#he looks like a mallard to me

[nostalgiaclown]

rotating him like a rotisserie chicken in my brain

[pink-wysteria]

okay . . . but like . . . why is mal kinda . . .

[anthonyhavers-left-foot]

Some bird pictures that AREN'T low quality this time!

[nohiketoosmall]

...and if you're at the park and see an extra-large Mallard with spots of white:

its a hybrid x domestic mallard!

this might be a really stupid question, but i'll give it a go anyway

when people draw ducks, they tend to choose pure white ones, which i know as aylesbury ducks. is there a reason for this that you know of? i would imagine that maybe there's a lot of aylesbury ducks in america, but when i think of the quintessential duck, the duckiest duck one could say, i think of a mallard (male or female)

also, thank you very much for all the work you do on this blog, i get to send my bird friends loads of cool pictures and engage in their interests even though i know fuck all about them <|:3

White Ducks

You're welcome kumquat.

So, in the United States, most of the farm ducks, and many of the domestic ducks that are put in parks with ponds and lakes are the Peking White aka American Pekin. The original birds that became this breed came from China in the 1800s.

The Peking White is a domestic breed of the Mallard, and is a different breed from the Aylesbury (which is usually kept in the UK and other parts of Europe, along with the German Pekin). Many American Pekins have some Aylesbury genetics.

For many people who grow up seeing ducks in parks or farms, this is the quintessential appearance for a duck.

The aforementioned are just a few domestic varieties of mallard.

Peking Whites (photograph: Martin Backert)

Mallards (Anas platyrhynchos), wild, L/T - female, R/B - male, family Anatidae, order Anseriformes, Germany

photograph by Richard Bartz

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

You Painted Me Golden

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: “So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?” Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer. Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, smut, masturbation, getting caught masturbating by an ill-timed FaceTime, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, aftercare, marijuana, alcohol, naming the concierge after That Thing You Do! Words: 9,250 (I know, it's a lot.)

A/N: This is a VERY long chapter, but a LOT happens and I love these two so much. Thank you to mine and @devineconjuring's 4,000 messages back and forth about them and all of her brainstorming help, there's a beautiful moment between the two of them that she thought of and I can't thank her enough. Also thank you to @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for helping their dear, kinda dumb Mallard with some thoughts and wording (DRUG COPS).

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

*** He tries to stifle a yawn. Call time isn’t until 9, but you’ve been staying up too late to talk to him the past few nights.

You sigh contentedly, his heart thrums faster as you look up at the stars allowing him to look at your beautiful face a little longer.

“God the stars are bright tonight,” you admire.

He glances up, settling his eyes on a twinkling star, he wonders if it’s the same one you’re seeing. He thinks to himself maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll see the same exact sky you’re seeing.

“He’d never do this with me…” you sigh. “He found looking at the stars boring.”

His heart drops, Warren’s still poisoning your thoughts.

“How could the sky be boring? These stars are millions of years old… they never truly die… they scatter their elements into space creating new stars, planets and life—" he catches himself. “They never end… they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence.”

You smile, your bright eyes looking at him, making his heart shatter like an exploding star.

“Exactly,” you say softly, a glimmer of hope threads through your voice.

His breath catches in his throat yet again swallowing down the words that need to be said.

“Dee?” you say barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

The edge of his mouth lifts in a shy smile. “I miss you too…”

His heart swells with an ache he never felt until he met you. He wants to reach through the screen and pull you close, to feel your warmth against him. But instead, he takes a deep breath and whispers, “I should probably get going, I gotta get ready, we’re filming in Bath, and it’s a three hour trip.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” you reply. The hint of disappointment in your voice makes his heart sink a little lower.

“Today, I'll mostly be sitting in a tent, waiting for my cue to recite a few lines of dialogue. There won't be much excitement happening, so you're not missing out on anything special. But one day, we’ll go and have fun together, Sweets.”

You smile and let out a small chuckle. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” he softly says.

“Have a good day Dee.” “Have a good night Sweets.”

—-

You close your laptop and let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the empty feeling in your heart. The olive tree, adorned with twinkling lights that you carefully strung when you first moved in, glows and glistens in the cool night breeze. You love your backyard, full of the plants and flowers you nourish with your love and care. Warren used to care about the flowers that would bloom, he used to admire the vases full of them you’d place around your house. But then, he stopped. You thought it was you.

Another lonely night in your empty house after yet another long goodbye said to Dieter.

You pause in the kitchen, fingers tracing the smooth marble of your countertop. You begged Warren to let you have dark green cabinets, and he obliged. That was back when it felt like he wanted to make you happy. You chug the rest of your glass of wine, swallowing the sweet liquid down as you gaze at your damn green cabinets. They once represented compromise and shared dreams with Warren. Now they feel like a relic of something lost.

You remember when you first showed Warren this place, your mind alive with ideas on how to renovate and make the home your own. He was a hesitant at first, but your enthusiasm eventually convinced him. You were so excited as you walked through each room, planning out how you would decorate.

You spent days wearing overalls covered in paint learning how to use power tools and refinish hardwood floors. Warren indulged you at first, helping you choose paint colors and hang shelves, but as the years went by, his interest waned in both you and the house you shared. Just as the ghosts of your past life begin to haunt you, you think of Dieter and the way he’d always show his interest in everything you would do around the house. He would admire the new pieces of art you found or surprise you with a new vase he found while he was filming.

You set your empty wine glass in the sink with a soft clink and wander into the living room with Dieter’s words echoing in your mind.

"They never end... they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence." You wonder if that's what you're doing now - scattering the elements of your old life with Warren to create something new.

A soft ping from your phone breaks the all-too-familiar silence. It’s Dieter.

Still thinking about those stars Sweet dreams

His day is only just beginning as your day is ending. Your mind goes through the familiar math of what time he’ll be able to talk again. 9 PM his time, 1 PM yours—along as filming doesn’t go over. It’s been three months.

Three months of distance and longing, of lawyer meetings and splitting of assets, ninety days of only wanting Dieter back next to you.

Three days after he left for London, Dieter tells you his assistant Court has found the best divorce lawyer, and he’s taking care of the bill.

Two weeks after he left for London, Dieter sends you a care package full of your favorite British snacks and a giant plush corgi that now sleeps next to you. You name it Stew, after Jimmy Stewart.

Three weeks after he left for London, you smoke a joint and watch DRUG COPS, the show that made Dieter a household name. You specifically choose the episode where his character brings home the cute girl from the bar and rails her against the wall. It’s been over a month since the last time you touched yourself and even longer since you had sex with Warren. By the time the episode’s credits roll, right after Dieter’s sex scene, your underwear is soaked with your arousal. The night can’t end like this, you need to see his possessive snarl again, so, you pick up the remote and rewind back to the scene. Your hand moves under your pajama pants and feels the wetness between your legs. Desire pools low in your belly when you touch yourself, watching as Dieter kisses down the woman’s neck, his large hands roaming her body. You imagine it’s you.

A soft moan escapes your lips when you stroke yourself, your fingers gliding easily through your slick. Onscreen, Dieter lifts the woman and presses her against the wall and kisses her, grinding his hips into hers. Years ago, you watched this episode with Warren, a cloud of shame existing over you at how turned on you were while watching your husband’s friend. It was almost as if he could sense it, his eyes occasionally flickering over to you while you pretended to be engrossed in your phone, only daring to look at the screen when Warren’s blue eyes weren’t on you. Now, nobody is watching you, you’re free to do whatever you want now… even if that’s rubbing tight circles around your clit while staring at the screen. Your fingers move faster, pressing down harder, chasing the building feeling in your core as you watch Dieter thrust into the actress on screen, his muscular back flexing with each snap of his hips. You imagine what the weight of his body pressing into you would feel like, the scent of him filling your nostrils as he nuzzles into your neck, the sound of his voice whispering filthy things in your ear with his deep voice.

A familiar pressure you haven’t felt in a long time starts to build low in your abdomen as you throw your head back against the couch cushions, your eyes fluttering closed. You can almost feel Dieter’s fingers stroking you.

“Fuck, Dee,” you whimper, your hips lifting off the couch. You’re home alone, you can scream… so you do. “Fuck! Dee!” you shout as your orgasm builds.

And just as you’re about to cum for him—your phone rings.

Dieter Bravo Facetime Video

Fuck.

You grab the remote, pausing the episode as your hand pulls out of your underwear and pick up the phone. You look—well—you look like you were just a couple strokes away from an orgasm.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you plaster a calm look across your face. With a slightly trembling finger, you accept the FaceTime call. Dieter's handsome face fills the screen, his brow instantly furrowing with concern at his first look.

"Morning Sweets, you alright? You look a little—overwhelmed," he says.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," you stammer, hoping he can't see the sheen of sweat on your skin or your pupils blown wide with arousal. "Just got done with a workout."

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face. "A workout, huh?" There's a hint of teasing in his tone. “At 11 PM?”

You laugh nervously, shifting on the couch. The movement causes your robe to slip open wider, revealing more of your heated skin. Dieter's gaze zeroes in on the exposed flesh.

Something shifts in his expression, his eyes darkening as realization dawns. “So—you workout in your robe?” he asks, his eyebrows rising, his voice is low and rough, sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“What? No, I—” you start to protest, but the words die in your throat as he leans closer to the camera.

"I think," he says slowly, his voice dropping an octave, "that you were doing a different kind of workout." His eyes bore into yours through the screen, intense and knowing.

You nod, your stare intense.

“Well, uh—with that. I’ll let you go. Call me back when you’re done. I don’t have to leave for set until 9—I’m going to go get my shower and also—work out,” he says with a wink.

A month after he left for London, Dieter has his team deliver four giant skeletons to decorate your yard with after you mentioned you always wanted one but Warren hated them.

On Halloween you hand out candy alone, just like the few years before, but this year the solitude echoes louder each time you close the door.

