#gimme all the dog content

[theflyingfeeling]

Olli has such big, sad Bambi eyes I don't know what to do with myselllffffffff 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

[thebestofoneshots]

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. Mostly canon-compliant. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Read Gilded Constellations on AO3

Read the French Translation by @nagareboshi-chiyo

Paring: Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x reader / Wolfstar x reader

Chapter average: 5k - 6.5 k

Content: Smut in later chapters, Poly!Marauders, throuple, graphic descriptions of violence, MAJOR and minor character death (this is The Marauders Era guys, you know), jealousy, angst, pining, love triangle, LGBTQ+ themes, The Wizarding war 1.0, implied child abuse, possible proofreading errors, mental health struggles, hurt no comfort, hurt with comfort, period typical attitude, first war with Voldemort, canonical character's death, fluff, Requited Love, F/M/M, mostly canon-compliant.

Status: Ongoing (Weekly updates)

♡ Indicates SMUT

PLAYLIST

01 | Summer Breeze

02 | Escape

03 | Bitter Sweet Symphony

04 | Rainy Days and Mondays

05 | Good times

06 | Crazy Little Thing Called Love

07 | Peaceful Easy Feeling

08 I Fooled Around and Fell in Love

09 | The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke

10 | Black Dog

11 | Do Ya

12 | You really got me

13 | Rebel, Rebel

14 | Maybe I’m Amazed

15 | No One Like You

Interlude (Q&A Event)

16 | Boogie Wonderland

17 | Tonight’s What It Means To Be Young

18 | Friends will be Friends

19 | Silver Bird

20 | Bad Moon Rising

21 | Fox on the Run

22 | Long Long Way From Home

23 | Hungry Eyes

24 | Peace of Mind

25 | I’ll get Even With You

26 | Hooked on a Feeling

27 | Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

28 | If You Want BIood, (You’ve Got It)

29 | With a Little Help From My Friends

30 | Bridge Over Troubled Water

31 | Strange Magic

32 | Come a Little Bit Closer

33 | More Than a Feeling

34 | You Belong to Me

35 | Chill of Desire

36 | Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

37 | Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

38 | Let the Good Times Roll

39 | Running With the Pack

40 | Hot Stuff

41 | Urban Adventure

42 | Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

43 | Sympathy for the Devil

44 | No One But You

45 | Hold The Line

46 | Comfortably Numb

47 | Let Me Take You Home Tonight

48 | Dust in the Wind

49 | High Hopes

50 | Love the One You're With ♡

51 | Some Guys Have All The Luck ♡

52 | Twentieth Century Fox

53 | Too Much Love Will KiII You

54 | Sail Away Sweet Sister

55 | Noone Together

56 | Who Wants To Live Forever

57 | Play the Game

58 | Staying Power

59 | Break on Through

60 | Stone in Love

61 | Mr. Blue Sky

62 |

63 |

64 |

65 |

66 |

67 |

68 |

69 |

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BONUS TRACKS:

Your Theories, The Note, The Costumes, Sirius and the Chimney, Sirius and Vix after the bad moon, Evans and Vixen, Remus and Vixen at the infirmary, Remus holding Sirius at DADA, Remus and Sirius’ height difference, the FOXSTAR picture, Art by @nineloseteeth, We're going French,

Leave a comment telling me if you want to join the tag list

A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly. 

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 

What a funny thing. 

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward. 

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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[todorokies]

2:48pm - satoru gojo

contents: fluff, established relationship, fem!reader, teen!gojo or adult!gojo u can imagine whichever, found family trope, megumi & tsumiki are some vv young lads here (they’re like 8 & 9 years old), this is a kinda unserious ngl

a/n: the found family trope will always hold a special place in my heart

“what the hell are you doing?!”

the sight in front of you was absolutely distasteful, nothing could’ve prepared you for the horrors that displayed in the comfort of your own home. not even a trip to the ninth circle of hell could mentally equip you with strength to deal with this troublesome…mess.

satoru’s elongated body currently rests in a downward dog postion as his hands are occupied with his left being on a red circle and the right on a blue circle.

you would think the children that you left in his care would be participating in the child’s game of twister, but that was far from the truth as satoru’s hostages —megumi and tsumiki— sat criss-crossed off the game mat as they shared the same puzzled look with you.

“oh hey baby! we missed you- megs gimme a hand here and spin the wheel for me.” your mouth comically drops so fast you’d think you were in an episode of a cartoon.

with a deep scowl present on his face, the young megumi reluctantly shifts closer to the spinner giving it a weak twirl that eventually lands on ‘right foot, green.’ miraculously, satoru is able to cross his foot over on a green circle in a way that shouldn’t be considered humanly possible.

your boyfriend is gonna break a bone or two if you don’t stop this tomfoolery.

you crouch down to be face to face with him. “you do realize you’re supposed to be looking after the kids while i was gone…not traumatizing them, right?” he raises his head to look at you, “traumatizing them? nonsense! a good game of twister always builds character.”

“a good game of them watching you play alone will build character for them how exactly?”

“well obviously i couldn’t let them play. i wouldn’t want to risk toppling them over and letting them lose in a game that requires skill.”

with that, tsumiki and megumi gets up from their spots on the floor and make their way to the entryway to pick up the snacks you dropped in disarray upon arrival. “but you lost to both me and megumi before…i don’t know why he’s lying.”

ego bruised, he dramatically collapses on the twister mat, “you weren’t suppose to tell her that!” a genuine belly laugh escapes from your mouth, heading towards the couch to high-five the kids who just finished putting away the groceries and had two family sized potato chip bags in their laps.

“good job guys! next time record it on his phone for me.” they both nodded with enthusiasm.

satoru dramatically whines while planting his face in the palm of his hands while striding over to your dvd rack to choose a movie for the night. “cut me some slack, did you really expect me ruin the game for the kids?”

you quizzically contemplate your answer with a finger on your chin and satoru could practically see the sfx question mark above your head. “oh come onnnn!”

you then walk over to the now sulking white haired boy to delicately place both of your hands on his smooth face earning a groan from megumi combined with fake gagging sounds from tsumiki.

“if it makes you feel any better i think they secretly enjoy your antics. tsumiki told me about the tea party you guys had; with tiaras and everything yeah?” he slowly nodded unsure of what you’re trying to get at.

“and you bought megumi that nintendo ds he was subtly hinting for…my point is that they appreciate you so much even if they act like they don’t; i appreciate you.”

satoru’s whole demeanour does a turnaround. smiling gleefully at you as his dimples showcase in all of it’s glory. “i mean, yeah, they don’t wanna admit it to your face in case it’ll hurt your feelings…” his hand inches towards to your neck lightly ghosting above your velvety skin whilst slowly leaning in as his eyes flicker to your lips. “…but i think i’m their favourite parent.”

before his soft lips could capture yours two potato chips come flying in your direction as a sour expression sits upon tsumiki and megumi’s face. “ewww guys! remember we still need to pick something to watch.”

megumi huffs, “and can we not watch ice age for the millionth time i don’t care how much gojo likes that movie.”

reblogs & feedback is appreciated!! <3

[nqify]

faceriding hcs? like extra sloppy, messy, nasty yk. spit, slurping all the noiseeeee aaaaaaaa plsplspls!

the amount of people that actually requested this!!! it’s filling my request box lmaooo!! this is for all the ppl that wanted face riding hcs UR WELCOME

face riding headcanons. — miles quaritch ☆

pairings. na’vi!miles quaritch. fem!reader

content warnings. oral for f!reader. dirty talk. lil spit play. and ofc daddy kink duh?.

note. y’all were rlly onto smth requesting this!! I 100% headcanon quaritch to get pussy drunk!!

so we can agree on that miles loves eating pussy. he doesn’t do it for you, oh no, he does it for himself. the way your body struggles and shakes just by his tongue and fingers??? def makes go through the roof.

so when u asked him, “uh, miles, can i sit on your face?” oh this boy is going feral. he’s ears would perk up and his tail would start to wag a little, literally a dog.

bc this guy has a size kink he would love and I mean LOVE!! having you on top of him. The way ur body is so small compared to his and the fact ur struggling just to sit comfortably on his lap. HE IS IN AWE

youd be a little nervous to sit on his face, like duh?? this guy is so hot and u don’t want him to die. but he reassures you, “no, no, it’s okay mama, ride my face, c’mere”

your legs would wrap around the sides of his head, his big hands would settle on the back of your thighs, “don’t be so nervous baby, ima make u feel so good” u r purring fr

this guy is so sloppy and noisy when he eatsFR!! he’s slurping, humming and groaning in your pussy!!! “shit baby, u taste so good”

you’d be hesitant to grind on his face, only doing little movements instead, but OHNO!! this mf wants u to literally ride his face. He’d grab your thighs to lift you off his face a little to say, “mama, need u to ride my face, you can do that can’t you?? u wanna make daddy happy right?” YOU R WHIMPERING AND NODDING!!

you start to slowly grind on him, his hands having a firm grip on your thighs. you can practically hear him moaning in your pussy, “mmm so good” or or “want more, gimme more mm” GIRL!!!:&!,&,

GETS PUSSY DRUNK YEPYEP!! y’all have to listen to me on this one. miles loves ur pussy, like is in love with it. so when u ride his face, it def triggers smth in him. He starts to mumble under his breathe, he gets more vocal and I mean vocal like WHINING!!! he’s just so pussy drunk

lets just say your rlly get into it, riding him and shit and all of a sudden miles says, “fuck baby, gimme more, I want more of pussy pls” HOLY SHIT WHAT???

Now now, he will not go all subby and bottom out. That ain’t him!!! he’ll just start to get more whiney with his words, more eager to have ur pussy.

Youve already came three times now and miles still hasn’t had enough. Like I told you, he eating you out for his pleasure not yours girl!! “you can cum one more time right baby?? yeah? u can??, good girl” yeah ur cumming over and over again

cuz he’s so pussy drunk his dirty talk gets so much more hotter. Like omg, “shit mama, ur pussy is fucking delicious, gonna eat it every day, u hear me baby? gonna make ur pretty pussy such a mess for me, mm” oror when ur about to cum, “yeah keep going princess, keep grinding on my tongue, gimme ur cum baby, need it bad” He’s literally begging for you at this point.

kinda feel like miles would use face riding as some sort of punishment for you. like he’d make u sit on his face and force out every orgasm you have.

just imagine your being the biggest brat ever. Not listening to a word he’s saying and just being a big tease. This guys pulls you to your shared bed and makes u cum OVER AND OVER AGAIN!! OVERSTIMULATION KINK BRRR

he has full control over you, holding your thighs still, while overstimulating ur poor pussy!! girl u r aching rn, “had to be such a brat huh? u just wanted daddy’s attention didn’t you?? yeah that’s right, c’mon baby, cum for me”

def would spank you. ur doing smth he didn’t like, or ur going outta line, SPANK!!! just bc your on top of him doesn’t mean u get control. He wants u to let you know that ur pussy is his and his only, “who’s pussy is this baby?” he’d slap your clit a little, “yours miles!!” girl GIRL, “say that again mama, who’s pussy is this?” yours daddy

bc this guy is a messy eater he will spit on ur pussy. Like cmon now??? Ur grinding on him and all of a sudden BOOM spit on ur pussy!! he wants it to get messy and sloppy, he absolutely loves it when it runs down his chin cuz later UR LICKING THAT OFF FR!!!

hey loves!!! sooo requests are still open but only for a little while longer. send through all the stuff u can now before they close🫶🏼🫶🏼

[ultralightpoe]

Tiktok Trouble Pt 2- Jake Seresin

Authors Note: LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO SEE MORE 

Word Count: 2253

Warnings: Allusions to smexy times

Description: You love pranking your husband, and tiktok loves it too

Authors Plea: Hey guys! I love likes and reblogs and I thank you all so so much. BUT I LIVE FOR COMMENTS! I really enjoy when you guys tell me what you like and dislike and what you want to see more of, so I beg for more comments. LOVE YOU ALL!

Enjoy!

The morning of your errands had started off salty with Jake, who content with bitching about everything, and you had gotten just as snippy with him considering you had been in such a good mood when you both left the house. But he had worn you down, now you were sitting in the car with your thighs sticking to his leather seats like crazy (he hated air conditioning and the heat was just clinging to you) while he ran in and grabbed what he needed from this store. 

Normally Jake would take you in with him, but today he made a snippy comment about not wanting to be in there forever so you rolled your eyes and turned the music up as he got out, cracking the windows like you were a dog. 

It’s here you got the idea.

You had taken a break from posting pranks on tiktok, your guys’ sink had actually busted (Jake was so happy he watched the videos) and one of his old navy brothers had lost their lives so you both had flown out for the funeral. After that everything just seemed to be too busy, and Jakes mood was ever so cranky as of late. But today seemed like a good day to try and lighten the mood. So you set up your phone and waited, once you saw him come out of the store you began fighting something in the backseat. 

Jake, as first, seems to think you are looking for something and when he gets into the car he slaps your thigh lightly. “What’d you lose?”

“NOTHING! BUT THIS BITCH HAS LOST HER MIND!” You snap and start swinging at an imaginary figure in the back. Jake stops and stares at you, leaning against his door as he tries to figure out what is going on while you act out a very angry fight. 

“What. Is. Happening?”

“Bubs, she’s running her fucking mouth to me right now- seriously? No YOUR MOM-” You are about to swing at the air again and he catches your hand, pulling you back and reaching to feel your forehead. 

“We should get you some water-”

“Mind your fucking business!” You shout to the back and your husband nods aggressively and turns to the back to snap out a ‘bitch’ before turning to you and moving to buckle you in. 

