took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his side. “Can’t keep my hands off ‘er. Women, am I right?”

“Upstairs, sir.” The guard let you two through, both of you falsely laughing until you reached the top of the stairs. Then you switched the moment you were out of earshot, dropping character.

“Nice job, honey.” Dean drawled, smirking. “Got a firearm under that dress?”

“Of course I do.” You snorted, shaking your head. Dean smirked at you when your head was turned, with a look that said that’s my girl. “What am I, an idiot? C’mon, we’ve got work to do.” You managed to try each door until you found one conveniently locked, so you took a hairpin, bent it and then your leg, kneeling so you could jimmy the thing in the lock, rotating the chassis (at least it might be that, you never paid attention to lock anatomy) and getting the door open.

“Good girl.” Dean muttered under his breath so you wouldn’t hear, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly. There were no secret triggers (you had to mentally steel yourself so you wouldn’t throttle Dean and his constant use of ‘booby traps’), so you just immediately took out your compact powder case and a blush applicator, evenly coating it in powder and dabbing it on the sensor before unhooking the tape roll, using a canine to rip off a piece of tape before placing it on, which successfully opened the lock with an electrical series of beeps. “Nice one. A’ight, now grab that necklace and let’s book it.”

“Not that easy.” You pouted in thought. That sent Dean to unholy places. All while your eyes were focused on the opal-studded jewellery in front of you. “It’s a weight sensor. We need something roughly the same weight.”

“Your heels?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I borrowed these from a friend, no way in hell am I leaving it here.”

“You have friends, sweetheart?” He snickered, but winced slightly when you sharply kicked him in the shin with the heel of your left stiletto. He had to fight the urge to grab the afflicted area and howl because holy hell, physics wasn’t lying about the pressure equation thing.

Pressure equals force over area multiplied by a whole lot of pain.

You looked around, then saw a small crystalline trophy thing. So you grabbed it, then prepared to make the switch. You took a deep breath in and then out, then switched it. And waited. To your disappointment and shock, the weight sensor must’ve been to a T because the pedestal sank and the room flashed red, an alarm going off.

Dean’s hand enveloped yours, tugging you out of the room at breakneck speed (you figured out in this time that you weren’t a dab hand at running in heels and had to awkwardly hop and take them off along the way), pulling you both into a side room when you heard approaching voices. Doors were being opened and rooms checked, so you had to think quick.

Oh, you were sure to regret this later.

Your hands flew to unbutton Dean’s suit jacket, get it on the floor before getting his bow tie undone and shirt along with it, untucking it and letting it hang open. You tried not to get distracted by the kissable canvas of taut, toned muscle that was his chest, while you reached up to your own lips, smearing the lipstick and then transferring some to his without lip-to-lip contact.

He was flabbergasted.

“Sweetheart,” Dean let out a nervous yet rough chuckle, “I love frisky women, don’t get me wrong, but don’t you think this isn’t the right time-”

“Shut up.” You hissed, then grabbed his hand and put it under the silk of your dress, through the slit and onto your thigh. “Now, act like you’re about to kiss my neck.”

Dean short circuited, and so did you. Hands. On legs. Bare legs. Need a bed. Even a table will do- keep it professional.

His eyes locked on the curve of your neck as you let your head tip back, and his hand went on autopilot, cupping the back of your neck. He leaned forward, and your skin was right there, begging to be kissed, but he hovered right there. Dean’s lips were inches away from your heated skin and it was killing the both of you.

His fingers itched to take the zip of your dress, yank it down and see what was underneath.

But even as he was about to give in, shake hands with the loss of his professionalism and ravish you till the sun came up, the door burst open and in came a guard, who instantly muttered an apology at seeing yours and Dean’s more than dishevelled state.

Ay, dios mío.

Wilkins Street Bank was shut down. SWAT teams surrounding it, along with multiple NYPD vans. An officer made his way onto the scene, flashing his badge. He was tall, with black hair and had clever green eyes, wearing a bomber jacket with NYPD blaring on the back in yellow letters.

Flashing his badge like he was in a movie, but made it ten times better. Ten times sexier, really.

“Detective Sergeant Nick Santiago, 67th precinct.” He introduced, looking up at the bank. “We got ourselves a hostage situation, I’m heading the case.”

“No can do, compadre.” One of the 71st huffed out a breath. “We just got off the call with the suits. They’re sending two of their agents over to head the charge. Something about the boys leadin’ the hostage sitch being their jurisdiction.”

“You kiddin’ me?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are we getting?”

“The best Major Crimes has to offer.”

NEXT UP:

“I’m doing my job!” You scoffed, holding the compress over your shoulder. It hurt to move it, honestly, but you’d rather take a banged up shoulder rather than Dean Winchester scolding you.

“And I’m not?” He retorted, hands on his hips. “We’re working this case together.”

“The only reason you’re even in Major Crimes is because daddy dearest pulled some strings.” You seethed, which had Dean bristling.

“That’s not how it went.”

“Then how?”

I’d appreciate a like, or reblog with feedback! Thanks for reading, lovelies!

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#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader smut #Dean x you #amoralism #materialism

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plethoraworldatlas · 1 year ago

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Conservation groups filed objections this week to the U.S. Forest Service’s proposed final management plan for the Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests in western Colorado. The plan would allow commercial logging on more than 772,000 acres of public lands, including mature and old-growth trees — a 66% increase from the current forest plan.

“A sizeable area of our beloved forests could be sacrificed to commercial logging at the expense of our already dwindling wilderness areas, wildlife habitat and recreation,” said Chad Reich with High Country Conservation Advocates. “Outdoor recreation is a far larger economic driver for our communities than the local timber industry that benefits from cutting these forests. The Forest Service would’ve known that if it had conducted an economic analysis, as required by law.”

Under the proposed plan mature and old-growth forests, which store massive amounts of carbon, could be commercially logged. Forest managers would not be required to identify and protect old-growth and mature trees. Steep slopes across the forests, including Upper Taylor Canyon and Slate River Valley, could also be logged despite the high risk of severe erosion and threats to water quality.

“The proposed plan directly violates federal policy on protecting mature and old-growth trees as a cornerstone of U.S. climate action,” said Alison Gallensky, conservation geographer with Rocky Mountain Wild. “The Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests boast the highest carbon sequestration capacity of any national forest in the Rocky Mountain region. Despite this the Forest Service has failed to ensure these vital carbon sinks aren’t logged and sold.”

Objections also challenged the Forest Service’s failure to take urgently needed climate action by prohibiting new coal leasing in the plan.

...

The Forest Service recommended adding only 46,200 acres of new wilderness area in the final plan. The community’s conservation proposal had called for more than 324,000 acres of new wilderness lands. In addition, the Gunnison Public Lands Initiative offered a broadly supported proposal for new wilderness and special management areas in Gunnison County that was mostly excluded.

...

“Community members proposed special management area designations to protect pristine forestlands in the North Fork Valley from logging and oil and gas drilling,” said Peter Hart, legal director at Wilderness Workshop. “The Forest Service ignored those proposals and chose not to protect those areas in the new plan.”

The groups also raised concerns about the plan’s failure to address the myriad needs of plants and animals that depend on the forests.

“Over 20 years ago Colorado Parks and Wildlife reintroduced Canada lynx to the San Juan Mountains,” said Rocky Smith, a long-time forest management analyst. “This is a great source of pride for wildlife lovers in this state. Lynx are federally threatened and depend on mature forests with large trees. This plan allows for logging that could easily degrade or destroy much of the best habitat for lynx and their main prey, snowshoe hares, and undermine Colorado’s hard work to reestablish and maintain a viable lynx population.”

The Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests also provide habitat for the iconic bighorn sheep and lesser-known species like the Grand Junction milkvetch and the Tundra buttercup. These species, among others, need special designation the Forest Service grants to plants and animals when there is concern about their ability to survive in the area. Many struggling plants and animals were left off the list in the proposed final plan.

“Without the species of conservation concern designation the Forest Service has no obligation to make sure the plants and animals continue to exist locally,” said Chris Krupp, public lands attorney with WildEarth Guardians. “In many cases, the agency decided not to designate wildlife, plants or fish merely because it had no data on their population trends. Without species of conservation concern designation, the number of bighorn sheep in GMUG could dwindle down to almost nothing and the agency wouldn’t have to do anything about it.”

#ecology #enviromentalism #old growth forest #colorado #us forest service #lynx #bighorn sheep #grand mesa #Uncompahgre #gunnison #national forest

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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To be alone with you 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: Long time, no see.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. ��

Spaghetti and meatballs. Simple and delicious. You assume it’s one of Clark’s specialties, the way Jonny talks about it. A plateful steams before you, the garlicky scent tugging at the appetite you hadn’t noticed before.

After the unsettling night alone, you’re starting to feel normal again. It’s comforting to have someone else there, even if it is Clark. He’s not a bad guy, he’s nice enough, it’s just that underlying imbalance that makes it awkward. Technically, he’s your boss. Even if he wasn’t, he’s much older, you’re not sure you have much in common.

“Uh, what do you want to drink?” Clark calls from the kitchen, “I see Sprite and… not much else.”

“Oh, I’ll have one, please,” you answer. You don’t drink soda often, your mom’s the one who keeps the Sprite in the fridge but it’s so hot out you could go for a crisp drink.

You wait patiently, not wanting to be rude and start before he’s sitting down. It only seems right after he went to all the trouble of cooking for you. Clark appears with two glasses. You’re surprised he didn’t just bring the cans but don’t think much of it.

He puts a glass beside your plate, then his own, a few cubes of ice in his. You notice how his hair curls with the heat, a little askew from his efforts in the kitchen. You smile and thank him for the drink.

“This looks good. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Dad left me pizza money.”

“It’s fine. I’m a bit restless without anyone around. I’m used to this,” he shrugs as he sits down, his shoulders wider than the chair. Sometimes you forget how big he is. It’s almost absurd when he’s just an overworked suburban dad in your head.

“Dig in, please. You didn’t have to wait,” he stirs the sauce into his noodles.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you twirl your fork in the pile of pasta. You blow over the steaming sauce and lean forward, tasting it as you try not to flick sauce all over. You hum and do your best to slurp up the ends of the noodles without making a mess. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yep, got more than my good looks,” he chuckles, “I can cook too.”

You smile, taking another bite and chewing through the tension. There’s a bit of zest to the sauce. You can’t disagree with his self-appraisal. He can cook.

You take the folded paper towel next to your plate and wipe your lips before you reach for your soda. You gulp it greedily and nearly choke. You sputter as the carbonation bubbles up to your nostrils.

“You okay?” Clark asks, his cheek ticking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” you sniffle and push the paper towel to your nose. You laugh at yourself and clear your throat, “I… haven’t had sprite in a while, guess I forgot how it tastes.”

“Ah, well, did you want water?” He asks.

“No, it’s fine. Not bad,” you turn the glass and look at the soda, “bit of an aftertaste.”

“I don’t really have soda,” he sits back, poking at his plate, “most water. A juice box here and there.”

“Makes sense.”

Your forks clink as you eat in silence. The air is thick as both of you search for something to talk about. Where you’re struggling to find some commonality, there’s a twitchiness to him that suggests he’s trying not to say everything.

“If you’re up for it, maybe we could watch a movie?” He suggests.

“A movie?” You weigh the prospect. You suppose it’s a better idea than staring at the wall. Movies are a great way to fill awkward silences. “Sure, why not. Been a while since I saw anything good. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Nah, not really. I mostly end up watching Pixar so it’s on you. I trust your judgment.”

“You shouldn’t,” you scoff, “I love Pixar.”

He smiles and gives a small chuckle, “well, just don’t be mad when I mouth along with the dialogue.”

“Kidding,” you take another sip of Sprite, trying to wash away the tomatoey tang, “promise, adult movies only.” You cringe as you realise what you said, “I mean, grown-up– er–”

Clark laughs louder, “I got it,” his cheeks bulb as the cleft in his chin deepens, “I know what you’re saying, don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” you shift in your chair, thoroughly embarrassed. You really are so smooth. It’s a good thing it’s just him, you’re sure he’s not very worried about your dumb remarks.

🏡

Despite your efforts to help, Clark insists on cleaning up. You let him as you go upstairs to take a quick shower. Sweating in the sun reading all day has left you feeling a bit musty.

You pull on a pair of striped pajama shorts and a loose tee shirt. You do a face scrub and some moisturising serum before finally emerging, feeling fresh and a bit sleepy. You can hear Clark below scuttling around.

You go downstairs and peer towards the darkened doorway of the kitchen. You pass it and stop just at the threshold of the front room. You find Clark laying out the cushions on the floor along with the throw blankets and pillows. The coffee table is moved aside to allow for some space as the TV glares behind him.

You give him a curious look and he flinches as he notices you. You come forward slowly as the loose hem of your shorts ripples against your thigh. You’re suddenly very aware of how much of your legs are bare. Oh well, it’s only Clark.

“What are you doing?” You ask as you cross the room.

“Oh, me and Jonny do this. I figured you weren’t into making forts but I just thought–” he stops and looks down at his handiwork, “it’s lame, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make things feel normal… for both of us.”

You give an empathetic smile, “it’s nice. Really,” you look him in the eye, the bold blues gleaming back at you, “it’s sweet. And it looks cozy.”

“Great,” he lightens up as he drops the last pillow, “well,” he turns and grabs the remote, “choose something.”

You nod and take the remote. You sit on a cushion and lean back against the couch. You flick through the new additions on the main screen and choose a movie you’ve heard a lot of buzz about. You blink as the light suddenly goes out and you look over to see Clark’s shadow moving towards you. It gives you an eerie wave of deja vu as you recall the silhouette of the intruder.

You shudder and reach to put the remote up on the couch behind you. You turn back around and a large yawn erupts without warning. You rub your itchy eyes and shake your head, the edges of the television almost blurry as you try to focus on it.

“Tired?” Clark nudges you as he sits beside you.

“Didn’t sleep after… after last night,” you say.

“Ah, of course not. That was a stupid question.”

“It’s f-i-ine,” you yawn again, “really. I’m sure I will tonight. Especially with you here.”

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to turn the lights off if I was alone,” you lean into the couch as you slouch down, “anyway, I’ll be quiet. Movie’s starting.”

He doesn’t answer as he mirrors you, plumping a pillow behind himself as he wiggles down and gazes up at the screen. Your eyelids feel heavy as you fight to keep them open. The opening scene barely ends as you feel your body slackening with fatigue. You’re barely going to make it through the credits.

You turn onto your side, leaning on your elbow as you hug a pillow under your head. You feel Clark shift too. You blink, a long blink, and when you open your eyes again, you’re lost. You have no idea what the characters are talking about.