Six weeks after he left for London, Dieter gulps and gently asks you if you could put a robe on while you’re FaceTiming with him… he’s too distracted by the thin white fabric of your sleep shirt and the glimpses it gives him of the curve of your breasts. You oblige, but fall asleep that night thinking about the way his eyes refused to look away.

On Thanksgiving, you decline invitations from a few of your friends, opting to spend it with your parents up north, where they tiptoe around you and act extra gentle, like the first time you got your heart broken in high school. 

Ten weeks after he left for London, you climb the ladder to your attic, haul out the giant box, and put up your 12’ tall Christmas tree. You set it up and decorate it all by yourself—with a little help from a bottle of wine.

You look at your Christmas tree now, sitting in the corner of your living room, now complete with the pretty ornaments Dieter sent you from your favorite store in London. You can’t imagine spending the holiday with anybody else but him. It’s been three months. You don’t know how much longer you can take it.

You’ve just hung up with him, but now you feel quite brave. Loneliness will sometimes do that to you. So, you pick up your phone and FaceTime Dieter again.

“Hey, long time no talk,” he says with a wink.

“So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?”

Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer.

His face lights up, a slow grin lifting his lips. “I would never tell you no. In fact, hold on.” He moves through his hotel room, before sitting down at his desk. “Take a look.”

He opens his laptop, and the screen illuminates, displaying a list of flights from Los Angeles to London a week before Christmas.

Tears well in your eyes at the realization that he wants to be with you just as much as you want to be with him.

“I was going to ask you…” he smiles, “I just didn’t know if you would want—”

“I do,” you interrupt your heart fluttering. “I really do.”

“Amazing,” he smiles. “Let’s book it and begin the countdown.”

—-

He won’t be here to welcome you. He knows his schedule is solid, there hasn’t been a day he’s gotten home from set early in years. It kills him, but he knows you understand… you always do.

He orders a giant bouquet of red geraniums and places it on the table in the foyer, it’ll be the first thing you see when you arrive.

He wants everything to be perfect. He can’t bear the thought of you arriving and this hotel suite feeling anything less than a sanctuary for you.

Soon, the two of you will be breathing the same air and close enough to touch. He can hardly believe that you’re traveling almost half way across the globe to stay with him. He fluffs the pillows on the couch, trying to buzz off the nervous energy before his car arrives.

You’re high above the ground right now, flying in first class, something you insisted you didn’t need when he surprised you with the ticket. He would never settle for anything less than the best for you.

He wonders if you’re listening to one of the playlists he made you, if you’re reading a book that makes your nose scrunch up in thought, or if you’re abuzz with nervous energy like he is right now.

He imagines your smile when you first see the geraniums, he can almost hear your laughter ringing across the walls when you see the WELCOME HOME card he’s left propped up against the vase.

He prays he remembers his lines and marks while on set today. The less he screws up, the sooner he’s done with the scenes, and the sooner he’s here, finally back with his golden girl.

—-

You’re seated in the plush backseat of a sleek black car, gliding through the busy streets of London after an eleven hour flight. The city you love passes by in a blur, but you barely notice, your heart is racing as the car gets closer to the hotel. After months of longing and late-night and early morning calls, you’ll finally be with Dieter soon.

As you step out of the car at The Mandarin Hotel in Hyde Park and look up at the tall, brick historic building, the realization hits you that finally, you’re going to walk through the same door as Dieter, and soon, you’ll see his bright eyes in person, no longer miles away on a screen.

You feel like a movie star as the attendants swarm you and grab your bags. Dieter’s concierge, Lamar, greets you with a warm handshake and leads you inside, leading you through the lobby full of gold and jewel tones glimmering in warm chandelier light. You’ve stayed at some beautiful hotels before but this is the most gorgeous place you’ve been.

The elevator ride is quick, and when the doors open, you’re greeted by Dieter’s door.

As you approach the suite, your heart races with excitement. Lamar unlocks the door, stepping aside and gestures for you to enter first.

The first thing that catches your eye is the bouquet of geraniums on the foyer table. You let out a small chuckle at the sight of Dieter’s messy handwriting on the WELCOME HOME card propped up next to the vase. Lamar leads you to the spacious living area full of rich colors and plush furniture. It’ll make the perfect home for the next ten days.

“And where would you like your bags miss?” Lamar asks as you peer out the large french doors that lead to a terrace with a view of Hyde Park.

How do you tell Lamar that you don’t know? That you’re not sure if Dieter wants you with him in his room, or in the guest room?

“Oh, just leave them in the guest room,” you answer, playing it safe. “I’ll take care of them from there. Thank you.”

A bellhop wheels in a golden cart stacked with your bags as Lamar shows you the large kitchen and dining room.

“If you should need any groceries or anything else, please contact the concierge desk, we’re more than happy to help.”

You spot a crystal bowl filled with Kit Kats and can't help but smile as you grab one before leading Lamar out and thanking him and his team for all their help.

As the door clicks shut behind you, the exhaustion from your long flight hits you, along with the excitement of finally seeing Dieter.

You walk over to the table, sticking your nose into the bouquet of flowers and inhaling their sweet scent before picking up Dieter’s card and reading it.

Sweets, "Aren't the geraniums pretty, Professor?" Can’t believe you’re finally here. Make yourself at home and have a cuppa tea. (Look! I’m British!) I’ll be back soon, D

You still have a few hours until you’re expecting Dieter back. The large bathtub in the guest bathroom calls your name.

You slip into the guest bathroom and turn on the faucet, watching the water flow into the deep tub. From your toiletry bag, you grab your favorite bath oil and unscrew the lid, pouring it into the water.

Your clothes drop to the floor, creating a pile on the shiny marble tiles. The warm water instantly soothes your tense muscles as you sink into the tub. Leaning back against the smooth porcelain, you let out a sigh of relaxation and close your eyes.

As your cocooned in the warmth and solitude of your bath, you wonder what Dieter’s doing now. You can only imagine how frustrated he is to not be here with you. You hope it’s not affecting his line reciting.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you see him after three months of daily FaceTime calls, of caring for each other thousands of miles away, of slowly falling even more in love with now your best friend.

You’ve spent every day getting to know each other even more, his big heart and support always filling the gaps of your loneliness. But now, here in London, the distance is nearly gone. Only a couple more hours until you’re reunited.

You finish your bath and wrap yourself in one of the plush robes hanging from a golden hook.

Your bare feet pad against the plush rug as you settle on the large couch in the living room. You’re far too tired to change into anything else. You’ll watch an episode of The Simpsons and then get changed to greet Dieter. You must stay up to combat the damn jet lag.

—-

It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest when he unlocks the door and swings it open. He hears the faint sound of the TV in the living room. You’re home.

“Swee—” your name stops in his throat when he gets his first sight of you in person after three long months. He forgets how to breathe when he takes in every detail of your sleeping figure: the way your hair spills across the cushion, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the smooth skin of your chest revealed to him from your robe shifting in your slumber. His mouth waters when he sees the curve of your breast.

He quietly steps closer, watching you, trying to allow the image of you to take place in his memory—the curve of your lips, the way the tv shadows dance across your skin, the soft skin of your exposed thigh. You look so perfect, like you’ve always been here for him.

“Sweets,” he says quietly as he inches closer and kneels, his heart pulling him to you.

You slightly awaken at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open before they widen in disbelief and joy.

“Dieter,” you breathe, your voice hoarse with sleep.

He’s no longer just looking at you through a tiny screen; you’re here, flesh and blood and warmth, right in front of him. His golden girl.

“You’re here,” you say as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head, the plush robe shifting even more.

“I am. And you’re here.”

“I missed you,” you confess.

“I missed you too. C-can I hug you? I need to make sure I’m not imagining you.”

You giggle as you nod. “I’m real Dee.”

He smiles wide as he ambles up the couch and pulls you close to his side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. He breathes in your sweet scent of almond and honey. You smell so fucking good and now you’re here with him.

“Well, I was going to take you out for dinner, but then you’d have to change out of that robe,” he smirks.

—-

Dieter sits across from you at the dining room table in his suite, now also clad in a fluffy robe to match you.

Frank Ocean softly croons through the speakers as you take a final bite of your sticky toffee pudding. You feel like you’re in heaven, the past couple of months and the loneliness and heartbreak all seem worth it for this perfect moment.

“Where are your bags?” Dieter asks sparking a joint, obviously too famous and rich for rules posted on the back of the door of his luxury hotel suite.

“They’re in the guest room,” you casually respond as you watch him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“Oh,” he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You’re welcome to stay in my room… with me.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” you reply as you take the joint from his outstretched hand and take a hit. His eyes soften as he watches you and he leans back in his chair.

“Overstep? Sweets, this is your home for the next couple of weeks. It’s not overstepping, it’s where I want you to be… if it’s where you want to be.”

His warmth wraps around you even more than the robe you wear.

“It is,” you softly respond.

“I’ve been counting down the days until I could wake up next to you again,” he confesses, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table.

“Then I guess we need to move my luggage.”

—-

He gives you the top two drawers of his dresser, he wonders if you noticed that they were already cleaned out for you. He hangs your sweaters up next to his clothes in his closet, he loves how his clothes look next to yours.

Your toothbrush is now next to his, your favorite lotion sits on the nightstand, and your purse sits on the console table next to the door.

For the next ten days he gets to pretend like you live together, here in this fancy London hotel suite. He almost suggests to you going to bed early, only so he can hold you close.

“So,” you say, zipping up your suitcase. “What kind of cartoons does this hotel get?”

He grins. “I’ve become an expert at British cartoon schedules.”

“Great!” you say, pulling down the comforter and climbing into his bed. “Is it okay if we watch them in here?”

Once again, you’ve read his mind. He smiles as he gets in next to you. You take advantage of the bed dipping and scoot next to him, laying your head on his chest.

“Is this okay?” you ask. “I’ve missed this.”

He wonders if you can feel the beat of his heart thrum for you. “It’s more than okay. I’ve missed it too.”

—-

The hum of the shower filters through the hotel room as you lay in bed, thankful that Britain gets episodes of Bob’s Burgers.