“You tell her. You tell that….bitch?” He really doesn’t seem to know what to do, so he simply buckles you and reaches for the water bottle he brought, that’s when he sees your phone. “Oh for the love of-”

You’re laughing your ass off and he’s covering his face as you turn off the video. “Really?! I was so confused!”

“I’m sorry. You were being such a sourpuss this morning and I HAD TO!” You laugh, kissing his elbow as he continues rubbing his face.  “Love you bubs.”

“I love you too. Even when I think you’re batshit crazy.”

—------------------------

COMMENTS:

“The thigh slap- PLEASE LORD I’LL BE GOOD-”

“LMAO, when he finally just gives in and helps”

“SNSJKSJJANNX X I WANT THEM BOTH! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!”

“Y/n has now proven she can fight anyone that tries to take her man”

—-----------------------

“Sugar?!” Jake calls from the bottom of the stairs, tapping his foot a little impatiently as he waits for your response. You, being the perfect wife who would never do anything wrong in her life ever, closed out the webpage of adoptable dogs that your husband specifically said no to and ran to the stairs. 

“Yeah bubs? What’s up?” You smile, watching his face morph into suspicion. 

“Didn’t like that one bit- but I need to run to the store and figure out what pipes match our sink. You’ll be okay here?”

“Will I be okay in the air conditioned house with my handsome husband out going to get stuff for our sink? All lonely and sad and ever so hor-”

“Okay okay, just gimme a kiss.” He laughs, waiting for you to run down the stairs and kiss him before you get an idea and run back up the stairs as he leaves. 

You snatch your phone and film a quick video of him getting into the car before screen recording yourself texting him ‘Come over he just left’ once you are sure he’s down the block.  Then you wait, until you hear a sharp screech and see his car zooming into the driveway. You set up your phone to record on his dresser and run to your shared bathroom as he books it up the stairs. 

“Y/n?” He asks when he reaches the bedroom, looking nothing less of pissed. 

“Yeah bubs? I thought you were going out?” You call from the bathroom, fixing your hair as you waited. 

“I decided that you broke the sink and should come with me.” He says sternly, crossing his arms and leaning on your dresser, the camera catching his jaw flex perfectly.  You swing the door open with wide eyes looking nothing less than excited. 

“Can we stop for pops?” You know he loves when you say pops instead of soda, and he tries not to smile. 

“As soon as you tell me what dumbass you were trying to sleep with in OUR BED.” He snaps, giving you a tight lipped smile with his arms still crossed. 

“Ohhhh yeah…. About that….” You smile, pointing to the camera and watching his face relax instantly. “Say hi to your fans bubs-”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs, pulling you in to kiss you before standing up and walking to the door. “Grab your phone and purse. You’re still coming with me.”

—--------------------

COMMENTS:

“Girl, he’s MILITARY. Are you trying to get hit?”

– “STFU, that man does not hit woman unless they ask. Watch their other vids”

“The way his arms flex when he crosses them. I see now why she likes pissing him off.”

“They f***ed in the car. FOR SURE”

—--------------------

Before Jake got home from work you had hot glued the olive jar while taping it, then started cooking dinner while you waited. When you heard the sound of his keys in the door you started filming, leaving your phone on the table as you moved back to the stove. 

“Evenin’ Sugar.” He smiles, moving to you and kissing your shoulder as you move a cheek to him so he can kiss that as well. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Your in a good mood, that southern drawl comes out when you are.” You smile, watching him set his keys on the counter and reach across you to steal a green bean.

“Watched Rooster do 100 pushups.” He laughs before wrapping his arms around you. “What time do your parents get here?”

“About an hour- can you open that jar for me?” You ask sweetly pointing to the jar of olives you had glued. 

“What do I get out of it?” He teases, already snatching the jar. He tugs on it once, twice, then he gets frustrated and puts all his strength into it, face pinching up as he grunts out. “You’re kidding me..”

“Can’t get it?” You ask, moving closer as he tries again, grunting and turning red. “How about you go get changed and try again when you come back?”

He nods, setting it down with a face of disbelief and allowing you to kiss his cheek before running off to change. You snatch the jar and take it to the fridge, replacing it with the jar you hadn’t glued, setting it up. When you know he is within eyepoint you grab the fresh jar and pop it open with ease. 

“WOAH BABY!” He laughs, picking you up and spinning you around. “I married she hulk.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“Now you’re just hurtin my feeling- HEY GOTCHA!” He spots the camera, keeping you lifted in one arm while he points at it. “You tried messing with me and I busted ya-”

“Okay okay- put me down.” You laugh, gripping his shoulder to not fall. “Bubs-”

“Nope!” He laughs, reaching for the sink hose and dousing you with it making you squeal. 

—--------------

COMMENTS:

“I think he is finally catching on”

“Making us all wet- oop”

—---------------

The next prank a whole two weeks, both of you getting busy with work and not having much time together besides sleeping, but you finally had a day off….which meant torturing your husband obviously.

You had woken up before him and gotten ready, doing your hair and makeup just the way he liked whilst picking an outfit you knew he loved before walking downstairs and putting a little heart over the date on the calendar just to fool him a little more. 

He trudged downstairs while you were on the phone with your parents, taking a second to lean on the counter and admire you while drinking the coffee you already prepared for him, wiggling his eyebrows when you turned to him while talking. 

What he didn’t know was that you were talking on a fake phone whilst yours was hidden on a shelf filming him. “Yes! I’m very excited for tonight, I think Jake is gonna try to surprise me.”

His eyebrows stop wiggling and pinch together in confusion as he pulls the cup away from his lips, mouthing a ‘what’ as you point to the calendar and then leave the room to keep ‘talking to your parents’.

Your husband looks at the calendar and sees the heart, head snapping to the side as he tries to think about what today was supposed to be. “Crap crap crap-”

The only problem came when your phone actually started ringing, drawing his attention to where it was hidden to film. “AHA!”

You laugh from the other room, knowing you were busted and the prank had failed, walking in to watch him flip the camera off and turn it off. “You haven’t been on your a game , lovely wife. I expect better.”

“Bring it on then.” You smile, enjoying the cocky smile that fills his face. 

—------------

So you upped your game, you bought a couple cameras to hide around and you thought of some great ideas. Jake Seresin was gonna regret marrying you. 

The first day he was gone on a mission you decided that instead of worrying about your husbands safety you would rather learn the WAP dance to piss him off when he gets back. The day after his return he is laying on the couch with his eyes closed (you made him tired after a long night in his defense) and you decide that you want to show him a tiktok dance.

“Okay I’m gonna set up the phone here,” You explain, leaning it against your tv before taking a couple steps back for dancing room. 

“Oh so I know where the camera is this time?” He teases, you snort and try not to look where the mini camera is hidden by his game console. 

“Just watch-” You laugh, playing the song. His eyes widen when it starts playing and then you start dancing and he is shooting up. By the time the song got to the actual WAP part he is dashing to snatch you up of the floor. 

“No ma’am.” He laughs, hanging you in the air like a dog that just got busted.

“WAIT! THERE IS MORE!” You laugh as he goes to turn the phone off. 

“Sorry Sugar but I really don’t need the squad seeing my gorgeous wife dancin’ like a stripper all over the internet. Save it for the bedroom.” He sets you down and smacks your ass harshly while laughing before he leaves the room thinking you hadn’t gotten any of that on film….sucker.

—---------------

COMMENTS:

“THE LAUGH AFTER HE SPANKED HER! STFU FNJENFJDBSB”

“LET HER FINISH THE DANCE! NOOOOO-”

—----------------

“JAKE SERESIN!” You shout, winking to the camera that was hidden in the kitchen and wait. The second you shouted with an angry tone you heard his phone drop and the sound of his feet hitting the stairs to rush to you. Once you were sure he could see you, you pretend to be angry. 

You have your arms crossed and a harsh glare as he comes into the kitchen looking like a little puppy. 

“Yes Sugar?”

“You got something you wanna tell me?” You ask, taking a step back when he takes a step for you. His eyes flash hurt and for a second you wanna tell him it’s a prank, but you double down and wait. 

“I….I uhm- well…..I forgot our anniversary?” He guesses, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “No! Wait! I missed your families monthly dinner- no w-”

“Final answer?”

“Wait, Y/n baby, just tell me what I did. No gimme a hint.” He rushes, falling to his knees. THE MAN ACTUALLY FELL TO HIS KNEES, and grabbed at your thighs. You break then, laughing and grabbing his jaw softly. 

“Just a prank babe.” You smile, kissing his temple and he whips back to glare. 

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna make a tiktik and start pranking you!” He seethes and you crack up, but he shakes his head. “You’re laughing now, but you just started a war sugar.”

“Bring it on Bubs.”

“Oh I will.” He flips off your phone which makes you laugh harder already knowing that the phone wasn’t recording and he kisses your cheek before walking off. 

“See you soon…..”

—--------------

COMMENTS:

H_ngman: You have been warned!

Mrs.Bagman: Bring it on!!!

Authors Plea: Hey guys! I love likes and reblogs and I thank you all so so much. BUT I LIVE FOR COMMENTS! I really enjoy when you guys tell me what you like and dislike and what you want to see more of, so I beg for more comments. LOVE YOU ALL!

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] Eren comes home after a rough night at the bar with Jean. Unable to see him in such a state you decide to tend to his wounds… among other things… I'm talking about his dick. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, minor injuries, blood, marijuana, alcohol is mentioned, dubcon (Eren's high), biting, sadism, masochism, rough vaginal sex, no plot.

“So what exactly happened?” You asked as Eren trudged through the door of your apartment.

He hung his head, attempting to obscure his battered face. The lengthy sigh he let out filled the room with his exhaustion. You took a few steps closer to him while he dropped his keys on the floor. The metal colliding with the tile flooring destroyed any semblance of serenity once held in your home. You pulled him into a hug and he let out a pleased hum. His arms snaked around your waist and he held you close. The remnants of weed smoke and vetiver cologne filled your nose.

“Jean…” He said, tone dripping with subdued exasperation.

“What did he do?” You asked.

It was so hard to hide your desperate curiosity. You loved hearing about the inner workings of his social circle.

“He was mainlining adios motherfuckers all night.”

“What did he do? Black out and kick your ass?”

Eren chuckled. “You honestly think Jean could kick my ass?”

“Maybe. Jean does look like the kind of guy to hulk out when he drinks.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

You rubbed his back, each pat radiating affection.

“I’m kidding. Jean could never kick your ass.”

“He could, but it’s fine.” Eren dropped his arms and released you from his grip. “Can I tell you about it while you clean me up?”

You were finally granted a full view of his face. His right cheek was a strawberry scrape and showed the beginnings of a bruise. His bottom lip was split. The blood exuded from the cut had dried, leaving behind a swatch of maroon. What stood out the most was the fresh blood dripping from his right nostril. You took him by the hand and led him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and held his head in his hands, obscuring his face once more.

“Here,” you said, handing him a tissue.

He rolled it up and stuck it up his leaking nose.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying in vain to wriggle out of his pants.

You had little desire to see your beloved struggle. You kneeled before him and tugged at the jeans, peeling them off. A happy “phew” flew past his bloodied lip.

You grabbed all your first aid supplies and organized them on the ridge of the sink.

“Gimme the details.”

Eren sighed. “Jean decided to hit on every girl at the bar.”

You prepped a cotton ball with alcohol. “Every girl?”

“Maybe not every single girl, but he hit on every girl that had the shit luck of making eye contact with him.”

“Oh no. He was that guy.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “The last one he bothered was with her boyfriend on a date. I tried to tell him! But he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced it was because I wanted to fuck her. I even brought you up!”

“Aww!”

Eren ignored your little remark.

“Fuck. And you know what,” he said, tone bristling with repressed rage. “I wasn’t gonna say anything because Jean was drunk and I don’t even care about what that horsefaced shitdick thinks. But fuck it! He thinks you’re too good for me! Did you know that?”

You swiped his cheek with the cotton pad. A little squeak crawled up Eren’s throat as the alcohol came into contact with his scrape.

“Sorry,” you said softly.”

He looked at you with sad, tired puppy dog eyes, red rimmed from the blunt he shared with Historia and Ymir earlier in the evening.

“‘s okay,’ he mumbled.

His posture grew rounder, softer. A chiropractor would likely have a shit fit had they seen such a shoulder slump but not you. No, even with the little info available you were able to surmise Eren’s immense need to decompress. Why pick on him about his posture when he was already battered and bruised?

You suppressed the urge to tease him and crawled into his lap, straddling him. His Grecian body radiated a pleasant warmth. It felt like home. You brushed a few locks of hair away from his face and gave him a quick peck on the forehead.

“I actually wasn’t aware of that. You know why?” You asked.

“Hm?”

“Because it’s not true. I’m definitely shitty enough to be with you.”

“You have such a way with words,” he groaned as you tended to him. “Anyway, the girl’s boyfriend was pissed to say the least and tried to drag Jean outside the bar by his collar. It all happened so fast I—ouch! If I had been a little quicker…” Eren’s voice trailed off.

His viridescent eyes were pinched shut as you dabbed his face with another cotton ball imbibed with alcohol. Your touch, while gentle, felt like hundreds of needles pricking the apple of his cheek. It was a pain you were familiar with. You tried to be gentle yet thorough. Though each muted moan and wince from Eren made your clit pulse.

“Did the guy fight Jean?”

“He tried. But I got in between them. I thought I talked everyone down but out of nowhere the boyfriend must have heard a sleeper word because he ran at me and punched me in the face twice. The last one sent me into the wall which is why my cheek is all scratched up.”