You flutter your lashes and try to sit up. You give up as an achy weakness bites at your muscles. Oh well, if you fall asleep, you fall asleep. You can’t fight it anymore.

You close your eyes and wade in the shallow pool of exhaustion. Your head goes wobbly as you’re vaguely aware of the hues flickering and flashing from the television. A sudden warmth rests on your hip, a light sensation you can’t place.

“Are you awake?”

The question blows through you. You don’t have the strength to answer. Your eyes feel strange, dry and almost painful.

You wiggle, shaken by a strength not your own. You slip further from consciousness. You flip onto your back, dragged down until you're entirely flat on the floor. Your eyes are glued shut as you’re trapped in the dregs of sleep. You can’t break through, but you can feel the world around you.

You feel a tickle over your stomach and along your chest. A soft squeeze and a dampness blows over your throat. Heat surrounds you as something prods below your jaw, something soft brushing on your neck. A low drone swirls in your ears.

“Mmm, sweetie, you smell good,” Clark’s voice distorts as you languish in the void, “I bet you feel even better.”

Another tickle. Just along your thighs. A coolness that breezes over you as fabric ripples against you. The loose leg rumples against the crease of your leg as a stroking sensation flicks around your clit.

The electrifying currents radiate from your core. Your chest rises and falls with your rushing breaths. Your heart beats loudly, further deafening the muffled voices coming from the television and the low moan drifting into your ear. Your name plucks at you but cannot rouse you.

Wetness across your cheek then on your lips, delving inside, pressing to your tongue. A sloppy lapping, slickness around your mouth, a new weight over you. Tugging at your shirt and roughness against your tender skin. Squeezing and kneading your chest as a fire razes over your.

Your legs are pushed wide. You feel the world shift and tilt as you come near the surface. Your eyes slit and you can see shadows pulsing all around. A heavy blackness hangs over you as you feel heat against your thighs. Firm muscle holding you open.

You gasp as the wetness along your cunt eases the intrusion. Your eyelids flick up and your eyes roll as your head lolls dizzily. You fight to lift your head but can’t. It’s too much just to look around.

The single digits moves in and out of you, inching deeper each time, the ridge of knuckles grazing your walls. You moan as the hand pulls back and a second finger stretches you. In, out, the wet noise of your tight cunt nips at your shame.

It’s not a dream. It can’t be. It feels too real. Too deep. He’s touching you, he’s inside you. Mr. Kent rocks his hand against your cunt as he hangs his head next to yours and pants, his large body draped across you.

“Baby,” he purrs as your arms remain paralysed at your sides, “shhh, it’s okay. It won’t hurt…” he whispers, “the pills will help.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying or what he’s doing. No, no, you’re wrong. It has to be a dream. He wouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want you. He has a wife. He’s heartbroken over her.

The glare of the TV limns his shoulders, broad and rounded with muscles. He’s naked. The colours skew over his skin as he curls his back, dragging his fingers free of your cunt. He leaves a wet trail down your thigh.

He pushes his knees up, keeping you splayed around him. He feels along your shorts, once more delving past the loose cotton. He prods against your folds. A bulbous, thick shape that has you clenching. He lines his tip up with your entrance and leans in, just enough for you to whimper.

He slides back along your lips, slickening himself with your stolen pleasure. He rubs against you, over and over, stopping again at your entrance. He huffs and jostles you, urging his thick forearm under your neck. Your head hangs back over his arm as you groan and curl your fingers against the blankets.

“Baby, it hurts me too,” he dips his hips, forcing his tip past the tight resistance. Your voice rises, tiny, short squeaks as you feel the daze splitting with your inside. “Just a little…” he rocks back and in again, an inch at first, over and over, shaking each time. “Little more…” he sinks in further and your voice grows more steady.

Your eyes are wide and terrified as the pain assures you of reality. You tense but your body won’t obey. You can’t stop him. You can’t move!

“Little…” he repeats and thrusts deeper again, “...more,” he rolls back and in. His arm bends around your neck as he buries his face in your hair. His other hand braces your thigh, nails digging in as he keeps his motion. With each tilt, he slides in more. More and more until you’re agonizingly full.

You let out a whine, long and desperate as he reaches his limit. He keeps himself there as he whimpers and shakes. He wiggles his hips as he feels you around him.

“Oh god, I… you’re so good. Why are you so good?” He puffs and thrusts, jolting your entire body, “you… you’re so good I had to. I know…” he ruts again, “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…” he chants as he keeps his motion, easing back slowly only to snap back into you.

Your eyes wet and tears trickle out. It’s more than the pain, it’s the horror swelling in you, boiling but unable to flow over as you remain helpless. You close your eyes and choke on a sob as he rams into you faster, flesh clapping louder each time he dips into you.

You ache as he fucks you. On and on. It feels like forever as you strain against the futility, only able to bend and unbend your fingers. Please stop. Please get off. All you can utter are senseless garbles.

“Baby,” he growls, “I’m gonna– I can’t–” He pushes off of you in a panic, sliding halfway before he spasms and bucks, whimpering as you feel him spill into you, “shit, shit, shit,” he pants as he stills himself, “I didn’t mean to… not inside…”

Your head falls to the side, your eyes rolling back into your skull. You let the darkness win. You’re going to wake up and it’s all going to be a nightmare. Right?

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #dcu #dc #superman #to be alone with you #babysitter au

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coffeeghoulie · 1 month ago

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Ghostober Day 2: Jerking Off Instructions/Facesitting

Day two of @kroas-adtam's Ghostober prompts

Pairing: Aether/Mountain

Mountain never gets harder than when he's eating Aether out, except for when Aether tells him how to touch himself while he's eating him out.

Explicit, 1k. Cock, cunt, folds and dick used for Aether's anatomy. Mentions of, but no actual quintosis, oral sex, Mountain's sensitive antlers.

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Mountain knows what it's like to be drunk on quintessence. Knows the tingly, carbonated feeling that flows through his nerves and over his skin and makes his limbs heavy and his brain shut off.

He knows he's sober. Aether's never dosed him with quintessence without telling him first. Sworn it to all seven saints, and that's not something Aether would ever take lightly.

He still feels dumb and heavy and out of his fucking mind, but he knows exactly why. Aether's thighs straddle his head, carefully avoiding his antlers, one hand gripping the carved headboard and the other tangled in auburn waves.

Besides these points of contact, all Mountain knows is touch and taste and scent, thick and heavy on the roof of his mouth. The bridge of his nose rubs against Aether's cock, and he groans into Aether's cunt as he laps into his folds like he's parched, slick coating his chin and tongue, dripping down his throat. It's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted, almost like candied bergamot and something rich and deep, and Mountain can't fucking get enough of it.

"Yeah, that's it, just like that, sweet thing," Aether groans, and the praise filters through Mountain's brain. His forked tongue laps deeper into Aether's entrance, trying to drink him from the source.

Aether grinds his hips forward, groaning low in his chest as his cock rubs against Mountain's nose, and he gives a few more little thrusts to chase the feeling. Mountain moans unashamedly as the motion smears more slick over his lips and tongue. His arms wrap around Aether's waist, pulling him firmer down against him.

"Oh, fuck, Mount-" Aether chokes out, head tipped back. Mountain's eyes skate up his stomach, following his happy trail up to the thick hair on his chest, to the long exposed line of his throat to the salt and pepper scruff on his chin.

Mountain's tail thuds against the bed, digging his fingers into the softness around Aether's waist. He moves up, lapping at the underside of Aether's cock before sucking the chubby length into his mouth.