You catch glimpses of Dieter’s shadow through the frosted bathroom door as he moves about. It all feels so intimate and yet familiar, like you’ve always belonged right here with him.

Exhaustion weighs down your body as you settle deeper into the luxurious bed. Finally, you’re with Dieter again.

The door creaks open, your heartbeat quickens when he finally steps out, clad in only a pair of low slung pajama pants. His golden skin gleams in the changing shadows being cast from the tv. His hair is slicked back, his handsome face that you’ve missed so much is on full display as he lifts the blanket and slides in beside you.

“Hey,” he says softly, a tired smile stretching across his lips as he leans on one elbow looking down at you with searching eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper. He smells so good and fresh—like eucalyptus and citrus.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I am too.”

His smile fades for a moment, replaced by a look of something deeper, a look that mirrors your own.

You scoot closer, your bodies gently touching beneath the covers. The warmth of him seeps into you, the last remnants of loneliness from back home dissipating as you fall asleep, finally, in his arms.

—-

You softly breathe in your sleep, he can hardly believe you’re finally here. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle sounds you let out as you slumber. Your lips are parted, the same lips he’s been craving to kiss since he left your home three months ago. The high moonlight shines in from the large windows that lead to the large terrace where he would often sit and miss you. Now, you’re here… finally and it all feels like a dream.

The loneliness was often too much for him, causing him to decline invitations to parties from friends or dinners with co-stars just to spend an hour talking to you.

Everything feels right as you cuddle in closer next to him in your sleep. The ache of longing has now transformed into something softer and warm. He brushes his fingers lightly over your arm, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, careful not to wake you. He loves watching you sleep, you look so peaceful, free from the worry and doubt that your soon-to-be ex-husband has poisoned you with. Just being near you makes him feel complete; he feels like the luckiest man on earth, having his golden girl back in his arms.

He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep, now no longer having to dream of holding you. 

—-

“Sweets.” A whisper of a deep voice against your ear gently rumbles you awake. “I gotta get going.”

Your eyes open to Dieter, a soft smile lifts his face in the early morning light. It’s the most beautiful thing to wake up to.

"Oh,” you yawn. “I’ll walk you out.”

You lift off the covers and take his outstretched hand, his fingers curling around yours as he gently pulls you to your feet.

He holds your hand all the way to the door of the suite, before turning to you, reluctance weighing his features.

“I don’t want to go, you just got here,” he whines.

You chuckle, straightening the collar of his jacket. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” you assure. “Now go.”

He sighs before leaning in and leaving a kiss against your forehead. He slightly pulls away, his dark brown eyes staring into yours before they flicker down to your lips. You take a breath, inhaling the scent of him.

HIs eyes linger on your lips, his breath warm against your skin. Time slows as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush yours softly, tentative and questioning. You respond, pressing closer, and suddenly, just like that, after all the years of pent up longing and stolen glances…

His mouth captures yours fully and urgently. The plush lips you’ve imagined kissing again cover yours. His hands you’ve dreamed of feeling on your body come up to cradle your face, his body you’ve craved to feel backs yours against the wall. His tongue seeks entrance to your mouth and you allow it, parting your lips with a soft gasp. He groans, the sound vibrating through your body as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His lips move against yours, his hands sliding down to your waist, his thick fingers splaying against your back as he pulls you flush against him. A soft moan escapes your lips as his tongue sweeps across yours. His stubble rasps against your skin as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your fingers tighten around the waves of his hair as he nips and sucks at your pulse. You tug at his hair, a low groan escapes from his throat as he kisses his way back to your lips.

Every lick of his tongue into your mouth, every shared moan, every touch of his skin against yours, this is what you’ve wanted ever since that first night, ever since the first time his lips met yours in that dim dive bar.

A sharp ring breaks through your kiss. Dieter’s phone rings insistently nearby on the table by the door. His body tenses against yours before pulling back reluctantly.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the offending device.

“You should get it,” you suggest softly, your heart sinking.

With a resigned sigh, he releases you and steps towards the table. He swipes to answer, you watch him, marveling at how close he is, how real all of this feels. Finally.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be down right now,” he says into the phone, grumbling as he hangs up without a salutation.

He turns to you, his eyes rounding in apology. “I’m so sorry Sweets, the car service has been waiting for me.”

“I know. Go. I’ll be here.”

His eyes bat between the door and you, before he sighs, walks over, and grabs your chin leaving a searing kiss against your lips.

“I’ll be back by 7, go down to the spa, spend the day pampering yourself, charge it to the room.”

You smile, leaning in to give him another kiss. “I will. Thank you. Now, go, before they call again.”

“Bye Sweets, have a good day.”

—-

The door clicks behind him as he steps out into the hallway, he can’t hide the huge smile on his face as he makes his way to the elevator. Your lips, goodness, your lips, your sleep rumpled face, your body underneath his shirt, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

The elevator door closes as he leans against the polished golden metal, his heart still racing with the remnants of your kiss. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you still on his lips.

The elevator descends to the lobby, he feels the distance stretch between you, but it’s different now, this distance is hopeful and wishing, the type of distance that he knows is only temporary.

He wanted to stay and never leave you, but duty calls louder than desire, and he knows this role is huge for him.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the ground floor and Dieter steps out into the bustling lobby. Lamar greets him with a smile and leads him to the waiting car.

“Is there anything you need today sir?” Lamar asks.

“Just make sure my girl is taken care of,” Dieter catches himself as he calls you his girl. “Everything gets charged to my room.” “Of course Mr. Bravo,” Lamar nods with a knowing smile as he closes the car door.

—-

You do as Dieter tells you. You spend your first day in London treating yourself to a day at the fancy hotel spa. Once you’re relaxed and pampered, you take yourself out for afternoon tea at Rosebery, the bright and airy cafe in the hotel. You’re used to taking yourself out to meals, enjoying the peaceful solitude of your own company and a book, but today feels different. Later Dieter will be back and peaceful solitude will be traded for peaceful companionship.

The whole hotel is gorgeous, you truly feel special here, like a character from one of the classic movies you've watched a million times. You've been whisked away to another country by the handsome, ultra famous movie star who you think you’re falling in love with—and you think he might just feel the same way about you.

—-

His driver drives down the same streets and drops him off at the same entrance after another long day on set, except now it’s different. This fancy hotel has been his home for the past three months. Sure, he has a stocked fridge, a comfortable bed, and his clothes in the closet… but it was still missing you. Now, as the doorman opens his door, he feels like he’s at home, because now, he’s only ten floors away from you.

He practically jogs through the lobby to catch the next elevator.

Eight floors away. Six floors away. Four floors away. One floor away.

Home.

He makes his way across the hall to the door he’s opened every single day he’s been here. The vase of geraniums still sit on the entranceway table overflowing with pretty crimsom blooms. He blinks twice when he sees you awake on the couch, looking at your phone.

He forgers how to breathe when you look up towards him with a smile. The sight of you, after a long day, sends warmth pooling through his whole body… better than any drug or drink he’s ever had. The lamp near you casts your body in a golden hue, he swears you look like a golden goddess.

“Hey you,” you say, a cosy grin spread across your lips. “Welcome back.”

You stand to meet him half way. The space between you quickly disappears as he strides over, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He feels your body melt against him.

"I missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

He takes a step back to admire you, taking in the sight of you—your face fresh and dewy from your spa day. “You look incredible,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

You shyly look down. “Thank you.”

He reaches out and gently holds your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Beautiful,” he whispers, licking his lips and leaning forward.

He kisses you again. He can’t resist the softness of your lips, the feel of your tongue against his, the little sounds you make… it’s all he’s thought about today. Three times now, he’s kissed you. He feels a sense of possessiveness as you let a small sigh out. He knew it all those years ago, that one he has tasted the sweetness of your lips, no one will ever compare.

His hands travel down to your waist, lightly brushing against the ties of your robe. He wants to pull them apart so badly, but he resists. He pulls back, breathless and slightly dazed. Your head finds its home against his chest. “So, how was your day?” he asks.

“Lovely, wonderful, super relaxing,” you reply, lifting your chin to meet his eyes again. “The spa was amazing and I felt so spoiled. It felt… surreal.”

“Surreal is good,” he replies with a smirk.

“I like surreal,” you respond.

“Oh! Look at my manicure!” you say, stepping back and proudly holding out your hands for his inspection.

He chuckles softly, tracing a finger tip along one of your nails. “They look like the sky.”

“Yep! And the stars glow in the dark,” you respond proudly.

His heart swells at how happy and relaxed you look. There have been far too many days that he would worry about you, hoping you’re happy and smiling, never quite sure of how you’re feeling. But today, as you stand before him, glowing with a wide smile on your face, he knows that you are truly happy in this moment.

“I’m starving. Do you want to just order room service or do you want to go out tonight?”

“If we stay here, I can keep my robe on,” you sheepishly respond.

“Then go ahead and order the food while I’ll go change into mine,” he says with a wink.

He hasn’t felt this happy in so long.

—-

Another delicious meal, another delicious bowl of sticky toffee pudding, another shared joint between the two of you.

“God,” you happily sigh pushing the empty dessert plate away from you. “I could eat that for every single meal.”

He chuckles, his head shaking back and forth, the way he looks at you is foreign, like you truly are the center of his world. A look you haven’t seen in years.

You’re halfway across the world from your comfortable dream home filled with all of your furniture, plush blankets, and treasures—yet right here, across the table from Dieter, feels more like home than your house has in years.

“I’ve been thinking, and tell me no if you don’t want to, but I think we should watch The Philadelphia Story tonight. Just so we can have a happy memory with it. But again you don’t have to do i—”

“That sounds amazing, Dee, I love it,” you say.

You realize you’re madly in love with him as he rises from the table and offers his hand to you with a doting smile.

—-

“No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy.” Dieter recites the lines along to the movie, drawing your attention. “Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

He looks over at you and… you do have tears in your eyes.