“What a loser. Did you hit him back?”

Eren half-smirked. “No. Too high for that shit. I was more concerned about not breaking my phone and getting home in one piece. When I saw an out, I took off running.”

“Nooooo. What about Jean?”

The brunette giggled. “Just kidding. I took his phone and got him a Lyft. I did have to push him inside it, but I’m sure everything worked out.”

You couldn’t help but think about Jean fighting his way out of the car in desperate search for unsuspecting women to hit on. You snickered at the thought. Eren placed his hands on the small of your back.

“What’re you laughin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you said, rocking your hips slightly.

His green gaze was penetrating. Even the haze of weed and head trauma couldn’t dull it. Eren’s desire took precedence over all. It was an unrelenting force. You stroked his uninjured cheek.

“Does it hurt? Does it ache at all?”

“Yeah, but I think I know what will make it feel better.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what exactly would that be?”

Eren pressed his semi hard cock against your clothed cunt. He rocked his hips a little, eyes fixed on you, awaiting your reaction. You put your hands on his shoulders and slowly dragged them down his chest, his muscles taut against your palms. You smirked, reciprocated the pressure he provided by grinding up against him.

You pressed your lips against his and sucked lightly on his swollen bottom lip. The metallic taste of blood linger on your tongue as Eren let out a pained groan. He pulled away, betrayal fell upon his face.

“Sorry,” you demurred. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Alright, enough of that. Get up.”

You slid off of his body. He stood up and tossed you over his shoulder with a swiftness you didn’t think his stoned self was capable of. He carried you to the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed.

“Undress.”

You laid there, unmoving.

Eren sighed. “Undress… please?”

“‘kay.”

You eagerly stripped off your clothes and presented your naked body to him. He followed your lead and disrobed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

He crawled onto the bed, his ardor riddled gaze fixed on yours. His cock was tumescent, the tip pink and leaking precum. You longed to tongue the tip and savor the sweetness seeping out. He wrapped his hand around the length of his erection and stroked, leaving it slick and glistening.

You spread your legs and draped your arms over his shoulders and ran your hands down his muscled back, dragging your nails along the way. A pained groan fell from his lips. Your hands stopped on the apex of his ass and dug your fingertips into the delicate flesh.

“Too much?” You whispered in his ear.

“It’s fine,” he replied through a clenched jaw.

You gripped his cheeks harder as he slid his cock into your cunt. Eren’s hunger for pain embedded ecstasy into your existence. His hands roamed your body before one found its way to your swollen clit. His thumb encircled it, applying a hint of pressure as he drove his cock further inside you.

The muscles of Eren’s ass tightened as he bottomed out, his balls slapping up against your writhing body. Your fingers dug deeper into his skin, relishing in every groan that grew from the depths of his throat.

“Does it hurt?”

“Ye—yeah it does.”

“Good,” you growled. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You nipped at his neck and ran your tongue along the length of it. The piquant taste of his sweat dancing across your tastebuds. You wanted to lick him clean, get rid of all the sweat, blood, and stress that afflicted his evening. Eren deserved to be worshiped after the fuckery he waded through… Though he’d have to suffer a bit more.

“Shit!” He cried out as you proceeded to bite him.

Your eyes held an impish glint as he pushed your face away from him. He held you down by the shoulders and thrust into you like you were nothing more than a nameless hole. You missed having his thumb pressing on your clit, but this was nothing to complain about. You were on the verge of coming undone regardless.

“‘Ren—fuck—I’m close.”

Eren was silent, too focused on his cock touching your cervix to respond. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him gently. He welcomed the tenderness even if it took him by surprise. His hips skipped a beat and a trickle of cum entered your cunt. It felt as if the warmth was traveling through your veins, engulfing every inch of your body. Your breathing labored and you struggled to articulate your needs. You wanted to tell Eren how good his cock felt inside you, how happy you were that he was okay, and how badly you wanted to suck on his split lip.

You cried out his name as he pounded his cock into you, the tip now slamming into your cervix. Your body quivered under the weight of his and you felt as if you were ascending.

Eren held you close as your orgasm peaked, whispering the sweetest of words within your ears.

“That feel good, baby? You deserve it after taking such good care of me.”

“E—even though I made you blee—”

A breathy moan interrupted your sentence much to Eren’s enjoyment. He laughed and pulled his cock out, jerking off and aiming his tip at your stomach. He shut his eyes tight as a stream of pearlescent cum coated your skin. He hopped off the bed and grabbed the shirt he had been wearing previously. He wiped away his mess and gazed lovingly at you.

“I could use a shower. Join me?”

“Y—”

He cut you off. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Why ask me then?”

“... Due diligence?”

“I—I don’t think that’s what that means but… alright.”

[articdelilah]

ꕥWomen’s Dayꕥ

Happy International Women’s day!! I hope everyone had a lovely day today :] I thought this would also be the perfect excuse to write some demon slayer characters and what they would do for women’s days!! Also The internet NEEDS more Enmu content so I am here to deliver.

Warning!: Mention of spicy time (not in detail or anything), Muzan being a lil asshole (not surprising) and some very handsome demons. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Akaza

🌒

Akaza clears all his plans for women’s day!! He makes sure to have the day OFF. He finishes his missions on time and gets everything done before this day.

Literally always remembers and wakes you up with kisses on your face, gently murmuring “Good morning” as he sets a vase of flowers on the bedside table.

This day is so special to him, It’s the day he has an excuse to just shower you in love! Akaza makes this day like a second anniversary, He lives for it!

Silent late night walks in a forest near a river or stream, maybe a little picnic too^^ He admires the moonlight on your skin and the way you smile as you tug his arm to walk faster.

Chocolates, Flowers, Jewellery you name it! This guy is on top of his game and won’t let you down, Not like it’s even possible to be let down by Akaza BUT YK-

He’s your little puppy for the day! So cute

Akaza is so sweet 10/10 HUSBAND MATERIAL!

Douma

🌑

Okey so here’s the thing, Douma wouldn’t plan it. He probably forgot until one of his followers mentioned it or (if you have a calendar because lets face it Douma wouldn’t have one) He’d check a calendar and be like “Oh yeah!” *snaps fingers*

He’ll shower you with attention and love! His gifts include Jewellery and New clothes! If you like reading, Douma might find a way to get his sharp lil hands on a book you’ve wanted for a long time^^

I don’t think he’s such of a chocolates type guy though, That’s okey though! He makes up for it I promise!!

While he can’t eat normal human food, He’d make his followers make you some so he can munch on a human while you eat your normal food.

Unless you are a demon, then yippe! You share a human together 💖 So romantic

Douma is a clingy little dog (ignore that he is clingy no matter what day-)

9/10💖

Muzan

🌕

Muzan would definitely forget or perhaps he doesn’t really care?? Who knows.

Doesn’t see why it’s important. I mean, It’s not like he gets a ‘International Men’s day’ so he doesn’t see what’s so special in Women’s day (🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩)

Nevertheless, if he sees you upset about him not celebrating it then he’ll sigh and walk to your side, wish you a (Rather forced) happy women’s day and hug you. Muzan hugs are very rare, THATS HIS GIFT TO YOU

Don’t expect gifts. Don’t expect special treatment. Don’t expect worship. Don’t expect lovey dovey romantic dates.

It’s not like he doesn’t love you, Muzan loves you!! You are his Queen and he’d die without a second thought for you, its just that he thinks it’s stupid and its a waste of time to be upset about it.

-1/10. GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER MUZAN!

Enmu

🌔

I think everyone knows that Enmu treats you like a Goddess on the daily anyways but MY GOD

Maybe won’t give you flowers but his hands and eyes are all over you, He just can’t let you go for the whole day

He’s so sweet, He’ll do anything u say!! He’s so sweet it’ll make your teeth rot

You two probably share a meal of some sorts

Probably wrote you a poem for the occasion

If you are a demon, a picnic on top of the train is a must!! I wouldn’t recommend if you are a human though, Stream blowing directly on your face might cause respiratory issues-

Might turn a little spicy at the end of the night 🤭

9/10 GET YOURSELF A MAN LIKE ENMU (and pls gimme more Enmu fanfics I’m desperate 😭)

Kokushibo

🌗

Like with Muzan, He probably doesn’t remember. Infact, I don’t think he’d even know something like this existed. He won’t even notice until you confront him that it’s women’s day.

A bit confused tbh. Why is there a women’s day? What do you do on women’s day? Does this even exist or are you just trying to get him to pay attention to you? Is he supposed to give you something?

He’ll remember from that day on, Wishing you a Happy women’s day every year.

Maybe he’ll take you stargazing if you’re lucky

Give him loads of kisses! He’ll make it up to you by little gestures such as holding your hand or kissing your hand

6/10. Good effort Koku

Thank you so much for reading Sugar Cookie! Until next time!! Remember, Requests are open^^

[lalicaaaaa]

More content creator reader headcanons

because yall liked the last one here are more headcanons with content creator reader weh

in Isaac's new cooking video reader almost throws up because of the "pigs in a blanket"

in schlatts Wii extravaganza reader smashed a tv by throwing it across the room

Whenever softwilly or yumi comes out with a new album or song you make the edit for it for editor! Reader

You are mostly seen as the group’s manager but to be fr Isaac takes care of everything business wise

When the group went to Japan and into the hentia store you stood outside with a separate camera for your own little vlog and softwilly’s thumbnail is just you standing outside of the building with a thumbs up

You are Larry are like cocain and crack, different things but also some what the same. Once while softwilly was vlogging a shop outing you and Larry kept putting random stuff in the basket like kids and always giggling about it

You once broke one a schlatt’s cameras by kicking it while playing just dance and one of his office windows

Speaking of just dance you slay how you like that by black pink in just dance like you do all the moves and eat up while other people keep Messing up.

If your a kpop fan big T definitely has stolen some of your photo cards and keeps them in the back of his phone, you : “have you seen my chuu photo card?” Bug T : covering the back of his phone “no?”

Might break out into song like in A Last to Leave VC you start singing and dancing to Shut Down by black pink being all aggressive with the moves and you hit yourself in the head yumi started crying from laughing so hard

You force schlatt to buy you a 3DS so that you can play Tomodachi Life on stream and make him fall in love with Princess Peach

Your TikTok’s are so silly bro it just be the most random stuff like “take a dollar or play Valorant” “Gimme the dollar”

You hate Valorant, you don’t even know why you just have beef with the game

Your side eyes are so mean that you can say it all with one quick side eye to anyone and chills run down their spines.

Your dog is almost as messy as you are, he is a boxer and pitbull mix so people are naturally extra cautious around him but he's a sweetheart!

When going indoor skydiving with the group and schlatt, a reader took her dog and he was able to skydive with them everyone was just taking pictures of him and now he has a photo on the wall of the place.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part two - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

Trigger Warnings: violence against women ; fat-shaming

Part one here

She’s sore and exhausted by the time her shift ends, and all she really wants to do is snuggle up on the couch and re-watch The Exorcist III to do fair comparisons between here and the actual movie, but when she walks into the break room, Benny is sitting at the table with an empty, stained Pyrex container and smashed can of Pepsi.

“Hey,” he says, looking at her expectantly with what she interprets as perhaps a smile.

She nods at him, hoping they might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Hell, maybe they can be friends. “Hey, just heading out.”

“So soon? Wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

She grabs her bag from her locker, almost fumbles and drops it, and clutches her house keys between her knuckles (as if the thin blunt metal could even penetrate this guy’s beefy skin). Turning around to face him, her heart lurches to her stomach when she sees he’s standing up, blocking the doorway with a massive frame. No, it was definitely going to be the wrong foot after all.

“I really have to get going,” she tells him. Her voice is scared and quiet.

“Settle down, honey,” he says, “just wanted to ask you if you’d like to go camping next weekend? Me and some guys from work and you. How does that sound?”

It sounds fucking awful. It sounds like she needs to get out of here. Now. “I can’t, I have plans, maybe next time-“

“Don’t gimme that bullshit.” He takes a few steps toward her and she contemplates bolting for the door. “I know you don’t have plans. Who do you have them with? Your fridge?”

Her body recoils like he punched her in the gut.

He chuckles, and she can smell the onions he must’ve eaten for lunch. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

But he did. He absolutely did. And it shouldn’t make her feel like it does. This man is not nice, and his words should theoretically hold little value.

Her back hits the wall before she notices he is crowding in on her personal space, rabbit heart lurching when he gets close enough that his stomach almost touches her chest. Fear slashes through her like a cold blade.

“C’mon,” he urges, “live a little. We’re gonna have lots of booze, some weed if you like, you can get some attention.” His grin turns disgusting, just like his breath. The sudden, acidic urge to vomit clenches her stomach.

“I cant, sorry.” She tries to step around him but he clutches her shoulder and presses her back against the wall. Clumsily, she attempts to reach out and grab his arm but he catches her wrist and pins her other hand by her head.

Her body reacts instinctually and wildly to the entrapment. She flails out with her right leg to kick something—hopefully a vital body part.

Her thrashing doesn’t go over well with Benny. He lets go of her shoulder, grabs her by the side of her head, palm full of her hair, and slams her face against the grimy wall hard enough to make her vision turn static for a few moments.

Pain diffuses from behind her temple into the rest of her face. A pathetic noise of distress hisses from her mouth and nose.

“You don’t need to be so fucking rude,” Benny spits. “I’m offering you a good time and you’re being bitchy about it and trying to hurt me?”

She yelps like a dog when he grinds her face harder against the wall.