Aether groans like he's been hit, almost doubling over. The headboard creaks with how hard he's gripping it. "So fucking good, Mount, oh fuck."

He moans at the praise, eyes half lidded and hazy. Aether's dick twitches on his tongue and his own cock throbs hard against his hip. Mountain makes a wounded noise as a blurt of precum smears on his skin, but doesn't stop suckling at Aether's dick.

Aether laughs softly, hissing out a breath as Mountain laves his core with attention, shifting his grip from Mountain's hair to one of his antlers, thumbing at where it meets his scalp. They're still covered in sensitive spring velvet, and Mountain keens.

"Oh, sweet thing, I know you're getting off to this," Aether coos, breathing heavily through his nose. "And you're doing such a good job for me. Why don't you touch yourself for me, love?"

Mountain turns his head to mouth at the inside of Aether's thigh, chest heaving as he catches his breath. "Fuck, nova, tastes so good."

"Yeah?" Aether says, voice pitched up and breathy. "Come on, Mount. I know you want to."

His tail thuds against the mattress, the pine needle like fur that tips it rustling as it hits the sheets. Mountain sucks a mark into the inside of Aether's thigh, drawing a groan from the quintessence ghoul. Reluctantly, he lets go of one of Aether's hips, reaching down to take himself in hand.

He hasn't been touched this whole time, and he can't see it, but he knows the tip is ruddy and shiny with pre. He hisses as he tightens his grip some, the pressure taking off the edge of his desperation. "So wet for me, huh?" Aether says. He hasn't even turned to look. "Get yourself all slick for me, Mount, nice and slow."

Mountain groans into Aether's cunt, obediently stroking himself. He smears his precum down his shaft with a sound that's almost a whine. He redoubles his efforts, lapping at the underside of Aether's cock, focusing on where it juts out from his folds.

Aether grunts, letting go of the headboard and grabbing Mountain's other antler tight like he's holding on to handlebars. Mountain's eyes go hazy, drunk on pussy and his own touch. He moans, bucking his hips up into his own hand.

It's a feedback loop, the vibrations of Mountain's voice going directly to Aether's cock, which in turn makes him grab Mountain's antlers tighter. Mountain's eyes go wide, and his hand flies to the base of his cock, squeezing harshly to keep himself from spilling already.

Aether laughs, not unkindly, and ruts his hips forward again before raising up off of his face. "Oh, baby, you're so into this. Stick your tongue out for me?"

Mountain nods as he pants, trying to catch his breath. He doesn't realize how lightheaded he had gotten until he has oxygen rushing through him again. As much as he tries and as close as he gets, he's never going to beat Rain in the breath holding competition.

He lets his tongue loll out, green eyes staring up at Aether as his pupils threaten to swallow his irises whole.

Aether smiles, smoothing his thumb over the soft velvet on Mountain's antlers, punching another keen from the earth ghoul underneath him. "Tell you what, sweet thing," Aether coos, hand trailing down to pet his cheek. He doesn't seem to mind the mess. "You keep touching yourself, and if you can make me cum before you do, I'll let you put your cock inside me."

"Oh fuck, please," Mountain gasps, a little garbled with his tongue stuck out. His cock kicks hard in his hand, blurting out a dribble of pre. He startles, squeezing his base again.

Aether laughs again. "Hold your tongue out, baby, let me use you."

Mountain moans, high and reedy, holding out his tongue for Aether to grind on. Aether tightens his grip on Mountain's antlers, lowering his hips until he rests his chubby length on the flat of Mountain's tongue, pressing the back of his head into the pillows.

"Now, sweet thing, make me cum and I'll let you cum inside."

Mountain groans and begins to eat.

#munch mountain send tweet #dot's writing #ghostober 2024 #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #aether/mountain

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wheelie-sick · 1 year ago

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Things to research before getting your first custom manual wheelchair

one of the biggest things I can recommend to anyone getting a new custom chair (but especially a first custom chair) is to understand all of the parts of a wheelchair and what they do. I decided to make a guide with wheelchair parts to research and places to look for information to make this process a little bit easier. additional link suggestions are welcome.

General resources:

Permobil - The Wheelchair Handbook

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation: Before the Evaluation (Part 1)

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation (Part 2)

1. Frame

Motion Composites - Folding vs Rigid Wheelchair Frames: How to Choose

Permobil - Manual wheelchairs: rigid and folding frames. How do you choose?

GTK - Oh what’s in a frame? Comparing Multiple Materials

Motion Composites - Wheelchairs: Carbon Fiber Versus Aluminum

2. Front frame angle

Motion Composites - Understanding the Impact of Rigid Wheelchair Front Frame Angle

Sunrise Medical - Rigid Frame Wheelchairs – Frame Angle and Inset

4. Seat dump

Permobil - Ergonomic Seating and Manual Wheelchairs

Spinlife - Wheelchair Back & Seat Angle

5. Caster size, style, and position

Motion Composites - Front Casters for Manual Wheelchairs Practical Guide

Sunrise Medical - Front Caster Position in Manual Wheelchairs

6. Caster forks

New Mobility - Caster Wheels and Forks

Sunrise Medical - Maneuverability in Manual Wheelchairs - What Fork to use?

New Mobility - Innovations: Emerging Trends in the Wheelchair Market (information about single sided forks)

7. Footplate

Motion Composites - Footrest Options to Support Function and Mobility

When Tania Talks - Active User Wheelchair Footplate Options

8. Calf strap

Spex Seating - Lower Leg Support Considerations in Wheelchair Seating

9. Seat pan

Permobil - Solid Seat Insert for Wheelchair: Taking a Closer Look at Cushion Components

10. Seat cushion

Permobil - What to Look for in Seating & Positioning Products

Permobil - How to Choose a Cushion in Long Term Care

Permobil - Cushion Geometry: Linear and Contoured

Freedom Mobility Center - Wheelchair Seat Cushions: 5 Tips for Choosing the Right One for You

Mobility Basics - Seat Cushion Rigidizer

Motion Composites - Selecting the Right Cushion for Your Wheelchair a Clinicians Guide

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

11. Seat belts

12. Clothing guards

Sherman Oaks Medical Equipment - Wheelchair Clothes Guards / Side Guards Guide

13. Arm rests

United Spinal Association - Wheelchair Armrests What Do They Really Do?