The look on your face… your wide eyes, wet with tears you have yet to shed, your mouth agape as you blink at him, the small smile that’s beginning to lift your lips.

He wants to tell you everything, he feels like he finally can now after years of staying silent and trying to escape the feelings he holds for you—but first he needs to know one thing.

“Do you still love him?” he asks, shocking himself at his earnest question.

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve loved him for awhile, honestly. Do you still love Anika?”

“No,” he mimics your head shake. “I don’t know if I ever did.”

“Then why did you marry her?”

“Because,” he swallows ready to bare his soul to you. “I couldn’t have you.”

He watches you process his words, your brow furrowing slightly as a wave of understanding washes over you. The truth lingers in the air poignant and thick. He feels his heart constrict at the thought of what could have been—what should have been. The ache he’d always feel when Warren would touch you, kiss you, hold you. He leans closer, compelled by the invisible force that draws him into your orbit.

“You’re my golden girl sweets,” he admits, a tremor in his voice as he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “Ever since that night in that dive bar.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, as you search his face, a tear falling down your cheek. “For that long?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, wiping your tear away with the pad of his thumb. “For that long,” he responds with a shy smile.

He doesn’t even have time to second guess his confession, before you leap on him, straddling his body and pressing your lips against his. He embraces you, reveling in the feeling of your body against his. His body feels aflame, your need for him igniting the long smoldering burn for you within him.

You let out a soft moan as your hands slide under his robe, eagerly exploring his chest. He’s never felt your touch this way, his hips tilt up towards the heat of you still concealed by the fluffy fabric. You meet his hips, grinding down on top of him.

Ever since he first saw you, he’s wondered what this would feel like, what you would sound like, how your body would feel against his. He pulls away slightly, breathless, searching your eyes seeking reassurance after a decade of wanting you. “Are you sure?” he asks, vulnerability etched on his face.

“Dee,” you pant, “I want you.”

“God,” he says, his head tilting back to hit the couch. “That’s all I’ve needed to hear.”

You lean forward against him, leaving kisses along his neck up towards his jawline, your tongue darting out to lick a line across the strong angle of it to his mouth.

Your tongue finds his as you melt against him even more, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, erasing every distance that has ever laid between you. The only thing that lies between him and your naked body is a robe.

He pulls away, sitting up and helping you to stand. He quirks an eyebrow up at you asking for silent permission as he grabs the tie of your robe. You nod with a sweet smile, and as the robe loosens, your skin is slowly revealed to him. His breath leaves his body when you shrug the fabric off, the robe pooling behind you. His golden girl now stands bare before him, only clad in pair of dark blue panties. The glow of the lamp behind you lights your skin. You’re ethereal, like a goddess he’d pray to, backlit by the golden glow. You are his golden girl.

“Fuck…” he murmurs, his robe barely covering his hardness for you as you step towards him. There have been too many dreams to count like this that he’s woken up from, hard and leaking. He pinches his arm.

“Huh?” you ask, a look of shock crossing your face.

“I’m just making sure this is real,” he responds.

You giggle, as you settle yourself back on his lap.

“It’s real,” you whisper against his mouth before leaving a kiss against it and reaching down to untie the ties of his robe. He recognizes the look on your face as he shuffles out of the robe… want, need, lust.

Finally, your lace meets his cotton. It used to be circumstances and empty marriages separating you, now it’s just two pieces of thin fabric.

You press your body against him with desperate force, pushing over the boundary long since established by regret. For once, he feels like he’s not just holding onto the dream of you, but living it—a reality where he can finally hold you near and tell you everything he wants to say.

He wants you, he needs you, he’s thought of this so many times before—but not here on this couch.

“Baby—” he says against your lips, catching your attention. “Bedroom.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your hair tousled and lips swollen. You scoot off him and stand, panting for air with wild eyes. You’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.

—-

With your fingers intertwined, you lead him into the bedroom. Your heart is racing, you haven’t been with anybody since Warren—and now, here in London, you’re leading Dieter fucking Bravo to the bed. As soon as you both step past the threshold, he turns and presses your overheated skin against the cool wall. His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss, his strong hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him.

Every touch lights something within you that you didn’t know existed before. Your head falls back as he trails kisses down your neck, nipping at your skin as he moves lower and lower.

“Dieter,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moves lower, his lips trailing down your collarbone towards your chest.

“Baby,” he whispers before forming his mouth over your breast and lightly sucking on your nipple. Not Sweets, not Golden Girl, just baby.

His tongue explores the familiar lines of your body like a map he’s memorized yet never navigated. He moves to the floor, kissing down your stomach, past the thin strap of your underwear to the birthmark on your hip shaped like a comet.

He looks up at you, big brown eyes lit with adorations stare into yours. There’s a look you can name, it’s the look you’ve secretly wanted ever since you met him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with awe before he kisses against your birthmark and traces the shape of it with his tongue.

His hands slide up your ass to the waistband of your underwear, with one easy movement, he pulls the lace down your legs, leaving you bare for him.

“Goddamn baby,” he whispers, voice full of awe, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Perfect, I knew it.”

You gasp as he pushes you flush against his mouth, his lips finding their way between your thighs, inhaling the scent of you, his eyes fluttering shut as his tongue finally tastes you.

You moan loudly, arching into him. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady for him. A sound escapes him, a mix between a groan and sigh.

“Fuck baby,” he whispers against you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer and deeper.

“Dee,” you gasp as he kisses and sucks against your clit. He savors you, worships you, as if every dash and flick of his tongue against you imparts the knowledge of how he’s always felt about you.

Your legs begin to tremble, your hands gripping against his hair tighter to help you stay upright. His tongue swirls and teases against you, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. Lately, your fantasies have been filled with thoughts of how his plush lips would feel against you, how his tongue would taste you, and now that you have it, it’s everything you wanted it to be.

You gaze down at him, tension coiling in your belly and goosebumps prickling across your skin. He feels your eyes on him and looks up at you with hungry, desperate eyes, groaning against you. His brows knit together in concentration as he explores every inch of you with his tongue, each stroke feeling like a deep confession against your pussy.

You pull against his hair, catching his attention, his eyes wide and mouth glistening.

“Bed,” you plead.

“Okay baby,” he nods before standing and giving you a kiss that leaves the taste of you on your lips.

He leads you to the bed, his large hand in yours, gently guiding you.

With every step a new memory of him all those years ago flood your mind. He was the charming young actor who used to be your husband's best friend. Yet, there was always a spark between you two that seemed to ignite whenever your eyes met. It's been far too long, and you've endured too much sadness in your loveless marriage. Now, as you lay on the soft sheets of a luxurious hotel bed in London, there is a sense of liberation and anticipation. After months of taking care of yourself and years of longing for Dieter...you lie naked on the bed, ready and eagerly waiting for him to take you.

He reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a box of condoms.

“Dee?” you ask, as curiosity gets the best of you.

“When’s the last time y-you—”

“Not since before you called me that night,” he reveals, his brown eyes deep as they stare into yours. Your heart races at his confession; all this time you assumed he was still sleeping around, what with him being a famous Hollywood star and all. “I’ve been waiting for you baby.”

“Dee, I have an IUD,” you smile.

“Amazing,” he grins, tossing the box behind him before hopping onto the bed and smothering you with his body.

He leaves a trail of playful, wet kisses across your face, each one eliciting a giddy giggle. You haven’t made this noise or felt this light and carefree in years - and you’re naked in bed with the best man of your wedding. The irony is not lost on you.

He pulls away, the playfulness of the moment quickly replaced by lust when you feel his hardness pressed against you. Only one more layer to go until he’s fully exposed to you.

“Off,” you say, tugging at the cotton of his boxers.

He rises to kneel, his hard cock straining against the fabric.

“Be my guest baby,” he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

You bite your lip, eyes locked with his as you reach for the waistband of his boxers, slowly tugging them down, revealing his cock.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, unable to stop yourself from admiring how beautiful his cock his.

He tilts his head down and watches as your hand swipes across the wide tip of him, collecting the bead of precum and smearing it across the head. He’s so thick.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “I can’t believe this.”

He pinches himself again, earning a giggle from you as you admire his naked body.

Broad everywhere and golden skinned… you can’t believe you ever wanted anybody else.

Dieter’s lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, his fingers trailing down your stomach, achingly close to where you need to feel him the most.

“Dee,” you gasp against his lips, arching into his touch. His fingers swipe against the wetness you’ve been spilling out for him before slipping one inside, eliciting a long, low moan from you.

With each slow stroke, he watches your reaction, a glimmer of fascination illuminating his eyes as you arch your back and gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so wet,” he whispers against your neck, his free hand gently squeezing your breast before teasing your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You rock against him, hips meeting his hand, needing more from him.

“Need you Dee,” you whimper, as his thumb swirls against your clit.

“I need you too,” he growls, removing his hand and positioning himself at your entrance.

Your hips arch, inviting him in. You’re gasping for air, years and years of anticipation, of an innocent crush, of wanting somebody you thought you could never have and now, now, he enters you with one swift thrust, filling you completely, stretching you in ways you’d forgotten possible. Finally, you’re connected to him in such an intimate way. He moves slowly at first, gently rocking in and out. Your hands grip onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into his golden skin as his thrusts slowly and achingly hit deeper.

“Fuck,” he pants, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back the barrage of sensations flooding through him. “You’re so tight.”

His steady strokes meeting with your gasps and moans echo across the large hotel room. Your body moves with his, your hands roaming across his chest before wrapping your fingers around his fluffy hair.

“Dee,” you moan, unable to form any other words as every nerve in your body is lit by him.

He leans forward, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing every sound you moan for him.

“For so long,” he whispers against your lips. “Wanted this for so long.”

The heat between you builds until it’s almost unbearable, you’re getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me baby,” Dieter strains. “I want to feel you cum for me.”

He thrusts in and out of you slow and steady and with one final thrust, your orgasm blasts through you like an exploding star. You’re a supernova colliding down to earth and shattering into molten golden bits. Your walls clench around Dieter’s cock, as you cry his name over and over.