“Now, you gonna come camping?”

“Yes, yes.”

Thankfully, as soon as she frantically agrees, he drops her and backs off. “Great. I’ll hold you to it.” There’s a sinister promise in his tone, and she curses herself for not just agreeing right off the bat and saving herself some of the foretold agony.

She watches him pack up his food while standing still and shocked against the cold wall. It’s when he walks out that the tears begin to soak her cheeks, because she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. She slides to the floor, sobs and pants and chokes on thick emotion that she can’t control.

She can’t form a thought right now, can’t move. Has a full blown panic attack on the dirty stone, but she can’t stop it…All she can do is curl up into a ball and hyperventilate and sob like a baby.

At home, before her shower, she looks in the mirror and cringes at the dark bruises spreading from her hairline to her cheekbone. They are swollen and tender, making her wince when she scrubs her face, desperate to rid herself of the lingering feel of Benny’s touch.

She needs this job. It was hard enough finding another one that would take her after so many had failed before it. But, also, she doesn’t want the backlash of reporting Benny. He’s worked there a lot longer than her and she feels like management will be favorable to him because of it.

It will be worse if she calls the cops. They will take her report and then confront Benny, which would place an even bigger target on her back until the investigation clears. And she can’t just quit. Rent is due this week and her bank account has been barren for a while now.

She doesn’t know what to do, so she cries some more. In the shower, in the kitchen making ramen, on the couch where she falls to sleep, vowing while nodding off, in some desperate attempt to feel less helpless, to look for functioning security cameras in the break room, because she knows that actual evidence is hard to dispute.

If she’s being honest with herself, she’s terrified to see Benny again that night when she goes into work. She’s had a lot of curses in her life, but one blessing is the learned knowledge that men prone to violence will always utilize it again. Still, to be cornered by him and hurt is enough of a thought to chase her brain out of rationality. He already knows he can get away with whatever he wants and it’s too late to make a report now…If she was ever even planning to. A good 15 hours has passed since the incident and no cop or supervisor will take her seriously with the time gap, at least not without camera footage. Going into the break room and looking for cameras, however, means the possibility of running into Benny alone again.

She looks, for a long time, at her face in the rusted, cracked locker room mirror, at the ugly discoloration on her skin. She smooths her hands over her fleshy body, the paunch of her stomach, the jiggle of her arms and thighs, and wishes, for surprisingly not the first time, she were bigger*. No, maybe not bigger. Taller. Stronger. You’re already big enough,* her brain reminds. And that’s when she has to step away, because the negative thoughts will just avalanche and she can’t cry at work again.

She stays out in the open for the majority of her shift, exists where other people are and keeps her head down to avoid eye contact. She eats her employee provided turkey sandwich at the nurses desk. It works for the most part; she doesn’t see the burly guard and no one talks to her about the giant bruise on her face. She does, however, see some of his companions from last night, and she vaguely wonders which ones he’s…she’s…going camping with. The feeling of disgust, not at them but at herself for agreeing to the outing, bites at her heels.

And then John—his inquiry catches her off guard. She wonders if he’s genuinely concerned or if there is some motive behind his questioning because she’s not used to having someone be worried about her or even really asking her about herself. It’s the price of living in a big city with no family or friends around. Everyone is very good at ignoring everyone else, unless they have sinister intent. It makes her want to start bawling all over again.

But.

It also…feels strangely nice, this illusion that someone might care about her well-being, even if he’s a prisoner and her patient and she can’t think about him being anything other than that for professionalisms sake.

She really does need this job, but she’s not sure how to handle any of this. Unwanted attention from the prisoners is one thing here and there. Most of these men are lonely and haven’t seen any women in years besides the sparse ones that work with them, so she knew taking the job that they would possibly cat-call and say stupid shit just to get a rise out of her.

Between quietly burning with shame and staring intently at walls and floors instead of eyes, she has been pretty efficiently avoiding negative remarks, but feels hopeless thinking about circumventing someone she works with, someone who’s not in cuffs and not under control of the state. How the fuck is that supposed to work?

She guesses Benny is not here, does some counting on her fingers regarding time, figures that John’s guards change out roughly every six hours. Most of them sleep during the time that they are supposed to be watching him.

He can’t be that dangerous.

Healthcare liability and rules are a funny thing; you come to learn that most are for show, and policy-making CEO’s don’t even walk onto the field, but dictate what happens in it.

On top of all that, she doesn’t want to be afraid of John—mainly because she’s becoming afraid of everyone else here and her tolerance for feeling like a helpless woman is reaching its peak. That tolerance was never very high to begin with, though; when you live all your life as a larger girl, you get used to being strong and taking lead and defending your smaller friends and being tough. If you’re in a situation where you don’t feel that way, it’s quite uncomfortable.

So she’s not as scared of him tonight while she is changing his dressing, giving him water, and making sure he’s medicated. It’s kind of disgusting how these inmates are treated by the doctors and even some of her coworkers. She understands completely having problem patients that are rude and awful, but none of hers have been like that, especially not John. However, they all seem to severely lack hydration and pain control when she takes them on her assignment board.

“You can ask for pain pills every four hours,” she tells John while her hands work on his wound. It looks better already, edges beginning to turn plump pink and shiny. He bleeds a lot, soaks gauze pads and then the top of his pants, but he heals fast.

“Thank you, I didn’t realize.” There is barely any pain in his tone while she works on him, because her touch is soft—feather light when she’s not shaking with fear.

When she laughs, it makes him curious about what’s funny.

“You can also ask for water every now and again,” she reminds, once again baffling him with her concern. She almost sounds like she’s chiding him.

His mouth twitches into a tiny half-grin. “Thank you, nurse.”

It kind of sounds like he’s mocking her, so she stops the motion of her hands and looks up at him, matching his little smile with one of her own. “You’re welcome, patient.”

“Sorry,” he says, “I don’t know your name?”

She backtracks, not wanting him to think she’s upset about something so petty as him not knowing her name. How could he? She’s not allowed to wear her badge in the rooms because of liability, and the prisoners rarely know the names of their nurses. “No, that’s totally fine,” she rectifies, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t know my name.”

He is still grinning at her, like he’s won something. “What is it?”

“What?” She asks him.

“Your name?”

It just slips from her mouth, that sensitive piece of information. She is surprised at how comfortable she feels telling him.

He hums in approval, but still itches to ask about her bruise again. It’s lightening slowly, fading back into her hairline. He knows he will get angry, though, when she lies to him or brushes him off about it, and he has no desire to lay chained to a bed seething with nowhere to go and nothing to hit. He’s learned quickly that boredom, despite being terrible, is better than rage, especially when the rage has to stay inside, eating and burrowing deeper.

She feels awkward in this silence, like something is not being said, and she tries to let it go, but eventually has to say something to fill the tension. “This is healing up already.”

“Thanks are to you for that.” He loves to watch her blanch under the deserved flattery.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Much,” he says honestly. “Again, my thanks for that.”

He’s not very good at this light conversation; he’d rather, if they are talking, delve into questions about her life. However, that would undoubtedly inspire her deer heart to sprint away and never come back, so he tries for minimal talk because it’s the only thing he can do while chained to this bed. He’s not used to speaking this much. It’s been months since he’s held an actual discussion and he’s never been a good conversationalist, but if it’s the only tool he can utilize to interact with her then that’s what he’ll use.

“Do you ever ask them to let you change positions?” She asks. “Getting bed sores sucks.”

There she is with the recommendations and concerns again. He tilts his head at her, and certainly does not look adorable while doing so.

“Yeah, you know, bed sores, they develop on your back or butt and burrow until they hit bone?”

“What?” He asks.

She laughs, and John loves the sound. “A hole in your ass..?”

He huffs playfully. “I know what they are. Why does it matter?” It’s a sincere question, one that he hopes doesn’t make her shrink back.

She looks from his bloody stomach to his eyes, blinks. “You are my patient,” she tells him, “I am taking care of you.”

How did this wicked world, instead of eating her alive as it should have, spit her out directly into his path? Maybe it knew that he would have more taste for her?

His face softens into a playful smile. “I can turn on my own.” To prove this, he pivots on one hip to face her with his body. She jumps back a little, but laughs at him.

He motions to her cheek, the bruise that muddles her pretty skin, skin that he knows will be softer than silk. “And who takes care of you?”

“I do.” There is defiance in her innocent eyes, now, the set of her jaw.

He is not smiling at her anymore, not when she means to oppose him. If he listens to her advice, now she will listen to his. “It doesn’t look like you’re doing a very good job.” The tone of his voice matches how low it cuts her, the addition to her name at the end of that sentence driving the knife hilt-deep into her flimsy sense of self defense.

She can’t help it. Defiance crumbles and reveals sadness. She looks back down at his wound with water tickling her eyelashes.

He wants to tell her to look back at him, wants to see her vulnerable and raw and admitting defeat. Admitting that he is right. That she needs someone to look after her. At her word he will gladly break from these shackles and follow his nurse out into the cruel world.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t utter the chant to release him from his bonds. A few tears roll down her face and drop onto his bed as she finishes the dressing. His frustration turns to empathy in milliseconds, because he didn’t mean to make her cry, but is an absolute imbecile for not anticipating it.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her quickly, desperately, then reaches for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she responds, looking down at where they connect, at where her pudgy fingers are dwarfed by his stocky, warm hold. “Do you need anything else?”

He feels his heart rip into two pieces. “No.”

She gives his pinky a little squeeze, proving his theory that she is made of satin and cashmere, then leaves him alone to clean this sickly sweet gore in his chest all by himself.

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirteen: A Line in the Sand

“Don’t expect me to fix anything else,” you say, crossing your arms. “After these three, I owe you nothing.”

Zoro, unfazed by your remark, watches the crew bustling around, moving your workshop contents onto the Sunny. As he steps on board with a case containing your meticulous work, vials of melted metals cradling the essence of his swords, he glances at you, his words carrying an air of detachment.

"Do what you want, I couldn't care less." His gaze lingers on your face for a moment before he turns away, striding off to find a suitable spot for your tools.

“THIS IS SO COOL!” Usopp yells, yanking out a pistol from the box he’s carrying. He aims the empty mock piece at the reindeer. “Chopper, play dead!”

“I’m not a dog!” Chopper shouts vexedly in his heavy point transformation, dragging a carton of metal ores on his back.

Meanwhile, Franky’s grinning on the Sunny, going through all of the transported items the others are constantly bringing in like a hyperactive child.

“Oh man, you’re an artist,” Franky gushes as he rifles through each and every one of your boxes. Suddenly, his arm plunges into your inventory, gently scrambling around to not dent your work and manages to whip out a crazy-looking lightsabre. “Woah, what is this?!”

Franky swings the beam around excitedly, attracting Usopp, Brook, Luffy and Chopper’s wild attention.

“A LASER?!” Chopper bubbles wildly, repeatedly hopping into the air to get a better look at the weapon.

Brook accidentally singes a part of his hair by leaning in too much, immediately emitting a worried yelp. "YO-HO! Even I'm not immune to its strength."

The aggressively blue laser beam glares wildly against all five of the fanboys' faces as they huddle around in a circle. You laugh a little, seeing them as a resemblance of animals poking a stick at an unidentified object.

“Raya, can I have it? I’ll take good care of it, I promise. Can I? Please?” Luffy pouts pleadingly at you, eyes sparkling with mischievous wonder. Nami gives him a side eye as she boards the deck, heaving a heavy container in her arms.

“Absolutely not,” she dismisses. “Remember the last time you used one of Franky’s beams?”

Luffy blinks at her innocently. “What’s the big deal? I only burnt half the island.”

Everyone turns around and stares at the other side of the island. A row of singed corpses of trees lay morose on the blackened sand.

“Luffy…”

“Ah, keep it, it’s only a draft anyway. But who gets to keep it…? Well, that’s up to you.” You devilishly flutter your eyes, placing a hand on your hip.

Usopp grunts, tugging helplessly at the handle from Franky’s stubborn hands. “Competition it is!”

“Can you lot talk about that later? We got stuff to move,” Sanji grumbles, giving them a dirty look; but as his eyes slowly flicker onto to yours, a big smile spreads across his face like butter on hot toast, his hot face steaming into heart-shaped swirls of love. “Our lovely Raya-san is relying on us <3”

Robin smiles, as a flutter of hands rolls through from the cave and downhill to the deck. Her eyes beam brightly as she looms over the gathering crowd, taking in the view of your weapon. “I wonder how many people you can cut with that simultaneously.”

Usopp stares at her. “I don’t feel safe when I’m around you.”

Sanji swoons, twirling around you and Robin, and shoots his hand up in the air. “I vote for Robin-chan to possess the weapon!”

“Declined.” The four boys wave their hands dismissively, turning their backs to Sanji.

Franky beams at you, placing a metallic arm over your shoulder. “Besides all a' that, our SUPER weapons master needs to keep her assembly goin’! I gotcha, Raya. Gimme a few hours.”

“Hey, no fair! You’re trying to win her over!” Chopper glares.

“Whad’ya say? Can’t hear you, Chops. Got things to do,” Franky says, already on the other side of the ship. He waves a hand in the air. “You won’t be disappointed, Raya~”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.  Are you stupid for joining their crew, or was this a somewhat reasonable decision? You can’t tell just yet.

As you rest your head against the wall, your eyes apathetically trace over the shapes of clouds. A twang of guilt reverberates inside you, almost like someone’s pulled the strings to your fragile insides out of spite.