Spinlife - Wheelchair Arm Rest Choices

Motion Composites - Armrests: Getting the Support you Need

14. Back supports

Motion Composites - Solid vs Upholstery Backs

Mobility Management - How to Choose the Right Back Height for your Client

Freedom Mobility Center - Why a Solid Back is Preferred Over a Sling Back

Mobility Basics - Back Supports

Sunrise Medical - Tips for Selecting Prefabricated Wheelchair Backs

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

15. Head supports

16. Push handles

Motion Composites - Push Handles: Pushing Around

17. Wheels

Motion Composites - Rolling Along: The Importance of Rear Wheel Selection

Sunrise Medical - Comparing Wheelchair Wheel Spoke Options

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

18. Tires

New Mobility - Everything You Need to Know About Selecting the Right Wheelchair Tires

GTK - Solid versus Pneumatic Tyres

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

Motion Composites - Tire Selection: Balancing Performance and Maintenance

19. Brakes

Motion Composites - Wheel Locks: Unlocking Safety and Function

20. Push rims/Hand rims

Motion Composites - Getting a Grasp: Understanding the Impact of Hand Rims

DME Hub - Wheelchair Hand Rom Options and Factors to Consider

21. Anti-tip wheels

22. Camber

Motion Composites - Camber - Degrees of Performance

23. Center of Gravity

Motion Composites - Rear Wheel Position 101

#wheelchair user

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ariseur · 5 months ago

Note

could i request a afectionate Cloud x shy Touch starved reader? Cloud was in many Mission and he came Back that night and reader woke Up with him in bed in the morning. And they then cuddles and kiss a Lot so basically Lots of fluff. I would be very glad <3

your kissed sheets 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

cloud strife (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

i’m still mad at wingstop for giving me carbonated water when i asked for sprite. like they literally charged me for a sprite when all i got was sparkling water, no syrup in it at all 😭😭

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of reader being lonely, mentions of eating or not being able to eat ( pasta if it’s relevant ), intended lowercase, lmk if i missed something!! 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1121 words, ~8400 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

another tick of the imaginary clock in your head and you huffed once again, your fingers drumming on the wooden table. your eyes stayed glued to the steam rising into the air while the soft aroma of buttered noodles wafted in the air. your lips twitched into a small pout. from the window behind you, the dark night sky was accompanied by the moon as the almost blue light shone through the glass panes— therefore you knew that it was too late for cloud not to be home yet.

letting out another sigh, you let the defeated breath escape your lips whilst you mindlessly twirled the noodles around the metal fork. you couldn’t even bring yourself to take a bite anymore. looking back down at your plate, there remained no evidence of the food even being eaten, the bundle of pasta clumped together and now losing its heat as you had been sitting there for so long. usually, you’d sit beside cloud as you both ate dinner— and it wasn’t like he made so much of a difference, he usually just listened to you talk about your day while he slipped some responsive comments just as a way of letting you know he was listening. cloud always listened to you, even if he was silent.

your bottom lip stuck itself out with your pout as you decided you couldn’t even eat anymore. scooting the dining chair back, you couldn’t even cringe at the sound of the wooden legs screeching as they scraped against the hard floor. you stood upright and walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a plastic container and shutting the lid on it once you had emptied the remaining contents of your plate. you let yourself close your eyes with your head tilted back as you inhaled through your nose. you let the air fill you lungs until you couldn’t anymore. if cloud saw you now, he’d probably say something like, “what’re you sulking for?”, and that part made a small chuckle leave your lips. it was like you could hear his voice echo through your mind, his monotonous voice going ever so slightly softer when he was talking to you rather than when he was talking to wedge or barret— tifa and aerith never failed to tease you about it whenever you’d act confused when they brought it up.

grabbing the plate, you savored the warmth of the tupperware before opening the fridge and being hit with the bright fluorescent light of it. you placed the leftovers there before closing the fridge and being met face to face with the photos pinned on the stainless steel with magnets. it was littered with small polaroids of you annoying cloud. you smiled as you let your fingers graze the old pictures; some with cloud holding his hand up to the camera as he’s squinting from the flash, others where he’s straight out of the shower with his hair dripping and flat. then your eyes drift over to a newer one, a one with lots of colors. eyes narrowing at it until you realized it was you in the photo, candid as you looked up at the greenery of the botanical garden you had begged cloud to go to. you had a flower tucked behind your ear and cloud’s hand in your lap. he didn’t give himself much slack, he had always told you how he wasn’t much a photographer— yet every photo you’ve seen him take came out truly beautiful, even if you hadn’t been paying attention at all.

deciding you couldn’t handle anymore moping for the night, you decided to head to bed, each step feeling agonizing. you unceremoniously let yourself plop down on the bed as you went face first into the soft pillows, letting out a small groan in exasperation. your head turned to the side for some air, your eyes fixated on the curtains on your window nearby while the moonlight shone through it, the particles of the dust that you’ve been meaning to clean for days floating into the air into the rectangular shaped light.

you let out a sharp exhale through your teeth, before closing your eyes. another night without cloud in a cold bed, how fun. what’s one more night, though? you just kept telling yourself he was fine. cloud was tough, he was an ex-SOLDIER, after all— he could handle himself. you would feel his embrace soon enough. that’s all you could think of whilst you drifted off to sleep, the moonlight becoming darker and darker with your eyelids closing more and more.

and your thoughts couldn’t have manifested themself better, you thought, as your hand managed to snake around something warm around your midriff. your fingers twitched around the squishy feeling before you felt short, thin strands of hair. your eyes fluttered open before they drifted down to your abdomen, seeing an arm that you recognized the grip of all too well. your let your thumb rub across the protruding, linear muscles in cloud’s hand.

your head turned to the side and in your peripheral, you see the spiked chunks of cloud’s hair and his milky skin in your sideview. letting out a huff, your eyebrows furrowed while you turned back and faced forward, body almost shrugging his touch away. your vision could barely focus in front of you with how dark it was, but at least it wasn’t so cold anymore. you wouldn’t admit it now, especially as you were a little upset at him, but you were relieved he had come home in one piece.

you let out another tense sigh, before cloud mumbled against the nape of your neck, “i know.” your frown deepened as his voice sounded tired, you’ve never heard him sound so gentle— even when he’s talking to you.

“i’ve been away for a while, huh?” he asked, you could feel his lashes blink against you as they tickled your neck. you nodded slowly. you’ve been away too long, you thought. he exhaled deeply himself, his grip loosening a bit before you grabbed his arm and pressing it further against your middle. you let your hand run against his wrist, letting it dance along his skin as you swiped over his arm hair.

cloud’s eyes narrowed at the feeling before letting them close against you. if he couldn’t do anything to change your mind tonight, he’d just have to try harder in the morning.

“i’ve missed you.” you whispered.

he hummed softly, the gravel in his voice becoming thicker with the sleepier he got.

“you, too.” he said. that was the closest cloud’s gotten to saying i love you so far, but it’s alright. you didn’t mind— you’d give him all the time he needed.

𐙚 taglist ; @alieeelinn

𐙚 requests are closed — june ninth, 2024

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 4 months ago

Text

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 11

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

@paigereeder thank you for all your help sis! you da goat!!! ❤️🫶🏽

Wednesday Morning

“This is fucking nuts” Kiyana muttered as she placed her head in her hands. Her house was in absolute chaos this morning. Kairo was teething so he was grumpier than normal and Kamari and Kaiden were upset that their dad wasn’t there. Since Josh was getting more popular within the WWE Universe, he was starting to get requested to do more WWE Live tours. He had left Monday night for the UK while he did tell the boys that he wouldn’t be home until Friday, it must’ve slipped their tiny minds.

Kamari and Kaiden had rushed down the stairs after brushing their teeth only to find the downstairs guest bedroom empty. Kiyna watched with bated breath as their little feet ran into the kitchen, their little faces scrunched up in confusion, looking exactly like carbon copies of their father. Kamari looked towards the glass sliding doors, his eyes widening as if he had a eureka moment and dashed towards the door, pushing the curtain out the way only to let out a sigh of frustration as he saw the backyard was empty too. Kamari then turned and looked at Kiyana.

“Where’s my dad?” He muttered and he walked over to the table to sit down next to his baby brother, who was in the high chair starting to get fussy again as he chewed on his hand..” Kiyana sighed and grabbed both of their plates off the kitchen counter and brought it over to the table. Once she sat the plates down Kaiden, who had been sulkily looking out of the glass door, came over and sat down so he could eat.

“He’s still on the road, Bean.” Kiyana said softly.