Your body shudders beneath him, fingernails digging into his back, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

He gazes down at you in awe, watching your face contort in ecstasy, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him, drawing him in deeper.

"That's it, baby," he coos. "Cum for me. You're so beautiful."

He kisses you as he edges himself closer, your body feels as if it’s still glowing as he pounds into your pussy.

“Fuck, I knew iiit,” Dieter grits as he follows soon after, his body trembling above you, a cascade of warmth flooding inside as he releases himself with a deep, primal groan.

You’re lost in each other, suspended in this one moment—a universe now made of your shared breaths and gentle kisses.

Dieter’s weight presses gently on you, a pulse of a feeling you haven’t felt in so long beats through your heart.

He kisses your forehead before rolling off of you. You turn on your side to face him, studying his features in the low light. The gentle wave of his hair, the slight curl of his lips as he drifts in and out of bliss. A smile creeps onto your face, a mix of disbelief and joy.

He rises on shaky legs, his dark brown hair tousled, a dopey grin on his face. “Be right back.”

You giggle at the surreality when he moves across the room with his naked body on full display. The muscles of his back flex as he walks, and you take the opportunity to admire the curve of his ass. Damn. He’s perfect.

He disappears into the bathroom and you hear the soft rush of water from the faucet. Damn. He’s thoughtful.

He’s no longer just your friend or the famous movie star. He’s now something so much more to you, especially as he returns, naked and unabashed, moving towards you with such tender purpose.

A warm damp towel rests in his hand as he approaches the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Spread for me baby,” he gently says.

You’re not even shy as his eyes roam your naked body still loose and glowing from your orgasm.

You spread your legs and he gulps. “Amazing,” he says with reverence as his cum drips out of you. He gently cleans you, his brows knit in concentration, his brown eyes focused on the task.

He tosses the rag on top of his boxers before sliding back into bed next to you. His warm body presses against yours as he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you close.

His earring glistens in the soft light of the bedside lamp. It beckons you, but now, you can finally touch it with zero fear. Your finger traces the golden shape of it, before trailing down to the stubble on his jaw. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

“Surreal is good,” you echo his words from earlier.

“Mm,” he hums, his big brown eyes looking at you with deep affection. “In fact, I think I love surreal.”

---

A/N: Hi, yes, hello. Things are happening. I'm working on the next chapter right now, and that'll be the festive Christmas/New Years chapter. It'll be post holiday time. Thank you, as always for reading, and (hopefully) loving these two just as much as me.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Baby Got Back

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: T Word Count: 3933 Tags: Human AU, gym meet-cute, lust at first sight, call that a meat-cute, supporting appearance by Death, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, Hob puts the 'ass' in 'exercise class', Dream of the Endless (Sturridge Edition) has no cake to serve, embarrassment, exercise, Death is the worst (best) wingman

Notes: This happened bc @dragonnan shared this video in the Mr Sadman server and the scene Would Not Leave my brain. The meat-cute tag is also courtesy of Dragonnan. ❤️ Title is of course borrowed from Sir Mix-a-Lot's song of the same name. I physically could not call this anything else.

Summary: Dream's sister drags him to the gym. Will the instructor and his assets be enough to convince Dream it's worth his time?

On AO3 Dream is pleased to see, as he begrudgingly follows his sister into the exercise class she'd signed them up for, that at least the instructor isn't the bodybuilding jock type that has historically put him off going to the gym entirely. Dream gets only a glance at the back of him as they enter the space, but he is slim and athletically built—neither thick-necked nor thickly-muscled, nor is any part of him built like a tree trunk.

That is a relief.

Dream still does not want to be here.

But he loves his sister, and is ultimately not immune to her dogged persistence.

"Come on, Dream, just one time, please? I'm sure you'll find something you like about it!"

Months, she has been cajoling him; it is his hope that she will drop the subject now that he has finally given in.

"Hello, welcome everyone!" Mr. Not-a-Musclebound-Jock speaks up, drawing attention to start the class. "My name is Robert, but you can call me Hob, and I'll be your instructor for this undertaking! Good to see some of you back, and nice to see all these new faces too! Now, today we're going to start off slow; I'll demonstrate some techniques and we can all try them out one at a time before we really get going, alright?" He claps his hands, rubs them together. "Those of you who've been here before, please feel free to help out the newcomers if they need it. Especially if you brought them." He glances at Dream and Death with a tiny nod, as Death is one of those returning students, and Dream.

Well.

He is hearing the words—"quick stretches", now, and "warmup"—he is paying attention, truly, but he is also.

Staring.

Which is not so terrible; all eight of them in the class are watching the instructor and following along with the warmup, as they should. But Dream does not think his thoughts are in line with anyone else's.

Because the instructor, Hob—he is gorgeous. Arrestingly so. Beautiful in a very ordinary way; average height, the previously noted slim build, brown hair greying slightly at the temples and pulled into a messy bun, dark eyes, strong nose, friendly smile. Nothing individually remarkable, but together? Oh. That smile lances straight through Dream in a way that makes his stomach curl up giddily. Hob is wearing a white t-shirt that is tight and thin enough it can't quite hide what looks to be a lush thicket of chest hair, and the amount of hair on his arms and legs further supports that hypothesis. He's wearing mallard green spandex shorts that show off, well, everything, and it's all very nice.

Perhaps this class will be tolerable, after all.

"Okay, the first thing I want to tackle is a modified squat form," Hob says once they've finished the warmup stretches, and Dream is immediately reassessing his optimism. He hates squats; hates most sorts of physical exercise, to be honest, which is why Death had had to wheedle so hard to get him to join her. But squats, of course, were particularly loathsome. And Hob sounds far too cheerful about them.

"This modification is pretty simple; you'll just need to find a pole, here, and do like this." Hob turns so his back is mostly to the class, grabs an upright bar on the nearest weight machine—Dream has no idea what any of this equipment is properly called—then plants his feet far apart and leans back, bending his knees into a beautifully right-angled squat and Dream?

Dream nearly swallows his tongue.

Hob's green spandex shorts and everything they contain have gone from 'nice' to 'scandalously on display' and Dream is absolutely mesmerized. The way Hob's body drops, the wide stance of his legs, the way his cheeks spread as he sinks low—Dream is having capital-T Thoughts, none of which are in the bible, as Desire is fond of saying. Hob's thighs, while built slim, are well-muscled and incredibly toned and every contour of quads and hamstrings is straining into beautiful prominence beneath those shorts. His arse is likewise presented, every curve and dimple beautifully highlighted by shiny green fabric, and Dream is very sure he can see the imprint of individual hairs beneath the stretched spandex. The material is rendered slightly-sheer by the position and, unmistakably, there is a distinctive 'whale-tail' flaring above Hob's shapely cheeks.

Dream's mouth goes dry. Is he—?

There is a telling lack of lines under the spandex.

He is. Hob is wearing a thong.

Dream is ridiculously grateful for the Extreme Support jock strap he'd put on before coming here; he is having a most unfortunate reaction to every aspect of Hob's demonstration, but his shorts are far more forgiving than Hob's and the underwear beneath them is keeping things decent enough for the public environment.

He hopes.

"See the problem so many people have with squats is the knee strain," Hob is saying, as he straightens up again. He lets go of the pole. "Most of the time when we do squats, we're leaning forward a bit for balance, right?" He bends into position, demonstrating; his arse and thighs are on display again and it is no less arresting than the previous example. "And that's where that knee pressure comes from, trying to keep that balance."

Dream can think of several ways to help Hob keep his balance in such a position, all of which involve their bodies in intimate proximity and none of which would be particularly easy on anyone's knees.

"But like this"—Hob takes hold of the equipment again and leans back, drops slowly into his squat—"it's easy to keep your chest straight, get all that nice core support and this ninety-degree angle here"—his free hand strokes the curve of his own arse from hip to thigh and Dream inhales sharply—"and your anchoring pressure is all in your heels. No knee strain!" He sinks deep, presumably in demonstration and Dream is so full of lewd thoughts he genuinely fears he might burst. He watches the flex of Hob's thighs and arse as the man raises himself and lowers back into another squat; he bites his tongue to still the whimper rising in his throat, watches Hob perform another slow controlled bounce, is painfully aware of all his blood rushing south.

"This keeps all the working power in your glutes, which of course helps you build a nice tight round arse—and that's what we're all here for right?" Hob grins over his shoulder as he sinks down again.

A smattering of laughter answers him, including a chuckle from Death, but Dream cannot stop staring at Hob's arse. Which is indeed. Round. And tight. Chiseled. Contoured into sharp relief beneath the stretch of spandex shorts. And the texture of his body hair on top of all that? The thong? The way his cheeks flex and spread as he sinks low, clench beautifully as he rises up again?

Dream is utterly lost.

His sister bumps him with her shoulder. "Alright there, Dream?"

He makes a tiny, strangled noise that he hopes she will take for assent. He can only imagine what color his face is at the moment.

"You can do this at home, too, by the way, if you happen to have a pole—or a sturdy door jamb to hang onto." Hob demonstrates one more deep squat and straightens up, turning to face the class again. "Alright. Everyone find a support and try it out!"

Dream cannot. He cannot fathom duplicating the exercise with the vision of Hob's arse in his head, performing those same motions—supportive underwear or not, he is going to embarrass himself.

"Here we go!" Death singsongs next to him, indicating the nearest weight machine—which does in fact have two upright supports that will serve their purposes. She steps over and takes hold of one, leans herself back with feet planted wide and performs a squat.

Which does wonders to clear Dream's head; it's not titillating when his sister does it and he finds he can refocus appropriately.

"This feels ridiculous," he mumbles, joining her and reluctantly taking up position. "This looks ridiculous."

"Didn't look ridiculous when Hob did it, right?" Death's tone is entirely nonchalant, not even teasing, but Dream seizes up all the same. He knows she's sharp, that she can't have missed the way he was staring nor what, precisely, he'd been staring at. But her words are entirely innocent. "Just need a bit of practice and you'll make it look that good too, little brother."