You can’t help but feel like you’re awful. You’re awful for laughing - for smiling and feeling joy as if your dearest family member’s life isn’t hanging in the balance. Should you even be allowed the possibility to feel anything other than sadness and anger right now? Are you unfeeling for being able to?

Gramps' logbook, your precious memento, rests within the folds of your pocket, the heaviness of his novel-laden words filling your chest. Your fingers scatter across its leather surface, caressing it as if his soul lies within those yellowed pages. You trace the familiar curves of your grandfather's handwriting, your heart sinking.

And it hits you: you’re joining the crew of the man who let your gramps be kidnapped.

The way he just stood on top of that house and watched as your Gramps mercilessly took ruthless beatings, over and over again. Watching as the ink dragged his fragile, paralysed body into slime, consuming him whole. The memories start flooding in, the wide, squishy eyes of the sentient taking his whole form into its peripheral.

It kills you. The realisation hits you that you gave your complete trust to a man who was more than capable of saving your guardian and he simply refused to do so. He sat there and took it in. All of it.

Strength, the old man’s voice whispers into you. A whoosh of heavy wind brushes your cheek as a delicate reminder of him. Have strength, child.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the Thousand Sunny, Franky emerges from his little workshop cave with an enthusiastic grin. A dirty rag slung over his shoulder, a pencil tucked behind his ear, he gestures proudly toward the revamped space.

"Wanna see, Ray? It’s all done.” Franky smiles cheekily as if he’s bursting trying to hold onto his little secret.

You lean away from the wall, offering him a strained grin. “Totally. Time to show me your skills, Franks.”

The workshop is ingeniously integrated into the newly upgraded and expanded crow's nest, seamlessly extending its structure. On one half lies the gym, now revamped and full of equipment, while the other half unfolds into an expansive space of metalwork. Its spacious design accommodates a variety of workstations, each adorned with gleaming tools and metallic wonders. The ceiling, a marvel of engineering, forms a domed structure entirely composed of windows, providing a breathtaking panoramic view of the night sky.

You step into the workshop, feeling the cool metal floor beneath your feet; the familiar smell of fresh wood and the tang of metal engulf you, making your heart burst with joy. Franky follows you in, his eyes eagerly scanning your expressions.

Franky, always one for grand gestures, hits a switch, and sleek metallic blinds glide up to the centre point of the dome with a graceful motion, forming a private enclave.

“And if you both need a lil’ peace and quiet….” Franky grins while flicking the second switch.

Another option presents itself – the odd partition between the workshop and the gym transforms into a thick wall of sound-proof glass.

“Or if there’s any…bad vibes goin’ on in here…” Franky spins to the third switch, fingers already on the job.

In an instant, the glass pane immediately flips into a solid metal wall. The crew gazes in awe at this spectacle, and Usopp, in particular, is on the verge of drooling with sheer amazement on the floor.

“Franky, why here?” Zoro frowns, staring longingly at his poor gym.

Franky grins, flexing his biceps as he responds. “Crafters work best under natural light, buddy! Our Crow’s Nest offers 360-degree light, in all directions, from every angle. Besides, I’ve expanded the gym to almost twice its original size to make up for it, did ya see? It's a whole new training ground now!”

Zoro crosses his arms, eyeing the newly expanded gym area and then glancing back at the workshop. His frown deepens for a moment, but then he grumbles, "Better be worth it. Don’t want anyone interrupting my training."

Franky laughs heartily, clapping Zoro on the back. "Don't you worry, man! Your workouts’ll be undisturbed, and now Raya's got the perfect space for her work."

Zoro mutters something under his breath, a mix of scepticism and acceptance, and then heads towards the expanded gym to inspect the changes.

The equipment held within your side of the Crow’s Nest is a fusion of practicality and artistic flair. Sturdy anvils are strategically placed, ready to endure the forging of blades and crafting of intricate designs. The workbenches, sleek and polished, offer ample space for organising your tools and materials. The entire space is ingeniously soundproofed, ensuring that the clinks and clangs of your work won't disturb the tranquillity of the crew's quarters.

Nami gasps as she takes the whole space in, turning to different areas with amazement. “This is beautiful!”

Luffy runs inside and plops himself on one of the stools. “Chopper, my right-hand man, hand me some metal!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Chopper says as he pretends to offer Luffy materials.

Zoro snaps his head around and raises his eyebrows from his side of the Crow’s Nest. “Right-hand man?”

“And look - you’ve got tons of space,” Franky says, showcasing the various workstations he has meticulously arranged.

A designated area for the vials of melted metals, a specialised section for assembling and testing your inventions, and racks filled with neatly organised tools. The walls are adorned with the posters he found in one of your moving-in boxes, adding a little touch of home to its interior, as well as a bunch of some playful doodles from the crew members.

As you move around the workshop, inspecting the meticulously arranged workstations and the various tools at your disposal, there's an undeniable sense of awe at Franky's craftsmanship. The fusion of his genius flair composed as a tangible product of your workshop is beyond your expectations, and you can't help but feel love for the dedicated space.

However, the beauty of the studio is somewhat overshadowed by the realization that you'll be sharing this closed space with Zoro. Every clang of metal, every creak of the floor, and every breath will feel like a reminder of his presence. The panoramic view that was initially breathtaking now seems slightly tarnished as you look from across the room, the gym resting in your peripheral as a stain.

You find yourself trying to focus on the positives, appreciating the thoughtfulness of Franky's gesture. Still, the irritation persists as you contemplate having to navigate your space with someone you'd rather not be around. You purse your lips slightly, mentally preparing yourself to coexist in this shared workspace.

“How come Usopp Factory doesn’t have any windows?” Usopp grumbles, side-eyeing Franky. Consequently, he receives a slap on the head from Nami, who hisses at him to be nice.

“So?” Franky turns to you, his eyes wide, growing more and more nervous with every moment of your prolonged silence. “What do you think, Raya? I can absolutely change the parts that you don’t—”

“Franky. You shouldn’t have,” you breathe out, a sense of admiration and fondness for the space bubbling up in your chest. Your eyes glimmer, taking everything in like a gasp of fresh air. “This is a crafter’s dream.”

“I know what a workshop means to people like us,” Franky gushes, blushing immensely at your gratifying reaction.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sea, of fresh wood and sawdust, and the metallic tang of the workshop before turning to your fellow colleague.

“Thank you.” You grin brightly, gently punching his shoulder. “This is exactly what I need, Franks.”

Franky returns the punch, a broad grin on his face. “Then get unpacking already!”

You roll your eyes at him with a small smile, watching him aggressively gather the rest up in his massive metallic arms, to then rugby tackle them all out of the studio. With a couple of objecting yells, your door slams with a thud and all you hear left is the muffle of their complaints.

With a heavy exhale, your weight slams down on one of the stools, its impact reverberating through the entire workshop, echoing and echoing into the flush edges of the room.

In the midst of the ensuing silence, a realization strikes – you're not the sole occupant of this expansive space. Across the distance, your eyes lock onto a familiar grey eye and a soft white scar.

Despite the palpable awkwardness, Zoro remains a silent observer. His gaze meets yours, and even as you shoot him an unimpressed look, he stands there stoically, seemingly unaffected by the tension that fills the workshop.

"I..." Zoro begins, his voice low, "I didn't want it to turn out like this." The words hang in the air, the weight of their meaning palpable. His gaze is sincere, a glimpse of regret.

You meet Zoro's gaze with an unyielding and narrowed expression, your eyes conveying a mixture of emotions — frustration, hurt, and a determination not to be swayed by his words.

The silence hangs heavy in the air, pregnant with unspoken hatred.

His grey eye steely gazes at you, but you've already decided to shield yourself from the vulnerability his words might expose.

“Listen—” Zoro starts, pushing himself away from the wall.

Without waiting for him to finish, you turn away and stride purposefully towards the switch that Franky had installed for situations exactly like this. The tension in the room becomes palpable as your fingers deliberately flick the switch upwards.

The metallic wall, a masterpiece of engineering, responds to your command; slowly, deliberately, it ascends from the middle partition of the room. The sound of its movement resonates through the workshop, drowning out any potential words Zoro might throw out.

Zoro's eyes — chilled steel, intense, a reflection of the mutual irritation that charges the air — are the last thing you see before the ascending barrier closes in. As the partition completes its ascent, there's a visceral shudder, a palpable severance of the connection between you and him - and yet, it's not so easily shrugged off.

Because you know his presence is still there. You know he's stood on the other side, staring at the same wall as you are; simply, your newly issued armour is but a fragile facade of protection, a delusion of control. 

[strawberryfairi]

Content✨: NSFW, Hard dom! Shuji, Overstim, Size difference Black Fem Reader Coded 🤎 A lil sumn for New Years teehee

The whole bedroom is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, heavy pants, and the lewd squelching noises your pussy makes.

He's just way too damn much. His hips slam into you so hard, so heavily, making you grip the sheets like it was your key to sanity. You're face down ass up on the bed, the momentum from his thrusts practically making you throw it back on him. It's the way his big tattooed hands keep smacking and gripping your ass, making it jiggle even more with each strike that turns you on a ridiculous amount.

"Damn babygirl, look at you creamin' all over me. 'S that good?" He asks, his tone clearly teasing. All you can manage is a breathy "Uh huh!", too busy struggle to balance catching your breath and practically screaming in pleasure.

"Gimme words." He demands sternly, landing a hard smack on your right ass cheek making you yell out in a mix of ecstasy and pain. "'S so good daddy! So goood!" You cry, tears building up in your eyes as you feel yourself quickly hurdling into another toe curling orgasm.

He grabs you by your long fulani braids, lifting you roughly from the bed and against his muscular chest. You whimper, your hands desperately searching for something else to hold on to. "Gonna cum on this dick again, angel?" He purrs into your right ear, his free hand tightly gripping your hip. At this point Shuji has you panting like a damn dog, making your face heat up in embarrassment.

He always loves you like this, completely spent and worn out as he continues without a care. Right after you cum this time he knew you'd start begging and whining for him to slow down or stop like you always do. You always manage a good four orgasms on his dick before you're absolutely finished.

"Sh-shiiiit! Oh my-fuck, I'm gonna cum again!" You scream, throwing your head back as your body violently shakes, your essence rapidly dripping down his dick and between your legs.

"That's it babydoll, keep cumming like that." He coos, raising his hand around your hip to your throat, choking you with a firm grip. Your eyes roll back instantly, making another orgasm slam right into you like a truck, directly over top of the first one. Tears start streaming down your cheeks, whimpering and squirming in his grip.

"I-I can't...st-stop cumming!" You cry weakly, your body too overstimulated to come all the way down from your intense high.

"Daddy please..." You beg shakily.

"Please what?" He asks sensually, keeping his hard thrusts steady.

"I can't. I-I can't-please daddyyyy!" You whine, not really sure if that came out how you were intending.

"But you know how much it turns me on when you beg, pretty baby." He smirks wickedly, tightening his grip around your throat as he pounds into you faster.

You fall for that every single time, unintentionally doing exactly what he likes thinking he's actually gonna stop. He knows you love it, making you cum until you're sore, walking around the day with the most embarrassing limp. So you take everything he gives, relishing in the way your boyfriend always knows exactly how to drive you crazy.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

You’ve definitely become one of my favorite Elvis writers on here, Marina.

And I wanted to ask you, are you planning to do more Elvis series? Like a series of Hollywood!Elvis, where he fights to be a serious actor and falls in love with one his co-stars. Or more Elvis AU, since we already have Pirate!Elvis. For example Cowboy!Elvis. Spy!Elvis like a James Bond or Agent Elvis. Mafia!Elvis. Even a Superhero!Elvis.

I think you’d do such a good job bringing all those concepts to life 🤭

My sweet anon, thank you so much, what a kind thing to say, I’m so glad my writing has brought you joy. 💋🌸💋 As for AU’s I did start a series about Hollywood E, yet never finished it. And for now I’ve got riverboat Captain E and father figure E to chew and that’s a lot on its own…but never say never. I think this would be something I’d have to have pitched to me and see if it resonates? So far I’ve not fully cooked up anything else original that hasn’t been done better by others. I’m always happy to dish out recs, fyi.

BUT THAT SAID…I’m messing around with little snippets, a filthy fairytale in collaboration with @elvisabutler and this demented Regency Elvis headcanon below that “my sexy secretary” @ab4eva took down from a chat. Enjoy…

I Bet on Losing Dogs -🥀 A Regency Elvis Blurb

18+ blurb, warning sexual content ahead, arranged marriage, romance novella style stuff

Imagine this: Regency Elvis whose wife has recently left him for a foreigner, taking with her his only child -a daughter who cannot inherit. He needs an heir.

Zero promises of love or fidelity or even bare respect for his new wife but…there’ll be position and status and jewels so long as you perform your wifely duties without complaint.

Jaded and lonely, I need freshly betrayed Elvis buying off a nobleman for his daughter, a Baron who’s mortgaged his estate for debts, Mr. Presley gets the association with your family’s nobility and you get the much needed wealth that new money brings.

And so your new husband comes in nightly in an embroidered robe and a solitary lit candle to consummate your union. He’s got all that chest hair displayed and a lil ponch of a belly showing out his robe as he slowly undoes the tie every night, never rushed, and you can feel the jitters down to your toes every time as you hug the sheet to your chin.

*Let go, Darlin,* he’s always murmuring as he pulls the sheet from your grip, *must do what needs done*

He fucks you hard and fast for such a delicate woman and then tosses you spending money to make up for it.

Reminds you after each visit to yoru chambers that you have a job to do. One single job.