“What! Who's gonna take me to school?” Kamari, dropped his fork and folded his arms over his chest with a scowl that could rival his fathers. While Kamari was sulking, Kaiden started to cry. Kaiden’s crying was like a domino effect. Kaiden’s crying had triggered Kairo and he started wailing, reaching his arms out for his momma and while Kamari was usually her tough child, she even saw a couple of tears slip down his cheeks.

Kiyana sighed before scooping Kairo out of his highchair and grabbing one of her dining room chairs and moving it between her two older boys and pulling them into her lap comfortably. She quickly pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Josh who responded almost immediately.

To - Boys Dad: Hey, are you busy? From - Boys Dad: For you never Incoming FaceTime Call from BOYS DAD

Kiyana answered and the smile that was on Josh’s face quickly dropped. “Aye, what's with all the tears?” All three boys immediately looked towards the phone at the sound of their dads voice. “Wassup y’all?”

“Who's gonna take me to school?” Kamari repeated his question from earlier, taking the phone out of Kiyana’s hand and holding it himself.

“Grandma’ is coming to take you. We had this conversation Monday night, Bean. remember at dinner?” Josh let out a sigh when his sons continued to cry. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home Friday night okay.” She watched as her boys' tear-streaked faces softened slightly upon hearing their dad's reassurance. “And we can do whatever y’all want to do. Y’all got me for three whole days before I have to leave again.”

Kamari and Kaiden reluctantly nodded their heads, their crying had eased up. “Alright y’all finish breakfast before Grandma gets here.” Kiyana said softly, pressing a kiss on Kamari and Kaiden’s heads. The boys nodded and blew their dad kisses before getting off of their mothers lap and eating their -now cold pancakes.

Kiyana took Kairo upstairs to get him dressed so he could go with her mother as well. She was still on the phone with Josh who bit his lip as he looked at her through the screen. “What?” She asked after placing Kairo in his crib with some toys so she could find him an outfit. She set the phone up to where as though she didn’t have to hold it.

“I feel like shit now, Key.” His voice came through the phone.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit Josh.” She shot back defensively. “I just thought them seeing you would calm them down and it did.” She grabbed Kairo a couple of outfits out of his closet and started packing his diaper bag. She heard Josh smack his teeth.

“I’m not blaming you, Kiyana damn. I'm just saying I feel like shit because I know they’re used to seeing me there on Wednesdays.” Kiyana sighed and picked up Kairo and brought him over to the changing table so she could start getting him dressed. “I miss them like crazy.”

“They miss you too..”

“What about you? Do you miss me?” Kiyana sighed and tried to fight the smile from coming on her face. Something happened between them on Monday night. She didn’t know if it was just her emotions running on high or the fact that she actually missed him but she actually initiated the kiss between them. She was the one to pull him closer to her and he was the one who stopped it from going to far.

“You alright?” Josh asked her as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes dropping down to her ass that was encased in a pair of tight black biker shorts. Kiyana nodded as she finished loading the dishwasher.

“Yeah, I'm just exhausted. The boys sleeping?”

“Yeah, they rocked.” He laughed and walked closer to her leaning his hip against the counter so he was facing her. “You not mad at me right?”

“No, I'm not mad at you. I’m just..” She sighed and shrugged, “I just don’t wanna lose my job over this.” She whispered and Josh nodded, now feeling guilty for losing his temper earlier.

“He put his hands on you Kiyana. He needed to be dealt with.” Kiyana felt the tear slip down her face and before she could wipe it away, Josh stepped closer to her and cupped her cheeks in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.”

"I know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I never wanted you to get involved."

Josh shook his head gently, his eyes locked on hers. "Kiyana, divorced or not, you're still important to me. And I wasn't about to let that bitch put his hands on you.” Kiyana sucked in a deep breath and she stood there, staring into Josh’s eyes. Josh’s eyes dropped down to her lips.

Kiyana felt her heart rate spike and before she knew it, she was leaning up on her tippy toes connecting her lips to his. Kiyana and Josh both moaned into the kiss as it deepened. Josh gripped the back of thighs and lifted her up, placing her on the counter without breaking their kiss.

Josh’s hands roamed over Kiyana’s body, his touch sending shivers down her spine as she arched into him. Their kiss deepened even further, as she opened her legs wider and started to pull his shirt over his head. He broke the kiss so he could take his shirt off.

“Wait,” He panted out as she pulled him back towards her. “Key, wait.” He muttered as she started kissing on his neck. “Key, fuck.” He muttered out as she moaned into his skin when she started to grind her hips against his erection. He placed his hands on her hips, using all of his strength to stop her from grinding on him. “I don’t want you to regret this when you wake up in the morning.” He grunted out as he pushed himself away from her.

She nodded her head, her eyes glistening with a mix of desire and disappointment. She took a deep breath, steadying herself on the counter. "You're right," she whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You aint got nothing to be sorry for Key.” He grabbed his shirt off the kitchen floor and put it back on before looking down at his watch and cursing. “Fuck, I gotta go finish packing.” She nodded and hopped off the counter and followed him to the front door. “I’ll see you on Friday okay.”

“Key, you still with me?” She jumped as she heard Josh’s voice call out to her. As she looked over at the phone she could see the hickey that she left on his neck. “Kiyana?”

“Yeah I'm still here.” She whispered, licking her lips. “And Yes, I do miss you.”

“Good, because I miss you too.”

Kiyana kept her head down as she went to the nurses station, ignoring the stares of her co-workers who had undoubtedly heard about the ass whooping Josh put on Elijah.

“Don’t yall have work to do?” Debra asked, startling the two nurses who were staring at Kiyana and whispering back and forth with each other. “Go on, shoo.” She said, motioning them along with a roll of her eyes. “They acting like they never seen someone get their ass whooped before. How was your two days off?”

Kiyana chucked and swiveled her chair so she was facing Debra. “It was cool. Felt like old times again, just me and my boys.”

“And Josh?” Debra asked, being her nosey self and Kiyana bit her lip and shrugged.

“I mean he was there too. The boys wouldn’t let him leave.” Debra let out a ‘hmm’ and Kiyana furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m just saying, it was hella cute how he went after Dr. Daniels for you.”

“Ms Deb…” Key trailed off with a roll of her eyes.

“And Seeing y’all standing next to each other.” She whistled and flagged herself with her hand. “Y’all one hot couple.”

“That got a divorce for a reason..”

Debra raised an eyebrow, sensing Kiyana's discomfort. "I get it, I get it," she said, her voice softening. "But seriously though, it must've been nice having some time off with your boys. You needed that."

“Yeah I really did.” She whispered, biting her lip as another flash of her and Josh kissing popped in her head.

Kiyana went through the rest of the day thinking about Josh; she had to stop herself from texting him about six different times. Instead she texted Samara who called her and literally laughed on the phone. Kiyana had hung up on her… she was not in the mood.

As she walked back towards her station after her lunch break she was floored to see a beautiful bouquet waiting near where she normally sat. Debra gave her a teasing smile and nodded her head towards the card. Kiyana rolled her eyes and picked the card up, her heart hammering in her chest as she started to read it.

I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you, to us. But being with you the other day, I realized how much I fucked up and I hope you can find it in you to give me a chance to fix everything. Ps. sorry us Fatu men keep giving you a hard time. Love Josh

soooo.. what do you guys think? Y'all thonk Kiyana is gonna forgive him for the afffair? Or y'all think she just gone use him to get her rocks off lol?