He is about to reply as he lowers himself, something scathing and devastatingly witty, surely, but another voice cuts in first.

"Ah, so this is your little brother, DeeDee?"

Hob.

Dream, having just reached the lowest point in his first squat, finds quite abruptly that his body has decided to forget how to move.

His sister is answering. "Hey Hob! Yeah, this is Dream. I finally convinced him to come in with me."

"Wonderful! Always glad to have new friends join the fun!" Hob holds out a hand.

As if Dream is in any position to shake it.

His eyes are nearly level with Hob's chest and it takes every fiber of willpower he possesses to keep them up on Hob's face; in his distraction, he lets go of the pole to shake hands anyway.

Inevitibly, he falls flat on his arse.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!" Hob reaches to help him up, looking alarmed.

His sister is stifling her laughter.

"Thank you," Dream manages, pride bruised, face aflame, but he takes Hob's hand and pulls himself quickly to his feet. He does not dare look around to see who else in the class has borne witness to his bumbling ignominy. Besides which. Hob is no less attractive in close proximity and Dream's brain is replaying all those squats in quick flashes while also gibbering about the chest hair showing through that thin white t-shirt, none of which is at all conducive to keeping his composure. Desperately, he tries to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Yes. I am Dream. DeeDee's brother."

He never calls Death DeeDee. And she had just introduced him, by name, as her brother.

He needs to stop talking before he embarrasses himself any further.

But Hob only grins brightly, shakes his hand firmly. "I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Teach the class, obviously." He drops Dream's hand, clears his throat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your practice—or drop you on your arse, apologies! Let's try that form again?"

"What? Yes." Dream tears his gaze from Hob's mouth and the dimple in his chin, and then again from Hob's chest, turns to blindly grab at the pole he'd been using. "Like this?" He moves on instinct, dropping into a squat, trying his hardest to remember what Hob had demonstrated without fixating on how his arse looked doing it.

He is not successful.

And he still hates squats.

"That's a good start," Hob says, encouragingly, and Dream is mortified by the way something in him warms to it. "Now let's try straightening up a bit more—may I?"

Dream is nodding assent before he realizes that Hob's hand is hovering over his back, that Hob is asking permission to touch.

He barely stifles the sound in his throat as Hob's fingers skate down his spine, offer firm pressure just below his waist while his other hand guides Dream's shoulders back. "There we go, see? Let the pole hold your balance so you can get this ninety-degree angle, right here"—his hand moves from Dream's back to his hip, a professional touch that nevertheless sends Dream's brain up in smoke—" and takes the strain off your knees. See?"

"Yes," Dream manages, barely aware of what he's agreeing with.

"Now, when you push yourself up, you've got to make sure you're using your legs," Hob cautions, as Dream rises. "Don't pull yourself up using the pole; you want the work happening in your thighs and your glutes." Thankfully (regrettably), his demonstrative touching seems to be done, and Dream does not have to cope with Hob's hands on his arse. He does not know how much more of this he can handle—the proximity, the images still burned in his brain. The touching. That voice.

That smile.

He just needs. One moment. A chance to compose himself, to remember how to behave like a normal human being.

He lowers himself into another squat, muscles already beginning to protest, making sure to keep his form as Hob had instructed.

"Good!" Hob says, sounding genuinely pleased, and Dream's insides turn to goo. "Use those glutes, excellent!"

"Because that's how you build a nice round arse, right?" Death says—how did Dream manage to forget that she is literally standing right beside him through all of this—and Hob chuckles, pats Dream briefly on the shoulder.

"That's right! And it looks like you could definitely use a little help in that area!"

Dream face is aflame. He is aware of the aesthetic deficiencies of his own backside. He does not need them commented upon by a man unfairly blessed in that regard, in front of his sister, particularly not while he is struggling through a horny crisis over this same man. He seizes desperately for the thread of escape glimmering in the comment.

"You dare offer such insult to one who has come to your class for its benefits?" He stands upright as he says it, letting go the stupid pole and drawing haughty arrogance around him like a cloak to hide the tatters of his pride and composure. "How disappointingly unprofessional. Excuse me."

And he flees.

Technically, he strides from the gym area at a reasonable pace. But inside, he is running. He ignores Hob calling after him, ignores the voice in his own head screaming about how rudely he just treated the pretty man with the beautiful arse, ignores the other voice in his head that sounds like his sister scolding him and ducks into the nearest restroom.

He just needs. A moment.

He braces both hands on the sink, grateful there is no one here to see, hangs his head and lets regret wash over him.

He has ruined his chances, he is sure of it. Chances at what, he can't quite say; it's not as though he was planning to proposition Hob nor ask him out. Just. Quietly suffer through classes with his sister and silently ogle Hob for an hour three times a week, perhaps. If he is honest with himself. But Hob is certain not to want him in his class again, nor will his sister likely bring him back after how he has behaved today.

That's one problem solved, he thinks, bitterly.

He should apologize for his rudeness. But he will not interrupt Hob's class to do it. He must wait for Death regardless, and the fact that she has not stormed into the men's room after him means she thinks he needs time to nurse his wounds and pull himself together. So he will do so.

He turns on the tap, splashes water on his face, dries it with the length of paper towel the motion-sensitive dispenser offers him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, his pale face splotchy and gaunt and sour, mouth pulled into an easy frown, and sighs.

No, he had no chances to ruin in the first place.

With a sigh, he turns away and leaves the washroom, retrieves his phone and wallet and Death's as well from their locker, then finds a seat at one of the little round tables in the juice bar area to wait. He checks his watch; the class is scheduled to run for another forty minutes.

It is a long time to sit alone with his thoughts; he opens the sudoku app on his phone, mindlessly working through puzzle after puzzle while he waits.

It has been just under thirty-five minutes when his brooding peace is disturbed.

"Dream, oh good." Incongruously it is Hob's voice, not his sister's. "DeeDee said you'd probably be here. I wanted to apologize."

None of these words are the ones Dream might have expected; he opens his mouth to reply but instead of something normal what comes out is, "But your class is not over?"

Hob blinks, looking as nonplussed as Dream feels. "Er. Not quite, no, but your sister offered to run everyone through cool-down so I could come find you."

"Why?" Why can he not stop his mouth running ahead of his thoughts, that is the true question.

"Like I said. I wanted to apologize." Hob shifts his weight awkwardly, drawing Dream's attention unhelpfully to the way his thin white shirt has gained additional transparency thanks to the half hour spent sweating in front of his class. "My comment was entirely unprofessional, you're right. And I'm sorry."

"It is not untrue." Dream's backside does indeed leave much to be desired in comparison to others. "But. I appreciate the apology." He appreciates the view of Hob's chest as well, but mercifully manages to hold his tongue on that count.

He does not quite manage to keep his eyes from flicking down to Hob's shorts, to the smoothness of the bulge artfully contained by the spandex.

Thong, he remembers, and his mouth again goes a little dry at the thought.

"May I sit?"

"Please." The rote answer is out before Dream can puzzle over why Hob wishes to join him.

Hob pulls out the other chair and drops into it, leans forward just a little. "Really, I'm sorry. I picked up the vibe of your sister's teasing and ran with it but I haven't known you long enough for that to be welcomed or appreciated. I was very much out of line. And I apologize."

"I. Apologize, as well. For speaking so harshly in front of others and making a scene." Dream is trying very hard to ignore the way his insides are wibbling at Hob's words, Hob's voice.

"What? Oh. No, no, it's forgotten, don't worry about it." Hob waves a hand dismissively. "My fault in the first place."

Dream lets the matter lie.

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"So. First time to class, huh?" Hob flashes a bright smile at him, quick and awkward and terribly endearing. "What did you think?"

"It was. Brief," Dream says, before he can think better of it, and Hob laughs.

Dream's stomach swoops helplessly, flutters in consternated delight. Oh. Oh, but he is utterly gone on the sunshine this man exudes.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course. You'd definitely need a full session before you could answer that; stupid question." Hob shakes his head, grin fading, hesitation creeping into his demeanor. "Do you think you'd want to come back again?"

"I am. Undecided," Dream admits, honesty seeing him through as he stumbles over the possibility—does Hob want him to come back? Is Hob hoping to see him again?

Is he willing to suffer a regular gym appointment for the possibility?

"Ah. Well." Hob sounds downright nervous now. "It would probably be…good if you didn't?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dream is so affronted at hearing it stated so plainly he forgets that he has earned the rejection.

Hob startles. "Crap, no, sorry! That didn't come out right." He laughs, a nervous awkward laugh, but his smile is still bright. "Let me try again—sorry. Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "I'd like—I'd like to ask you out. But if you're in a class that I'm teaching then ethically I probably shouldn't do that."

Dream is, metaphorically, knocked in his aesthetically-deficient arse yet again. "You wish to ask me out? On a date?"

"Yeah. Yes." Hob reaches to toy with his earlobe, head tilting into the unconscious motion adorably. "Your sister has told me a lot about you, been talking you up for months and you're very pretty and I would love to get to know you under more comfortable circumstances? If you're interested, of course. No hard feelings if you're not I know we've barely met and I've already put my foot in it many times over but. Could I possibly convince you to let me try again?"

Dream is impressed by the flood of words just tumbling freely forth, and a bit gobsmacked yet unsurprised at 'your sister's talked you up' even as the pieces begin to click into place—but most of all he's delighted that Hob seems interested in him, and charmed by the earnestness with which Hob's asking for a second chance.

As if Dream's little tizzy in the class had been anything more valid than a cover for his own embarrassment. As if Hob has anything to apologize for.

He will have words with his sister later, though.

"My sister. Is setting us up."

"I do believe that was her intention, yes." Hob looks hopeful. "I'm far from opposed, if you're alright with it?"