*Gimme that son and maybe you’ll get that sea bathin’ ya been hankerin’ for*

(Elvis is from Yorkshire if he was ever transported to an English Setting AU, ok? No question, unless the question is Irish versus Yorkish)

Each time, when he finishes and pants into the humid crook of your neck, his hand blindly strokes away your tears and he whispers in gravelly apology, *I’ll leave ya alone, moment ya start to swell, I swear it, I’ll leave ya alone lil girl*

But that’s not why you’re crying, you wish he’d stay, he doesn’t know how cold you get when he leaves you and his sweat and spend cools on your skin and leaves you shivering.

You could curse the woman who laid here before you, who broke his heart and still haunts this place, like the wall opposite the bed with its outline of a portrait missing on the sun-bleached wall.

You wonder what she looked like, this missing wife.

You wonder if she secretly craved the burning stretch of him like you do, possibly not if she left for someone more…continental. Was he too voracious for her? Or was it the loneliness that finally ate her through like the moths who try the same with the bed canopy.

One night, Mr. Presley’s hand slips from your shoulder down to your breast, very rarely does he maul you there except in his direst paroxysms of pleasure, but tonight he slips and grabs and it’s so sore you nearly cry aloud from the ache.

*I swear I’ll leave ya be* he had said and you bite your lip savagely, cinch your corsets cruelly and wonder how to make him love you, tolerate you even. Anything so that you’re not left alone like he promises.

Are your breasts sore from being with child? You worry so.

So the next night you scheme, and when he shakes atop you and catches his breath and makes to roll away, you grab hold of him and keep him close.

*Six months* you murmur, and he seems confused by your meaning, *six month’s you’ve visited me nightly save for menses and Lent, and no child to show for it. Won’t you stay? Nurse says if the man remains…after…the chances are greater.*

Ensuing cockwarming between two people who’ve barely spoken outside of bed…little chats…because neither can sleep and in fact, he doesn’t really sleep that much at all, he admits.

*what do you do then? At nights?* you ask.

He reads a lot, he tells you and he’s got a telescope, and you tentatively ask if he’ll read to you.

He agrees with a shy *i-if ya want that, I will*

About the books. You asks if he will tonight instead of leaving and he says yes.

Then he hesitates and asks lowly, *can we…once more?…before?*

He asks if he can do it again, before he grabs the books, because he firmed up again while acting as a stopper in your warm cunt.

You’re already a wet mess down there and perhaps he moves you around, spoons you.

Puts himself back in and you’re so wet from what he gave you before and your excitement at the intimacy you feel in this movement.

And due to the difference in angle, for the first time, you actually come from the feeling of your husband inside you. His flaming hot body behind you, his thick arms wrapped around your body, the delicious rub of him in your womb.

And you’re quite sure you’ve already made a child but he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

Anything to keep him coming back.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy weekend Fandom :) Per usual we have a few high content eps then the next is a little lower. Still a good ep to be had though. Seeing a softer side to Tim for Angela. What a good friendship they have. And the continued reasons to dislike Lucy’s parents so much. I go off on her mom so be prepared. They spend this episode apart which always makes me sad. But it’s a great episode regardless. Let’s get this started.

3x10 Man Of Honor

We start off the ep with some flashbacks to the academy. At first I thought my clip was shaky, then I realized its Nolan's shoddy camera skills not mine LOL This is the one moment I wanted to highlight out of the academy shots. Lucy’s reason for becoming a cop. It’s prominent for later in this episode. Especially with her bloody mom….Her feeling adrift since college and not knowing where she belonged. That when she stepped into the LAPD It finally clicked.

Saying she didn’t feel the time she spent before this was a wasted effort. Which is amazing most people regret the wasted time. To me I agree with her. It’s that time before you find your thing that eventually leads you to it. That need to want to protect others from harm as part of her reason. Fantastic and very Lucy. I do love her finding her place as a cop. It’s why she fights tooth and nail at everything she does with this job. What Tim saw in her from day one. That fire and drive to succeed. Love our girl.

The scene in roll call is hilarious. Jackson’s dad told him when he got P2 he got bottle of whiskey. That he was called up to the front and given this. They are both operating under this assumption when Grey mentions them. It’s too damn funny. I love their friendship so much. It truly one of the best parts of this episode. Jackson gets tongue tied so Lucy steps in for them both. Telling Grey it's their first day as P2's all exicited.

He asks them if they want flowers? Cupcakes? It's why Grey asks Lucy what the reward is for making P2 above. They’re insanely embarrassed by the time Grey is done with them. They get to ride together which is the highlight after all that. It’s so weird to have roll call without Tim there though. I feel his absence but I guess even T.O.’s get days off. Boo.

We catch Jackson and Lucy in their shop. Jackson keeps getting ‘Congratulations’ texts from his family. You can see the slight jealously on Lucy’s face. I totally get it. For the most part I relate to Tim. When it comes to poopy unsupportive parents I'm right there with Lucy. She and I are alike where I too have tried on a lot of hats. Just trying to find myself as well. My parents being judgy unsupportive jerks the entire way.

Lucy has finally found what her calling is and just wants her parents to be proud of her. Makes me wanna cry just writing that out. Because even when you don’t have good relationship, there is still a part of you craves that approval. When really is should be the other way around. They should be vying to be in your life.

Jackson invites her to his family tradition dinner. So sweet he really takes care of her so much. Lucy declines because her parents are supposed to come over for dinner. She thinks they’re finally coming around to her being a cop. Jackson is so excited for her and says that’s great. I love this scene. They’re so excited to be riding together it’s adorable. Getting to use ac and listen to music haha It's precious.

We cut to Tim on his day off. Yelling at Kojo to move when he’s given up on their walk LOL It's the way Tim whines at Kojo that makes me laugh so hard. Kojo refusing to get up even though they are close to the house. That dog clearly runs that relationship and it makes me giddy to no end. I adore any scene we get with Tim and his dog. Ovary explosion for me. I’m a huge animal lover. To have a dog and Tim in a scene? Phew lord. Gimme. Tim gets a text from Angela saying she needs him ASAP. He finally gets Kojo to move by asking him if he wants a steak? Lmao Spoiled Fur-baby.

Tim gets to the address and it’s a wedding dress shop. He enters hesitantly wondering what is going on... He asks the employee where she is? They tell him she is currently in the changing suite. She’s gone through half their tissue supply. Aww poor thing. Tim sighs and makes his way to her. Once inside asks what’s wrong? Is she going into labor? Lmao No love. Nothing like that. He is straight with her when she asks if she looks fat. I love how he tells her like it is while also being sweet about it. The Tim Bradford special. Telling her who cares what her stupid friend thinks. If she's not ashamed of her baby bump then screw everyone else.

Angela is still upset she can’t hide her belly in her dress. Then we get to see protective/supportive Tim come out. Mmm one of my fav flavors. Asking her ’Who said you have to hide your belly?’ Angela tells him her bridesmaids did. The dress she’s in was supposed to camouflage it the best and its not doing that.

I adore him building her up when she’s down. Look at him taking the skills he learned from Lucy. Using them in this scenario. I love it sfm. Tells her to show off her baby belly. To be proud not ashamed. To wear what she feels confident in. Ugh my heart Timothy. He’s doing exactly what she needed. This is why she texted him. To be that emotional support friend. Her face says it all in that gif above.

What I love about this scene we get to see another side of him. Not just work Tim. A supportive and thoughtful friend. If Lucy could see him right now she would be dying haha He asks her what her dream dress is? Angela tells him what she wants. He says he’ll go get the dress lady and they’ll start there.

I love this man so much. It’s insane. She looks so at ease and taken care by the end of their scene. What a good bestie does. Can only hope we can have scenes like this when Tim marries Lucy. Angela helping him out but giving him crap in a loving way baha Good man right here. Already loved him before this but this only adds to it. Like a sundae that was already delicious and adding on more yummy toppings. Only makes it even better.

Angela is trying on more dresses. Tim asking her if she’s doing ok? I’m loving this soft version of Tim. If he’s this sweet and supportive with Angela. Can only imagine how he would be with Lucy and their plans when they get there. Angela says hard to get dress on over her bowling ball. Naww Tim’s face when she finally comes out is so cute. Once again all I can think of is his face when he sees Lucy in hers someday. I'm sorry I can’t help it LOL My brain is wired to go there now with them together.

Tells her ‘Whoa.’ building up her confidence even more. It’s so sweet. Angela agrees it’s perfect and thanks Tim for doing this with her. He does the sweetest smirk and lets her know ‘Of course’. A crash interrupts their little moment. Two ladies are fighting over a dress. Tim and Angela come out to see the fight. The dress lady says she’s called the police. Not to worry. Tim starts to film it in case they need it for evidence.

Then his future wife and her bestie show up on the scene. Tim couldn’t be more delighted to watch her and Jackson handle this. Lucy is distracted the minute they enter the scene. Tim Is in a dress shop for one and two with Angela. Her reaction couldn’t be more pure and adorable. Asking if he’s there to help her pick out a dress? Just the thought of it is making her so happy and proud of him. The immediate joy on her face.

The thought of him doing this makes Lucy so damn giddy. Jackson doesn’t have time for her work flirt and goes after the suspects LOL Tim’s reply is classic Tim. God forbid she get to see another soft side of him. Which is exactly why she’s so giddy BTW. Tim replying to her question 'All he’s doing right now is watching her not do her job.' Ha God Tim you could’ve at least said hello. She gets nervous and side steps before helping Jackson. It's adorable. She's totally lost her place in her excitement and is clearly distracted by it.

The more the situation escalates the more Tim and Angela enjoy themselves. Angela commenting ‘They grow up so fast don’t they?’ One of them tries to take off with the dress. Tim helps Lucy out cause he can’t help himself. Sticks out his leg tripping the suspect. He could not be enjoying himself more if he tried. Just being a proud hubby filming her arrest and making comments along the way hehe Lucy's face while he does this. She is not amused at all. I’m cracking up. God I love these two idiots so much. Act more married please. You are fooling no one.

Her dinner will her parents Or really parent has arrived. Lucy being a wonderful daughter her mother doesn’t deserve. She's made lotus root soup which is her favorite for their evening Trying to curry favor with her before their dinner even begins. I get it. Her mom shows up solo…. Congratulates Jackson before he leaves. She is nicer and more of a supportive parent to Jackson than her own daughter… ugh been there…Lucy asks her where her father is?

Her mom says off handedly like it’s no big deal he’s at his book club. Like this dinner meant nothing to him. Her face kills me. Trying to just shake off the hurt. Melissa crushes this scene btw. My heart breaks for her over and over. Lucy continues to brush it off and say they can have a girls night to celebrate then. Her mom drops the hammer very early. Doesn’t even try to pretend to be happy about her graduating to P2. Says she isn't there to celebrate.

Saying how they need to talk about this whole police thing. Like it’s just been some random hobby the last year or so for her. Even gives a sarcastic 'Brava.' Like she didn’t almost friggin die from this 'hobby' last year. Telling her to do something meaningful with her life. To get a real profession. The emotional abuse happening in this scene hurts to watch. It gets under my skin as the hits keep coming. Basically saying what she’s doing doesn’t mean anything. Once again Melissa is wonderful in this scene. Watching how it slowly escalates and her body language through out. Trying to take what her mother is telling her and not let it affect her. It works for a little bit but not long...

States she wants Lucy to do something she’s proud of. One of the rudest things to tear your child down with. To only think of yourself and how their decisions make YOU look. Pisses me off so much. Just because my parents are the same damn way. To only think of themselves and not of their child. Such a narcissistic way to view Lucy and what she’s done with her life. How her career embarrasses them and they'd prefer her to just leave the last year or so behind. Just because it doesn't puff them up around their friends.

My parent's are obsessed with status as well. If I'm not using my degree (which I only got for them BTW) for a job it's not something to be proud of. Even though the job I currently have gives me independence to live on my own with no roommates (which is not cheap these days), pay all my own bills, and take care of me and my dogs with no help. But since it's not what they consider a profession to be proud of they aren't proud of me. So I relate painfully so to Lucy in this scene. Also the school thing such a boomer answer. My parent's are the same way.

To think school is the only answer to everything. That obsession with status and only wanting your kids to do their approved career choices. What makes them look good and smell good in front their social circle. Instead of thinking hey my kid is happy, they’re providing for themselves, they love what they do. They’re independent. No they only think how it negatively impacts them. I'm so mad for Lucy because I’ve lived this. The heartbreaking way she asks ‘Can’t you just support me?' Thinking why is this such a big ask?

This is why the support she gets from Tim is EVERYTHING to her. Why she lives and breathes for it. When you’re torn down your entire life it’s hard to have self esteem. Hard to believe you’ll ever be good at something. Even if you are you don't truly believe you are until someone tells you repeatedly. Emotional abuse growing up leaves lasting scars. You can see where it all stems from for Lucy in this one scene with her mother.

Her mom goes on to tell her to find a career that really helps people. Like a doctor. Uh she has. You just don’t like it. Says she doesn't mean to be blunt, but really she does. If her mom would take her head out of her ass for two seconds. She would see Lucy already has all the things she’s harping on her to achieve. I want to hug Lucy so much while her mom berates her. Giving me flashbacks to my own mother. The pot shots leave wounds that are hard to heal.

The way she says ‘They'll always love her but’ and there’s the emotional manipulation. Basically saying our love has a price tag and that tag is the job of OUR choice. Not the one that makes you happy but the one that is socially acceptable for them. The way she cringes and moves away from her mother's touch. Knowing it’s manipulative. Hurts my soul to watch. Last thing she wants right now is fake affection.