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

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#jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso fanfiction #main event jey uso #jey uso x reader #jey uso fanfic #jey uso smut #jey uso fic #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso x oc #jey uso x y/n #jey uso x you #wwe fanfiction #wwe x fem reader #wwe x oc #wwe x black reader #wwe x reader

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jsprnt · 8 months ago

Text

your husband loves taking care of you, especially when you're 35 weeks pregnant.

virgil van dijk x pregnant!reader

original request: love your work, could you write a pregnant!reader and Virgil? X

A/N: thank you! this one was so fun to write <3

W/C: 1.640

you shift into another position, again. The soft couch and cushions doing wonders for your back, but still, you couldn’t sleep in your favorite position. Just flat on your stomach, your swollen baby bump not even allowing you to sleep well at night, or take a nap in the quiet hours before dinner time. you felt like you were about to pop, but you still had five weeks to go before your estimated due date.

you had the gender reveal party, which consisted of your and virgil’s closest family members and friends. you both were having a babygirl, the nursery was already cutely designed with a pretty crib and dresser. the baby shower your friends surprised you with was thrown already a couple weeks ago, and not to forget the sweet babymoon virgil and you had gone on. the pretty islands in greece had been a beautiful sights to share with your husband.

the sound of a car parking in the driveway has you halting for a moment. your eyes drift over to the clock on your living room wall. it was past five in the evening already, which meant your husband had returned from training.

you slowly, but carefully get up from your position on the couch, sitting up instead. compression socks alleviating some of the swelling of your legs and feet, your eyes dart to the gray coffee table, full of- everything you could need when being half-immobile. tissues, multiple empty cups, a plate of lazily cut up pickles, a half eaten box of cookies-

“there’s my beautiful wife!” you suddenly hear, swollen, drowsy eyes looking towards your surprisingly very enthusiastic husband. his hands seemingly full of familiar takeout bags as he closes the front door to your home.

virgil’s high energy, even after his intensive training, manages to put a small smile on your face. you hear him take his coat off and wash his hands. so, you stand up, walking- no waddling towards him in the kitchen.

“hi, missed you..” you mumble, feeling him wrap his arm around your back, softly rubbing up and down your sides. you sigh in delight, leaning against his tall and muscular frame, resting your head on his chest. soft sweater grazing your sensitive skin.

“me too, baby.” he mutters, kissing your forehead tenderly.

“I got your favorite takeout. you’re hungry, right?” he asks, thumb rubbing your hips.

your eyes light up, and you nod eagerly. your pregnancy cravings were all over the place. from wanting your usual takeout, to a weird obsession with pickles and chocolate, and the most difficult of all: an icy, crispy red bull. since it wasn’t pregnancy-safe, you definitely didn’t risk it, but your mouth just watered at the thought of taking a sip of the carbonated, sweet energy drink.

“then let’s eat some food. I’m starving...” he says, guiding you to the kitchen island. he’d switched out the bar stools, shortly after your second trimester had started, exchanging them for chairs with a backrest, just for your comfort and convenience.

you watch him grab the takeout, unpacking the dishes.

“you got me the vegetarian one right?” you ask, raising your brows. virgil turns, nodding as he transfers stir fry noodles into a dish and slides it in front of you.

ever since you got pregnant, you detested the smell of meat. virgil being the sweet man he is, did research with his own nutritionist to see how you could still get all the vitamins and nutrients you needed without having to eat meat.

“here baby, eat up.” he mutters, giving you a fork, before walking towards the fridge. he grabs two cans of sparkling iced tea, coming back to sit next to you as you both dig into your meal.

“how was training?” you mumble, chewing down your food, maybe a little too fast.

“good, we were in the gym the entire day- slow down baby, the food isn’t going anywhere..” he chuckles, reaching into the takeout bag and retrieving the napkins. wiping sauce off the corner of your mouth with one.

you both continue eating the delicious food, Virgil’s hand soothingly running down your back every now and then.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.” he says, cleaning off the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

“can I join? can’t get my hair wet though..”

“sure baby, let’s go.” he quickly says, helping you off the chair and into the bathroom.

“my legs have been killing me..” you mutter, watching virgil take your compression socks off. you were glad you didn’t need them on your hands, though your fingers had gotten pretty swollen. prompting virgil to gift you a chain you could hang your wedding ring on, to wear as a necklace instead.

you allow him to guide you into the shower, his hand settling on the small of your back in support. virgil chuckles deeply as he watches your makeup melt off with the touch of the streaming warm water. he made sure to put on your shower cap beforehand.

“you wore makeup? where did you go today?” he asks, allowing you to reach up and take off his hair tie, dark curls falling to the side of his face.

“went for brunch with the girls. it was so good..” you answer, allowing virgil to run the soapy washcloth down your body, making sure to clean you up nicely. paying extra attention to scrub your legs, since you couldn’t reach down, you needed his help more often than not.

grabbing a fresh towel, he wraps you in it. allowing you to walk out of the bathroom and sit on your bed. waiting for him wash himself.

that’s what you loved about him, he always put you first. whether it was you eating first, getting dressed, falling asleep, or anything at this point in your pregnancy.

you quickly grab your undergarments and loungewear, going back to sit on your bed. towel wrapped snuggly against your body, as you take off your shower cap and wipe the extra moisture on the towel.

you look up to see virgil walk out of the bathroom, towel hanging on his hips. you lean back, admiring him, a small smirk forming on your lips.

“what?” he asks, smirk clearly on his face too as he walks up to you.

“oh, nothing, just admiring what’s mine..”

“really? let me admire what’s mine too then..”

he cups your face as you look up, his wet hair falling in front of his face as a single drop of water drips down onto your cheek. a low chuckle leaving his lips as he swipes it away with his thumb.

he helps you get dressed before the two of you get too distracted, not forgetting to rub bio-oil and lotion on your bump and body. the both of you snuggling up together on the couch. your head laying on his broad chest, tatted arm wrapped around your back.

You pause for a moment, feeling your daughter kick against your uterus. you feel virgil’s hand running against your clothed bump, you place your own hand next to his. feeling her kick was still the most out of body experience to the both you. you could’ve sworn you felt the outlines of her little feet as she kicked like didn’t want you to rest tonight.

“active today, isn’t she?” your husband asks, kissing your temple.

“just like her daddy..” you raise your bows, grinning. the consequences of having an athlete as your partner.

“she’ll definitely be as beautiful as her mommy..” he responds, causing your grin to grow into a bright smile.

“what do you want to watch, hm?” he asks, looking down at you, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“love is blind, the new episode is out.”

he chuckles, his chest vibrating against your cheek as you watch him turn the tv on with the remote.

in the beginning of your relationship he wasn’t too keen on watching shows or movies like that, but the second there was some drama unfolding, he immediately got hooked and it became a thing you both did to wind down after busy days.

“wait- can you grab snacks?” you ask, looking up from his chest. you knew he couldn’t say no to you, because he looked like he had melted at the sight of your face already.

“your cravings are really going off the rails, aren’t they?” he asks, placing a kiss on your lips before slowly getting up.

“don’t see the problem!” you exclaim, looking over to see him open the kitchen cabinets and grab a bag of crisps and salty popcorn, transferring it into bowls before walking back over to you.

“here you go, for my hungry monster..” he teases, prompting you to roll your eyes playfully.

you both start watching the hour long episode, empty bowls on your lap by the end of it. though, you both don’t move from your spot on the couch, virgil’s hand soothing on your slightly aching, lower back.