"Then. All things considered. I will not be returning to your class, Hob." He offers a smile that he hopes is friendly with an undercurrent of coyness, and not off-putting. He glances up from beneath his lashes to catch the way Hob is blinking, his grin broadening in delight.

"Really? Okay! Are you—are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I am. Where would you like to meet?"

"Merv's is a lovely quiet little pub not far from here—do you know it?"

"I do not."

"I'll text you the details then; it's relaxed and low-key but very nice, nothing terribly fancy but amazing food. And they accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions if those're a concern. Can I give you my number?"

"Of course." Dream opens a new contact and presents his phone; Hob types in his info with impressive speed and hands it back.

"Send me a text so I've got yours? My phone's still in the other room."

"Of course," Dream repeats, already composing the message as Hob stands from the small table. This is Dream—I look forward to our date tomorrow. Simple and to the point. Truthful and sincere. Nothing embarrassingly forward like the thoughts running rampant in his head. I want to rub my cheek in your sweaty chest hair like a cat. Or I would like to peel your shorts from your magnificent arse with my teeth. Surely that is too much for a first text preceding a first date. He will refrain.

"I've got another class to teach so I've got to run," Hob is saying as he pushes his chair back in. "But I'm delighted to have met you and I'm glad I won't be seeing you in class again, heh." He winks, an actual genuine wink that charms Dream all over again.

"As am I." He leaves it at that, never mind how badly he wants to say something smoky and lascivious about Hob giving him private instruction in whatever techniques he cares to demonstrate; he thinks that one of them might combust if he could deliver the line correctly, and possibly it would not be him. But he will save it for tomorrow evening, should the date go well. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." Hob flashes his sunny smile again and turns, striding quickly back to the gym proper.

Dream watches him go, tight round arse and toned hairy thighs on perfect display, and shifts a little in his seat.

He has a feeling the date will go very well indeed.

= Started: 1/10/25 Drafted: 1/15/25 Posted: 1/20/25

It should be noted that I cannot vouch for whether or not the squat modification used herein is legit or safe. The validity of the exercise was obviously not the point of this fic, but, y'know. Just in case.

[ncis-yp]

Ugh (Tony DiNozzo x reader) [SMUT]

Background: you and Tony had been working in different part of the NCIS you were working on a naval base but were called on in missions to help Abby or Ducky with pharmaceutical intelligence. You and Tony have been dating a few months and wanted to try sexting. You do it out of no where to surprise the other.

This morning you decided to stay home from work. After all, the pharmacy could live without you for a day, if any thing they’d call you. In the meantime, you decided you’d relax at home and get into one of the case study’s that Dr. Mallard asked you to review. Apparently there’s a combination of pills in there that Abby nor Dr. Mallard himself didn’t understand.

Tony was at already at work, you knew. But you decided you wouldn’t tell him you weren’t going. Before you had a chance to sit in your breakfast loft with your cats, Dre and Pac, your phone was buzzing. Two texts from Tony.

Tony: good morning! I passed by the Pharmacy to say good morning and offer to get you coffee. Where are you?

Tony: are you okay?

You smirked and sent back a spicy text… if you were gonna be home, you were gonna do things he couldn’t do.

You: aww that’s sweet :)

You: yeah, decided not to go work.

You: *sent photo*

Tony sat at his desk staring at a photo of you. You’re (e/c) eyes catching the early morning light, your hair pulled back haphazardly, or how you were only in your panties and an over the shoulder band tee.

Tony: wow… you’ve got me excited.

You: excited for what? Not like I did anything special

Tony: to see you. Looking like that in the morning

You: 🥰 aw so sweet! You should come over and see me

Tony: pretty girl… you know I’m at work

You: aww but can’t you take an early lunch to come see me sooner? You know I’d love to see you.

You: *sent photo*

You were playing hard ball. Teasing innocently, but God, that picture of you was so close to the opposite but Tony couldn’t say it was naughty or nice.

His open phone held a picture of you sitting with your legs crisscrossed and you hand between you thighs. He saved it and sent it to his album of pictures of you.

Tony: god you’re gorgeous. I’d love to see you too… trust me

You: thank you handsome

You: really though … come see me

Tony: I want to

You: then do it

You: *sent photo*

Tony’s heart jumped into throat. His stomach was twisting as his dick hardens in his pants. He takes a quick picture.

Tony: (y/n)…

Tony: *sent photo*

You couldn’t lie. Right now you were extremely horny. You don’t like how you teasing Tony turns into you getting needy and he won’t stop teasing.

You: I want that. Right now.

You: *sent photo*

Tony had sent himself to the bathroom to calm down. He was at work. He needed to focus. Maybe he could ask Gibbs to be on call since his apartment is being renovated. No. Work. ..Work. …Work. He managed to get somewhat of a grip. He opened his phone.

You. Legs open. Panties off and to the side. Shirt in your mouth. You were sitting in your bedroom, floor by the mirror. Your hand was between your legs, fingers in your pussy.

His mouth dropped and his dick was rock solid again. Fuck… fuck (y/n) fuck. He thought as his cock raged for her insides. He snapped a picture of himself in the mirror his dick print obvious.

Tony: look what you do to me

Tony: *sent photo*

Tony: do you see how hard my cock is for you right now?

You smiled. You were close to getting Tony. You were actively playing with your pussy, it wasn’t just for show.

You: *sent video*

Tony stood in shock. He heard your quiet moans and whimpering in the background as you slowly pleased yourself.

Tony: (y/n) wait until I get there to finish

You: oh, so you’re coming now?

Tony: no I’ll be there after work

You: sooo then I’m not waiting

You propped the phone up and set the three second timer. Making sure he saw you in action from the beginning. You laid on your back, unaware to any of the texts coming in.

Tony: (y/n) please wait.

Tony: I swear (y/n) if you cum without me your punishment will be so bad that the pleasure you’ll experience wouldn’t have been worth it

You: *sent video*

**”fuck… fuckkk” you fingered yourself at a medium pace. Racing for that orgasm. Your little whimpers began growing into deep moans. “Mmmmhmmm Tony” you groaned as you sped up pace. Roughly fucking yourself. You began tightening, body stiffening as you neared an orgasm. “Tony” you breathe as you begin to orgasm. You sped up. Almost at a feral speed to squirt. You sprayed the phone. Crying out Tony’s name and arching your back as you did.**

Tony: I’m on my way.

Tony rushed out of the bathroom to his desk. Fanning for his keys. Rushing out of the bullpen he brushed past Gibbs.

“Where you headed?”

“(L/n) isnt feeling well, her stomach hurts a lot and she can’t remember what she ate, but she’s really aching. She asked me to pick up some bread, some medicine, and Gatorade.”

“Okay”

“Can be on call today? So I can stay with her?”

“Sure. If you miss one call DiNozzo” Gibbs standing close to Tony. “I won’t let you miss work to play bookie with (y/n) anymore”

“Yeah boss”

“Good try tho. Rule #7” he acknowledged.

He ran out the building and sped to your apartment, parking his yellow ‘66 Mustang next to your black ‘78 challenger. He knocked on your door. Your tiny figure appeared in the door way. Wrapped comfortably in a blanket. He pushed you inside, picking you up as he closed the door. He kicked off his shoes as he kissed you all the way to kitchen, he set you on the bar. The two of you rushed to get most of his clothes off. You held his head as you continuously smashed your lips on his.

He set you down on floor. Pulling off his pants and boxers. He layes himself between your thighs.

“Fuck you, (y/n)” he whispered in your ear.

“Do it then, Anthony” you whisper in his. He rammed into you. You pulled his hair as he roughly fucked you on the floor.

“Do you know, how hard I tried to keep myself together (y/n)?” He bit your neck. Your nails scratching down his biceps as he fucked you relentlessly.

“No” you moan.

“No?” He growls. “Being here, dogging you before 12:00, on a Wednesday, isn’t a clue?” He said working on leaving hickeys in your neck and chest. You were leaving bite marks on his shoulders and you tightened around him. Moans of pleasure getting louder as you neared your climax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkk. You’re close aren’t you?” You nodded. “Tell me when you’re about to. I want to hear you say it.”

Your moans turned him on so much more.

“I’m coming” you say breathing heavily.

“What?”

“Fuck, Tony, I’m coming”

“One more time.” His grunted as he gave three rough pounds in between each word.

“Fuckkk Anthony! I’m coming, I’m coming” you began to tear up. He pulled out and flipped you you you were face down, ass up.

“No you’re not” he growls as he hammers your pussy. The sound of balls slapping skin, and moans and grunts fillling the room.

“I’m sorry” you cry. “Daddy please let me come.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes” you scream.

“Then show me” he says letting go of your hips. “Fuck me like this to show me you’re sorry” you o eyed. Throwing your body back on his roughly but at a staggered pace. He could see your body spending and he decided to finish you off. Just the way you liked it.

“I’m sorry I fucked up my rhythm” he says in your ear. “I just want you to see how gorgeous you look” he grabs your hair and pulls your head up. Your back arched, eyes red, and tears streaming down your face. You screamed as he roughly pounded you.

“Look at you” he said sweetly. “So pretty for daddy ” your faced moved as he dogged your clenching pussy hole. “Sooo fucking beautiful”

He slapped your ass. Three painfully enjoyable slaps. He began to make some marks in your hips.

“Fuck fuck fuck (y/n). Can I bust in there?” He groans as you begin to pull him to the edge. You nodded. “Can I cum in that tight pussy?” He asks again.

“Yes please, Tony, please” you cry your core burned. You began to orgasm. He pulled your head up again. “Let’s cum together” he says as he began orgasming, filling you up, you were soaking his dick with your juices, squirting around his dick.

“Good girl” he says as he fucked you till the end of his climax. Thrusts getting sloppy as he pulled out. He collapsed next to you on the floor, pulling you close to him.

“I hope I didn’t go to rough on you” he said apologetically. “Did I hurt you at all?”

“I’m a little sore.” You admit. “But it was definitely worth the punishment” you giggle kissing his chest.

“(Y/n) I don’t want to have hurt you… you know that right?” Tony speaks.