I do need to commend her for having the backbone to tell her mom to give her space. I've never had the guts to stand up to my mom. I just avoid her like the plague these days. Rarely interact with her. Easy when she lives on the other side of the country. All the way in Alaska and can stay there. So huge props to Lucy for being overwhelmed and setting a boundary in this moment.

That if she’s done expressing what a disappointment she is that she can just leave. Her mom doesn’t fight her in the least really. She does a little stomp trying to exude some power over her. It doesn't work. Then Lucy yells at her to go and she finally takes off. Phew. Hard scene to watch. The shot that pans out of Lucy is a great one but a heartbreaking one. Makes me so emotional to watch this scene. This scene resonates with me so much in the worst way. I wanna hug her so badly in that last gif. Wishing Jackson was there to do it for me.

The cuteness continues for Tim and Angela while they taste test cakes. This is a much needed contrast to Lucy's SL atm. Angela sighs and says this is stupid. That no matter what she picks Patrice will overrule her. Tim is sitting there all arms crossed. Has become one of my fav poses for him. Yum Tum. Says all authoritatively ‘Don’t let her.’

What I’m loving about theses scenes is we’re getting background on Tim. Which I always love getting. Why am I not surprised his dad got drunk and ruined his wedding? That his whole family seems like one giant disaster zone? (Other than Genny) I love him taking his past experience to help guide Angela with her wedding. Such growth. Saying a million things like what his wedding had you can’t control. But this she can. So to pick what she really wants.

Angela says she wants a Tres Leches cake, but Patrice will think it's too ethnic. SMH ..Tim goes into protect mode once again. I love it sfm. Letting her know ‘Screw Patrice. If she has a problem with Tres leches or anything else for that matter she can answer to him.’ Side note anytime Eric says any Spanish word I wanna climb him like a tree. He says it with the right inflection and it’s sexy af. You know he learned all that from his wife and I love it. Feral Caitlin will cool down now but hot damn. Protective Tim and a slight accent with a Spanish word? Lord help me. Also in the black hoodie? He’s trying to kill me.

Angela replies really? Tim nods his head and says 'Hell yeah.' Then proposes to him with a cookie to be her man of honor baha I love this episode for them. He tells man of honor isn’t a thing...She says yes it is. Lets him know he’s only person who’s made her feel sane. That she needs him to get through this wedding. He caves and says fine hehe Angela tells him his first duty is to fire her current made of honor Gretchen LMAO His reply ‘What?! ‘ I’m rolling. I love this man so much.

We catch Lucy and Jackson at the station next day getting their war bags loaded. Lucy saying he got in late must’ve had a good time. He shows her the necklace they gave him. St. Michael. Patron saint of cops. Lucy looks jealous and asks if his parents will adopt her? Jackson immediately sensing something is wrong. He asks if she had trouble with her folks? Picking up on Tim’s habit of being a lying liar who lies. She isn’t truthful with him and he can see right through it. The concern written all over his face.

Angela invites Gretchen to the station to be fired by Tim. It’s too funny. Tim asks why she can’t fire her? She says she’s working a case and has to go. Tim calls her a coward when he see’s Gretchen arrive lol. Another fun piece of history for Tim. He was at Angela’s nieces quinceanera. It’s how he introduces himself to Gretchen seeing as they met there before. Love them being close enough friends for him to attend that.

Gretchen is legit eyeing him the entire scene. Her eyes checking him out up and down. Can’t blame her look at the man. He is a sight to behold. Low key hits on him asking him if wants to make a little extra cash as the stripper? LMAO Too bad Lucy isn’t around to see this interaction. He always gets so flustered when someone does. I swear he doesn’t know the gorgeous creature he is when they do this.

Tim tells her she’s been fired from MOH. His cute little look when he says Angela picked him to be her man of honor. He’s happy to do it for her but doesn’t want anyone to hear it....lol You think she’s gonna be mad. Nope just relieved. Telling Tim it’s been a nightmare. Pulls out this massive book of ‘Patrice’s picks’ and the anti-anxiety meds that come with it. My god. Also the phone just for wedding needs. Tim’s face is hilarious he looks so very overwhelmed.

Lucy and Jackson get to end their day on a high note. They were able to link up with Nolan/Harper on their OP. Rescued a little girl and got her safely back to her mom. This scene is so validating for Lucy. Reminding her despite what her parents think this is her calling. That this is the right path for her and she’s helping people like she wanted to. May not be the way her parents approve but she is. Grey telling them that little girl wouldn't be here without their hard work. They're being put up for an award too from Grey as well. That is the icing on the cake for her in this scene. She needed this after that horrible fight with her mother.

We find Tim and Angela on the rooftop walking toward something. She asks him what he’s doing? He tells her ‘Being your man of honor.’ They walk up to a trashcan that has the 'Patrice picks' book in it. He tells her he has one job. Give her the wedding she wants. He douses it all in the lighter fluid. Hands her the lighter and asks if she cares to do the honors? Then Angela praises him and calls him amazing.

He could not be cuter when she says this to him. Being Tim he deflects it with sarcasm saying ‘All the time.’ Ha! It’s much different than the smile we get out of him in 5x13 when Lucy calls him amazing. But it is different when the love of your life calls you that vs your bestie. Still I love this for him. The Patrice phone rings and Angela tosses it in the fire. Tim has them step back cause the battery in it is gonna explode LOL Such a damn cute episode for Tim I can not stand it.

Best part of the episode for Lucy is this next scene. I love Jackson so very much for his loyal and loving friendship. Also for how he handles this whole thing. Knowing something is off with her. He called her mom and was told what her mom said. Tells Lucy he told her mom if she didn’t apologize to her she wasn’t going to set foot in their apartment again. Such a good friend. That’s a true blue bestie right there.

Then he follows it up with something even sweeter. Handing her a jewelry case saying this was from the West family. To remind her there are people out there who are proud of her. Proud of what she’s accomplished. I’m melting this is so damn sweet. I might get a cavity. He helps her put it on. Then tells her he’s taking her to dinner. For baseball steaks. She asks if they can do sushi instead? LOL Jackson easily concedes and says ‘Deal.’ He'll do whatever she wants.

Jackson takes care of Lucy so well. Filling that role until Tim is ready to step in and take his place. He would’ve been SO SO happy for her and Tim. To see Lucy be taken care of and treated like a Queen. Which she so very much deserves. To see her properly loved and happy. Makes me emotional thinking he’ll never get to see how happy Tim has made her.

Such a good episode even though Chenford were apart their SL’s separately were so good. What makes them so great. Can have amazing SL’s even when apart. Although I prefer them together heh.

Side notes-Non chenford

Getting to see Capt Anderson in their graduation flash back. My heart. I miss her.

The flashbacks to them at school were every cute. Lucy kicking ass in their combat classes. Of course she did. Nolan even commenting 'Think twice before taking on recruit Chen’ Obviously.

Nolan had a SL but I didn’t care about it until it involved Jackson and Lucy 😂

Thank you as always to those to like, comment, reblog and support these reviews. They’ve helped me a lot getting through this extended hiatus. I hope they’ve been helping you all as well. Shall see you in 3x11 :)

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Seven.

Second update is here, besties! This is basically shaping up to be a novel, the 20th chapter just begun in the writing and I am loving every last second of creating their story! Just to note, too, the song Picses that is mentioned is a real song, by the band Jinjer, the musical claim for Jade's voice and Seventh Gate on a whole. Give it a listen, it's beautiful.

Big thanks to my tiny audience for your commitment to reading. I see a few of you liking it but remaining quiet. I would so love to hear from you, if you'd be so kind to drop a little comment, and even better, add a reblog to help me get a bit more exposure. Thanks guys :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,047

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Ahh, he has arrived. Dogs, come on. This show of frenzy is not becoming of you.”  

Patrick Brody; he could never just greet someone with a simple hello, letting his son into the house on Christmas morning. He at least gave Adrien a big hug while he was being dived all over by two very excitable Pit Bull terriers, though.  

“Merry Christmas, pop,” he spoke with affection, his dad nodding and smiling. 

“Same extended in return. Now, your mother is in the kitchen, if you will excuse me, I am slowly working myself through what’s left of my Tanqueray while I ruminate on Keats and a little Joy Division. It’s great to see you, though. I’ll be out when the food is done.”  

Ahh, he was in one of his moods, chasing a slither of melancholy. Why he’d chosen Christmas morning to do such was beyond Adrien, but he was used to the strange habits of his fiercely intellectual father. The last time he’d visited, it was Sangria paired with The Rolling Stones and a book on the art of John Williams Waterhouse.  

Truly, there was nobody like his father. Or his mother.  

“Is that my boy?”  

“Sure is,” Adrien called, placing the large bag of gifts he’d brought beneath the tree in the lounge, walking down to the kitchen to see her emerge, her arms held wide. “Merry Christmas, ma.” 

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she spoke, pulling him into a hug. “Is your father still absconding?” 

“He is,” he confirmed, giving the dogs a little more attention before following her down the hall. 

“You know, I thought he’d get out of that whole tortured artist bit when he hit thirty,” Lois voiced, hurrying back into the kitchen to check on the gaggle of pots occupying the stove. “Never damned well happened!” Turning the burners down, she glided to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine with raised eyebrows. “I got this or beer? Up to you.”  

“I’ll take a beer, but let me, mom. You have enough to do, or I can stir something?” He made a move off the high stool, watching his mother race towards him, waving her hands. 

“You will stay away from the cooker, Adrien Nicholas Brody!” she warned, unscrewing the top and handing him the bottle. “You’re a liability.” 

His face was a picture of affronted. “Says the woman who’s set fire to her own hair how many times?”  

Pointing at him, she waved her finger, starting to laugh softly in spite of herself. “Fucking smart ass, is what you are.”  

“I get it from you, ma,” he teased, reaching for Ginsberg’s giant head when the dog made it clear he required further petting, Bukowski pottering around in the hallway, shaking the hell out of a brand-new chew toy. Moving over to the balcony, he turned the key and slid the door, letting himself out into the cold Christmas morning, lighting up a cigarette. 

“Still smoking, huh?” his mother observed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t start bitching. Not with how many you used to chain a day,” he warned, raising an eyebrow.  

Picking up her wine, she felt confident to leave the food for five minutes, joining him out on the balcony. “Wasn’t going to. I could do with one. Gimme.” Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled the pack out, Lois taking one and leaning to the light he offered, the smell of the lighter fluid mixing pleasantly with the tobacco. Taking a long drag, she immediately looked more blissful.  

“Oh, full tar. Good boy,” she sighed, kissing his shoulder as she rubbed his arm. 

“Not my choice, I stole them from my girlfriend,” he confessed, watching her eyes widen. 

“Excuse me, son of mine?” Her exclamation was coupled with the usual wild gesticulating, arms flying expressively. “Girlfriend, you just drop that in there casually, that there’s a girlfriend on the scene now?”  

He laughed softly through his nose, looking out across the white landscape below. “Yeah, there’s a girlfriend. It’s been three and a half months now.”  

Lois wound her hand expectantly. “And? Name, age, what does she do? Please don’t tell me it’s another bullshit model who doesn’t know shit from Shinola. I can’t bear the idea of you bringing another pretty dullard into my goddamned house!” 

“You liked Sofia,” he protested. 

“Sofia was well read, she was interested in other cultures, she’d travelled. She was an anomaly. Anyway, we don’t talk about her any longer! Tell me about the girl,” she demanded, her eyes full of excitement. 

“Her name is Jade, she’s thirty-one, and she’s the vocalist for a band called Seventh Gate. And she acts as well.”  

Lois paused, her wine glass almost reaching her mouth, her other hand moving to grip, and then softly shake his forearm. “You’re dating Jade Burton?” 

Wait. How did his mother even know who she was? “Hold on, you know who she is?” 

Her finger thrust towards the kitchen, her entire arm waving. “That new canvas I have out in the hallway? I painted that listening to Black Electric Wasteland.”  

Their second album, but how... how did his mother know that? “Who are you, and what have you done with Lois?” 

“Oh, come on! You know I listen to rock! I’ve got Sabbath and Def Leopard albums in my collection,” she exclaimed, taking another drag on her cigarette. 

“Yeah, but Seventh Gate is way heavier than that. It’s the musical equivalent of having a safe dropped on your head.”  

She snorted into her wine glass. “And how the hell do you know? You only listen to music made by fellas with gold teeth who wear jeans nine sizes too big!”  

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh at that. “Because that’s how I met her. I got talked to going to the Rock and Iron festival with Lewis while I was in LA. The first time I met Jade was when she jumped onto the barrier and screamed about in an inch from my face.” That particular revelation delighted his mother, imagining it. He went on to explain a little more, how he’d met her properly backstage, thought she was incredible and swiftly decided in a moment of madness to join the tour for a week.  

“Good for you, god! You didn’t do anything like this in your teens, you were always so focused. Why not in your thirties? And look what came of it, you’re dating a legend! Oh, mother of pearl, that girl’s voice!” Flicking her finished cigarette over the rail, she bustled back inside, locating her phone and swiping around, putting it in the dock and pressing play. “I love this song. Pisces. Please tell me you’ve heard it?” 

He had, since it had been in their setlist on tour. They stood silently as they listened to the opening bars, Lois softly singing along to the melodic opening, clasping a hand to her chest. “I adore her! All of them, such talented girls!” 

Adrien was still stuck in the realms of huge surprise that his mother had not only heard of Seventh Gate, but was a fan, too, when the kitchen door opened, his father walking in.  

“Interesting harmonies, and the chord progression is stunning work. Who is this?” 