“you okay?” he asks, your own hand resting on his bicep.

“back hurts a bit, baby’s getting heavy..” you mutter.

“I’m know, sorry love. do you need anything?” he asks, kissing your temple and rubbing your back more thoroughly. he had a tendency to ask what you wanted or needed, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“just- can I ask you something?” you begin, holding back a grin. he’d done enough to make you feel comfortable already.

“yeah?”

“would you mind if I broke your fingers during delivery?” you chuckle, having a laugh. knowing he would probably let you squeeze the absolute life out of his hands.

“of course, during delivery you can squeeze and cuss me out all you want..” he smiles, brushing his thumb against your baby bump.

you did cuss him out, but breaking his fingers, almost…

#virgil van dijk #football imagines #football fanfic #virgil van dijk fanfiction #liverpool fanfic #liverpoolimagines #virgil van dijk x reader #virgilvandijk #football #liverpoolfc #virgilvandijk imagines #virgilvandijkimagines #virgil van dijk blurb #liverpoolfc blurb #football blurb

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starlost-mochi-x · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!:) Sorry if you busy but could I ask you something? I was thinking if you could do something where you have frequent migraines and Felix is there to take care of you and comfort you. Thanks (and also I waned to say that I love your writing). Bye 😘

awww thank you TT so sweet. hehe sorry this took me so long, anon... i had this in my drafts for ages but it's here now ! here you go <3

haze - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: felix helps you out when you get a migraine

genre: fluff, idol! au, jisung is goofy at the start (but what's new tbh), chan is helpful (again, what's new), not proofread nyehehe, softie lix, bit angsty, reader gets migraines :(

a/n: comments, likes, reblogs appreciated <3 divider from @chilumitos

You laugh just as Jisung shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth, grinning wildly as sauce stains the corners of his mouth. Minho slaps him on the back and Chan chides him frantically, reaching across Minho's lap to wipe sauce off Jisung's mouth. At this point, your stomach hurts from laughing so hard, a slightly painful but gleeful ache settling in the pit of your stomach. Next to your side, Felix is doing the exact same, and you both lean heavily on each other as the sound of chattering and excitable laughing fills the night air.

Felix was getting together with the boys for a night out, and had invited you along, knowing that the boys would be pleased to see you. You had gladly agreed, having nothing else to do apart from sit at home and scroll through your phone. Felix had driven the both of you to the restaurant where you were meeting the boys. Stepping out of the car, the cold, chilly air of the evening had hit you both straight in the face, and you had grinned just as the rest of the boys had come bounding up.

Jisung had tackled you in a full-blown hug, Minho and Seungmin both having to pry him off you, while Chan wrestled with Changbin's arms that were wrapped tightly around Felix. You'd been released, slightly breathless, but so, so glad to see them. Their schedules hadn't allowed for much personal time, so it was lovely to be able to sit with them under the deep gloaming of the sky and eat to your hearts' content.

It had been so long.

Finally controlling your laughter, you held onto Felix's arm to keep yourself upright, wiping away a stray tear of mirth just as Jisung choked. Chan let out a yelp, moving to Jisung's side, and Hyunjin slapped his friend harshly on the back, trying to dislodge the food.

Felix and you bent over wheezing just as Jisung cleared his airways, flipping two thumbs in the air and grinning. Your head was beginning to hurt from the laughing but you brushed it off as the rowdy group continued with the meal.

The night progressed smoothly for the next few hours, the boys talking and laughing and chattering, and you doing the exact same. Your head was beginning to throb slightly and you sipped on your drink, the iced, saccharine, carbonated drink doing nothing to ease the growing aching in your temples. Pressing your thumbs discreetly to the space under your eyes, you breathed deeply, trying to still the aching throb. When that didn't work, you dropped your hands, sighing. Guess you'd be nursing a headache for the rest of the night. You clenched the cold glass in your hand, the condensation dripping off and forming a ring on the varnished table underneath. Felix nudged you suddenly, his eyes alight with the soft, golden glow from the street fairy lights hanging overhead. His voice was soft, considering the fact he'd been pretty much yelling excitedly for most of the night.

"You okay?" he smiled, leaning down a little to peer into your eyes.

You nod mutely, not wanting to exacerbate the pain in your head, and not wanting to risk ruining the night for Felix. It'd been so long since he'd been able to just enjoy himself, no dance practices, no promotions, no fansigns or vocal lessons. Just him and his friends.

And you.

But it felt like your head had been split in half. A searing pain shot through your forehead, followed by a dull ache where the bridge of your nose met your eyelids. You clenched your fists, trying to stop a rush of frustrated tears. Why did you always have to ruin everything?

Felix, noticing your worrying lack of response, placed a reassuring, warm hand on your thigh. He leaned down a little more, eyes filled with concern and a little confusion.

"Sunflower?" he spoke lowly, just loud enough for only you to hear. "What's wrong? You look pale..." he took your hand, squeezing it lightly. You saw Minho and Hyunjin glance at you out of the corner of your eye, seemingly worried, or curious. Or both. Hyunjin looked away hastily just as Felix leaned in to kiss your forehead. Taking your hand, he stood up, and so did you, with some difficulty.

"Where are you going?" Chan said, eyebrows furrowed in concern. He looked between you and Felix, rising out of his seat a little.

"Home," was Felix's reply.

A chorus of disappointed awwws and protests arose from the group. Felix only gripped your hand tighter.

"Why?" asked Jeongin.

You collapse back into your seat, unable to stand any longer. Your ears were ringing and your knees felt weak. The fatigue had spread to every part of your body and you weren't sure if you were even going to make it home. Doubling over, you plant your forehead onto the table with a thud, groaning at the pain.

Nervous, concerned murmuring breaks out amongst the group before Chan waves them silent with a hand. You feel Felix's hand on your bicep and around your waist, Chan's forearm looping around your other arm. They both stand and begin walking down the street, where Felix parked the car. You hear him give the boys a half-hearted goodbye before he's focusing on getting you inside the car. You hear Chan murmuring before the door opens and you're back in the passenger seat, the smell of leather and Felix's favourite cologne filling your nose. You see Felix hug his friend, then Chan's hand affectionately running through your hair, then the door shuts and Felix is driving home.

The drive home feels like ages.

You balance precariously on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness, the world outside the window swirling into a blurry haze. Your head feels numb. You barely register a pair of warm, steady arms wrapping around your frame, and then suddenly, you're in bed, Felix's hand smoothing over your forehead. He tilts your head back and gives you medication, elevating your legs on a thick pillow once your restricting jeans have been gotten rid of.

You feel him gently tugging off the rest of your clothes to avoid making you overheat, and you do your best to help, but he rubs your limbs and shushes you quietly before turning the AC on and covering you with a thin, breathable blanket. It's not long before he undresses and slips into bed next to you, burrowing into the blankets the way he always does. He lets out a pleased squeak at the warmth before he turns over, his hand coming out from underneath the blanket to trace little patterns over your stomach. You feel him doodling hearts, and even through the pain, you can't help the little smile that tweaks at the corners of your mouth. You weakly reach a hand out and touch his cheek, just as you begin to fall into the deep, immuring sleep of the utterly ill and exhausted.

Felix kisses your palm, light as a feather, before tucking his head into the juncture of your neck. He murmurs something, very quietly, into the soft skin.

"I love you, sunflower."

a/n: i hate getting headaches :( just the worst

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