“Adrien’s girlfriend and her band. They’re the girls whose music inspired my painting!” Lois replied with enthusiasm, continuing to softly sing as her husband topped up his gin. “You’ll never believe what he did, Patrick. Meets her at a show and then, he just hops on a tour bus with her for a week. Just like that!” 

His father paused, eyebrows raised. “You and five women absconded to a bus for a week,” he mused, sipping his gin. “A lesser man might make a joke about such setting tongues wagging, but it feels a little too low brow.” Another sip of gin was taken. “How is your tongue, by the way?” 

Patrick Brody; he was a man entirely too witty for his own good.  

Adrien closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. “You’re fucking terrible.” 

“I’m an effervescent delight. And you? You’ve now officially cemented yourself as a groupie.” Closing the fridge, he stood for a moment, tapping his foot as he continued to listen. “Yes. I like it, mmhmm.” 

Adrien couldn’t help but grin. “Just wait for the chorus.”  

His dad looked curious for all of five seconds, before the tempo changed drastically, both musically and vocally. “What in the?” he exclaimed, wide eyed, scratching his chin. “That’s a woman?”  

“Yep,” Adrien confirmed, “that’s my girl.” 

He listened a little longer, sipping his drink. “Does she need a priest? It sounds like she has a demon.” 

Immediately, Lois pointed at the door. “Get out of my kitchen at once, you lousy philistine!” Their little double act had their only child laughing quietly, thinking his dad truly wasn’t all too wrong. After all, he’d likened that ripsaw roar to something hell had spat up too upon first hearing it. “When can I meet her?” 

He knew he’d have that question directed at him sooner rather than later. “I’ll arrange something with her and get back to you. I have five weeks before I’m away again, we can come over one afternoon, or meet you guys in the city?”  

“I’d love that, yes. So, tell me more about her, then,” she requested, her eyes lighting up. She could see it so clearly, how smitten her son was. “She’s British, isn’t she?” 

“British-Sicilian. She was born in Palermo. Arrived three months earlier than expected while her mom was over there visiting family, backpacking with her dad.” 

“Oh!” she cried, resting a hand to her chest. “She was a little preemie baby? How dear.” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “almost didn’t make it, weighed about three pounds when she was born. I like to think she defied all the odds stacked against her, though.” He smiled, thinking of her fortitude, her toughness to do the job that she did, and at the standard she did it. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” 

Lois studied him for a moment, beginning to nod. Finally, he’d met the one who she sensed wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry. “I’m going to love her, aren’t I?”  

Watching that sly smile, he looked away for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. You really, really are.” She left all talk of the new girl there, going back to the cooker and inquiring over how everything else was in her son’s life as she stirred and tinkered.  

Meanwhile, over in Harlem, Jade found herself in a similar surrounding. Except in her family, you pitched in, or you got the hell out of the way. 

“Steven!” Gemma yelled, her husband jumping a foot in the air. “If I have told you once, I have told you a million times, stop stealing the turkey skin!” 

“Why? You don’t like it, Rachel is a fussy vegan, Jade doesn’t care, and Marco isn’t even here. Allow a man to have his simple pleasures, my little snap dragon,” he teased, winking when his daughters began to laugh, Jade making a snappy motion with her hand towards the back of her mother’s head. It was very weird, for her brother not to be there, this year staying in LA with his new boyfriend, Jack and his family.  

“Your parents like it, and I finally have the skin nice and crisp, so it’ll give your mother one less thing to complain about,” she replied, physically hip bumping Jade down a little as she poured cream into the potatoes, ready to mash into a pulp.  

“Go, go on, out of my way!” 

“You called me in to carve the bird, Gemma,” he reminded her, taking the large knife the younger of his daughter’s passed over to him.  

“Well then do it instead of standing there slowly making a start on eating it!” 

Jade quickly finished her potato-based endeavours, reaching for the bottle of scotch on the side, topping up her mother’s glass and adding ice from the fridge dispenser. “Mum, drink that before you give yourself a heart attack and thus make dad have to work on his day off.”  

“Open heart surgery on the tiles with a carving knife,” he chimed, examining the blade. “I think I could make do.”  

The family all paused to laugh, Gemma taking the drink passed to her gratefully, wrapping her arm around her daughter’s waist. “Thanks, buba.” Taking a sip, she then widened her eyes. “Rachel!” Check what time we’re on. I need to put the beans on at the very last minute, so they don’t overcook.”  

“Can’t, mama. My phone is in the lounge.” 

“Check mine,” Jade spoke, “It’s on the counter.”  

Illuminating the screen, Rachel took in the time, as well as something else notable. “It’s two twenty-one, and sis, why do you have a picture of Adrien Brody as your screen lock? Are you fangirling?” 

“No,” she beamed, “but I am dating him. That’s the news I had to share before I got wrapped up in the Christmas chaos.”  

Immediately, her right eardrum was almost blown out. “What the utter bloody hell, Jade Lucia? You’re... and... seriously? Adrien Brody, really?” 

“Mum, you’re making it sound like he has two heads, or like I have. I’m not sure which is worse,” she chirped, reaching for her wine and taking a big gulp.  

Gemma nudged her with a soft elbow. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it! So, come on. Tell us everything!” 

“Not everything,” her dad mumbled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I wanna know everything,” Rachel piped up, nodding towards the door. “Get out, dad. I wanna hear if he’s good in bed or not.”  

He instantly looked mildly mortified, scrunching his eyes tightly shut. “Pretending I didn’t hear that,” he sang, shaking his head, “wishing you were still two and six instead of these grown women who let penises near you.”  

Jade almost choked on her wine for her laughter, Steven finishing his very neat and precise carving, nothing less than anybody expected for a surgeon to accomplish. “I am leaving you to your women’s talk. I shall be in the lounge, eating my nougat.”  

As soon as he was gone, two sets of eyes turned to her. “Tell us everything!” they both spoke at once, Gemma especially excited as she bounced on her heels a little. Her darling mother still had that silliness of youth about her, a very young fifty. With preparations all done for the moment, they stood and listened as Jade regaled them with the story, even grabbing her phone to show them the picture taken literally at the exact moment they’d first met, Jade bellowing a scream right in his face.  

“What, so he just blew off his commitments and got on a bus with you?” her mother cried, sipping her drink, looking absolutely delighted. 

“He did, and yeah. We fell in love,” she confessed, beaming as they cooed, Rachel moving to hug her. 

“That’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard! Aww!” she spoke, kissing her sister’s cheek fondly. “You’re keeping it quiet, I gotta say. Haven’t seen any pictures of you guys together in the press or anything.” 

“Well, we haven’t been out together much,” she admitted, fiddling with her necklace, one he bought for her three days previously when he came back into the city. “There have been a couple, though.” A little lament sounded in her sigh, knowing of course it would happen sooner or later, being that she was relatively well known, and Adrien of course very famous. “Thank fuck there wasn’t any after what happened with Jen. Nobody got pictures of him there, which I’m glad of. I don’t want anything like that possibly impacting him negatively.” 

Gemma’s eyes widened. “He was there when it happened?” 

Gulping at the memory of that terrifying day, she fortified herself with a mouthful of wine. “He was. He’s the one who found her. He saved her life.”  

The eldest of the Burton women let out a little gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “God above, I can’t imagine how I’d react.” 

“Horrible as it was for him, he was probably the best person to find her,” she admitted, “he’s very steady and pragmatic, very calm. He doesn’t get flustered easily at all. I doubt any of us would have thought to check for her stash, Jess’s weed too and get rid of it so nobody got arrested and made an already nightmarish situation a thousand times worse.” 

“What a good guy, wow. And how is my beautiful Jen now?” Gemma asked. Jen had always been her favourite, looking at the kitchen table and being able to picture her there, drumming upon the surface with a couple of pencils as a gawky, fifteen-year-old kid with bright pink hair. That very brownstone was where Seventh Gate had begun, their rehearsals confined to the basement, the girls all coming over after school every day to practice for hours. 

Jade smiled, remembering her last phone call with her. “She’s doing okay. The first week withdrawing was hell, but better than it could have been since she wasn’t a long-term, substantial user. She’s doing the twenty-eight-day program but is open to staying longer if she feels like she needs to.”  

Feeling a little teary, she took a breath, stilling the little emotional vortex that began to swirl. Of course, true to her nature, she only let herself feel it momentarily before she hardened herself. “I’m so proud of her. She was just like, ‘I have a problem and I need to get help in fixing it, because I ain’t going out like that, I’m not scaring you guys that bad ever again’, so checked herself into Urban Recovery in Brooklyn as soon as she got back to the city.” 

She remembered how small and broken she’d looked the day after her overdose, seeing here there in hospital, trying to remain upbeat. Jen never cried, the epitome of a tough New York girl, but as soon as she’d seen Adrien, she’d burst into tears, apologising for putting him through something like that and thanking him over and over for saving her life.  

Speaking of the man himself, after they had both spent the day with their families, they met up again that evening at Jade’s apartment in the West Village, Adrien flecked with a sprinkling of snow as he arrived. Christmas in New York was her favourite time of the year, loving watching it tumble from the sky through the two floor to ceiling windows in her living room.  

The space was airy and light, yet sumptuously cozy, candles dotted around lighting every surface, a very big but tastefully decorated tree in the corner of the apartment, the warm white lights twinkling beautifully against the minimal ornaments. They shared a bottle of red wine while exchanging gifts, Jade buying him a whole heap of things she knew he liked, his favourite perhaps being a little crochet doll of a bald, bespectacled man in an orange robe on a bicycle. It took him a good five minutes to stop laughing. 

“His holiness on a bicycle, oh god, I love it!” he hissed, reaching for the last gift in the pile.  

“Now this one has had me riddled with anxiety over whether you’ll like it or not, and I just have to hope to hell that you do!” she spoke, Adrien opening the paper with curiosity, pulling out a white label record from within.  

“The boy from Queens?” he spoke, looking at the title written on there with a Sharpie, nothing else denoting anything. “Who’s it by?” 

Pointing at her record player in the corner, she smiled. “It’s an original collaboration. Put it on and find out.” Heaving himself off the couch, he walked over and did exactly that, placing the vinyl down atop the player and switching it on, carefully lining the needle up. As soon as he heard the opening beats, he spun to stare at her.  

“What did you do, Burtie?” he spoke, his smile beginning to spread. His mouth then fell open completely, hearing the vocal intro that was Method Man himself, dropping rhymes over his beats.  

Burtie. She loved that particular cute little nickname, breathing a huge sigh of relief at his reaction. “I played him some samples of those beat tracks you sent me, shared a few lyrical ideas to tailor it, added to it, and we recorded it upstairs after you’d left last week. You do not even want to know how much it cost me to get it pressed at such short notice as a one off, but you’re worth every cent, my darling.” 

Standing there listening, the clever lyrics all relating to him, he was floored. Utterly stunned. “This is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me!” he spoke, nodding his head, “damn, that’s so sick! Baby, thank you so much. Seriously, this is the best.”  

“Isn’t it, though? And you’re welcome,” she beamed, elated that he was enjoying something she’d worked so hard on collaboratively. It was always great to hang out with her friend, having Clifford there for nineteen hours straight working on it. Getting to work with him on something so personal up in her little recording space had been an unforgettable experience, though.  

Once the track had finished, he came back over to her, lifting up the large gift he’d brought for her, giving her a kiss before sitting down beside where she was comfortably resting in her gigantic bean bag. “Here, I’d say I hope you’ll like it, but I know you definitely will.”  

Taking it from him, she propped it back against her large coffee table, picking at the corner before gently tearing the paper. The squeak that bubbled in her throat as she clasped a hand over her mouth made his stomach prickle with joy, watching her so excited.  

“Oh my life!” More of the canvas was revealed, Jade flapping her hands as she bounced a little, eyes widening. “Oh my fucking god, Adrien!”  

“And I’m deaf. Again,” he joked, pushing a finger against his ear and giving it a little wiggle to stop the ringing her scream had evoked.  

Her mouth hung open, looking between him and the painting, more noises of approval sounding. “You bought me a Beksinski original?” 

Zdzislaw Beksinski was her favourite artist, the Polish painter and photographer whose medium was dark and macabre, the original painting discovered by Adrien after scouring the internet, finding it for sale through a private collector. It had been worth every single ounce of hassle in getting it shipped over from Germany, the insurance, the customs debacle, the mild heart attack he’d suffered at hearing it might not arrive in time for Christmas, just to see the look of such pure, unfiltered happiness on her face.  

“He... he touched this,” she whispered, her fingers gently gliding over the ridges of the oil paint, every swirl and groove, shaking her head in amazement. “Baby, I love it. Thank you! Come here, my handsome mans.” Pulling him into her arms, she showered him with kisses, utterly delighted to have received such a thoughtful gift. She shuddered to think what he must have shelled out for it. Beksinski’s work went for tens of thousands.  

Admiring it as she leaned back against his chest, she honestly couldn’t remember the last Christmas she’d felt quite as elated as she did in that moment, in the arms of her love, cozy and warm as outside, the snow continued to cover Manhattan in a thick blanket of glistening white.  

“I got you something else, too.” Picking up a small package, he handed it to her, Jade feeling something she instantly recognised within. Pulling it out, there in her hand lay a looped up, long coil of dark blue bondage rope, her grin widening so much, he couldn’t help but laugh softly.  

“Put your hand in my bra right now and check out what just seeing this has done to my nipples.” He obliged, giving the left one a little stroke. It was like a bullet. “Okay we’re going to bed right now.”  

It was the exact reaction he’d been looking for.