“Good… please (y/n) let me know if it too rough…” your kiss cuts him off. He smiles dazily.

“I’ll text if you hurt me. I’ll make sure I’m honest about things I do and don’t want, I will punch you if you ever do some thing I don’t like that you keep doing.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, admiring the hickeys you left all over him. And your bite marks on his shoulder.

“Yes, exactly “ he chuckles. Your neck and chest were covered with marks. Your hips had light purple bruises already forming and you wondered what your back looked like.

“I love you” you say to Tony.

“I love you too, (y/n)” he replies kissing you deeply. “I’m going to run you a shower. And I’ll order Thai?” You nodded. He stands and helps you up. Starting your bath for you. Slapping your ass as he walks away.

“Mmm” you smile.

“Sexy” he remarks with a wink. Once he turned his back looked absolutely destroyed. Crazy marks lined his back, blood bubbling towards the top.

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Celebration: Save Me San Francisco - Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not fine.

Closure - Gibbs supports you in the aftermath of the arrest.

You’re leaving.

It shouldn’t hurt Gibbs as much as it does but he can’t help but feel like someone has plunged a hunting knife into his chest as he helps you load your luggage into trunk of your car.

You’re taking a sabbatical for a few months, a break from NIS to teach in San Franisco. They’re bringing in some British guy called Mallard to cover for you whilst you’re away figuring things out.

The resolution of your sister’s case has thrown you off kilter. You need some breathing room, a chance to work out who you are without the grief and you can’t do that here, not with Mike Franks walking around like a living, breathing reminder of the worst day of your life.

He closes the trunk, the noise vibrating through the air before he glances up to find  you watching him. He tilts his face away because he doesn’t want you to see the devastation in him, how much it pains him to let you go.

“You look sad.” You say, your fingertips ghosting along his clenched jaw before you guide his gaze back to yours. “I know it feels like you’re losing me right now but I promise you you’re not.”

He swallows hard against the well of emotion in his chest, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. The truth is he doesn’t believe you. His own history has taught him that everything is fleeting, that the rug can be pulled from underneath your feet at any given second. He knows you’ll fall in love with San Franisco, that you’ll choose to make it your home and he’ll be the one helping you pack up the house this time, instead of just a couple of bags.

“I’m still yours Gibbs, I just need to take some time to get my head straight.”

Before he even gets a chance to contemplate the meaning of your words, your lips brush over his and it’s like lighting erupts through out his entire body, searing his nerve endings, jump starting his synapses. His hand threads through your hair on it’s own accord, his tongue delving deep into the recesses of your mouth as you press against him, your palms sliding down to his chest, gripping the lapels of his jacket. He’s breathless when you pull away, his skin flushed, unable to speak.

There’s a mischievous glint in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“You should come visit me in San Francisco.” You tell him and he understands that if he does follow you to that city that things will change between the two of you, that he’ll end up in your bed and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that just yet.

“Think about it.” You say as you climb into the car.

He watches as you start the engine, his hand raising in farewell before you pull away from the curb.

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[scribblingmuchlyrexan]

DUCK PICREW. MAKE YOUR DUCKSONA. (BONUS: MAKE A HAZBIN LUCIFER DUCKSONA)

there's a male and female mallard, and idk the sexes of the other ducks, so, if you don't know either, don't worry about it and just choose by vibes or look lol

(someone else shared this picrew, but i forget who and i couldn't find the post again)

the second one i got from clicking the "random" button, and i was like "THAT'S ALSO ME"

for Lucifer's ducksona, i was sad to not include as many ducks, but i still like how he turned out!

don't know how many of you folks will see this and be interested, so no obligation, but here's a few tags! @ Whoever Sees This And Wants To :3 :P @aimasup @fgtdgt @clownmoontoon @shsy7573 @heart-of-the-morningstar

[wyllathepeach]

Welcome back, disney duck's enthusiasts fellas!!! I'm finally back with my actual explanation about...

Why I don't like Gosalyn's Redesign for the Ducktales Reboot:

(Beforehand, I would like to notice that I will touch a very delicate matter latter on in this post. As such, if you're sensitive to discussions about culture and race, this post is probably not for you. I wrote said point with educational purposes in mind)

Now, most reasons are just my personal preferences, and please have in mind that LOVE hate on things I like. It's weird, I know, but I can help myself. Also, I know close to nothing about character desing. Finally: Alex perdóname hermano.

Anyways, reason number one!! : Her new design is not similar enough to her original design.

Most of the characters redesign are just modernized version of what they have been wearing since they were created. Donald wears his typical sailor attire but in black (like in the comics); Gladstone is a modernized version of a dandy; each triplets wears different characteristics of their usual designs; Mrs. B's uniform is now modern and more formal ... you get the point. Every character feels the same but in a different setting.

Now, Gosalyn had a single design, so it should have been easy. She was a read head with pigtails and a purple basketball shirt that I think she wears as a dress. Her redesign does not wear purple as a main color nor a basketball shirt, does not wear pigtails but a ponytail, and for some reason she now has curly hair. Also, though still a redhead, the read is much more subtle, mostly brownish/deep red.

I'm gonna admit that they did succeed in keeping her a tomboy through and through. But here I shall lay out my second problem:

Gosalyn's redesign is quite maximalist.

She wears a lot. And most characters don't wear that much, so she feels out of place. Yes, other characters, like Della and Launchpad, wear full outfits too, I'm aware, but their designs are keeping up with their original design or had more or so a simple color palette to work with. Gosalyn, on the contrary, wears too much color: she is deep red, olive brown, like three shades of green, black, gray, white, and purple. The original design kept her in warm tones and simpler lines.

As I said, I like the redesign do reflect the character personality indeed: she's sporty, so she wears a hoodie. She needs gadgets for her superhero adventures, so she has a backpack. She needs to go undercover, so her colors are muted. It works.

But I also have a third problem here:

She looks older.

The girl is young in dwd, like nine. In the reboot, the main kids are aged up from the 80s show: they are ten in the first season and eventually twelve in the third season, but all the desings are still the same from the moment we firt met them, so they still look and feel ten. Gosalyn does not. She gives me the impression of being like fourteen, as she also has a more mature personality (and I also didn't like that, but whatever).

This does not go well with the reboot because her story is supposed to lead up to her being the daughter of Drake Mallard, who is forty I think in dwd (at least that's the impression it gave me). But in the reboot, Drake is like a millennial, so he is at most in his thirties. The age difference is not quite there. How could they ever become actual father and daughter then? Mentor-protégé, sure. Older sibling protector, maybe. Father and daughter... idk. Would a gen z like to be adopted by a millennial?

Anyways, I don't think they translated that well her overall design for the reboot. When I first saw <Let's Get Dangerous!> I did felt all of these things I'm explaining. "Why does she wear boots? Does she really needs leggings? If under the green hoodie, she wears a purple hoodie that reassemble her original basketball shirt better, then why don’t she just wear that? Was it hard to draw her in pigtails instead?"

The design is pretty, and it works with the aesthetic of the episode, but the overall show. This is not Darkwing Duck Reboot; this is Ducktales Reboot.

Now, all said above is not that deep actually (I told you I like to complain). But there is a greater problem with Gosalyn that I just can't deal with, and I need to share with the world because it actually disappointed me enormously:

Gosalyn is supposed to be a latina now.

... no, she's not.

I'm not sure how to explain this, but latinoamerican is not a race. Each latam country has a different type of racial diversity depending on their history and geography. On the other side, there's this recurrent discussion in latam about how we mustn't consider every latino descendant a latino through and through if they don't participate and/or engage in the culture or social struggles of their respective origin country.

When the ducktales crew announced Gosalyn to be latina, I was... concerned. Mainly because till this day, I dont understand why they can't just say the name of the country the character is supposed to be from. If they don't, then I'm assuming they mean by race, which does not exist in latam for as I explained, latam is full of different races, which mean again they ment Gosalyn to be mixed looking/browned skin. Which didn't make her latina.

Fenton is an ok representation for Ducktales. The mom feels Mexican, their Spanish is quite understandable, there’s participation in the culture, they even gave them a new name: Cabrera (which is not a stereopltycal/overly common surname thanks heavens). It checks out.

Gosalyn does not: She does not speak spanish (and neither portuguese for the matter), she does not get a new surname, does not seem to engage with the cultural identity of any country other than usa (Calisota is canonically in usa). She is not one of us. WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE!

She could had just have her new look for the reboot and it would had been fine enough as she could pass out as many more non white identities that exist in usa, so using the latino label just feels comercial, which feel frustrating.

Now I shall go and hide for a few more months. xoxo and peace (^3^)/^ ~♡

[ducktoonsfanart]

Quack Pack Kids (Preteens and Teenagers) and Young Adults (Boys and Girls) - My sketches -Game, Well-To-Do-Duck, Wild, Friend(s), Cultured, Emotional, Obscure and Nostalgic Duck (s) and FREE SPACE DUCKS (plus geese, parrots, rooster and pigeon) - Duckvember - Quack Pack AU and Duckverse (Donald Duck and Ze Carioca comics, Ducktales, Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack) - My style

After a long time, I finally drew my drawings, a newer edition, related to my favorite characters, primarily children (preteens and teenagers) and young adults. I was inspired by the brilliant Alessandro Gottardo, who draws Donald Duck and his family, friends and rivals and publishes them on his Instagram page, and who previously worked on Topolino comics, so he encouraged me to draw my favorite characters in my own way, modeled on his sketches, but this time as a Quack Pack version or as I would imagine them in a Quack Pack version (my version of Quack Pack AU). Since I didn't have time to do everything related to this year's Duckvember, I drew more characters related to multiple themes since it's hard to decide who belongs to whom, but in my own way. I would draw more characters, but I will do that another time, because these are not the only ones who would appear in Quack Pack AU. Yes, I combined Italian, Danish, Dutch, Brazilian comics, Ducktales 1987, Darkwing Duck and the original Quack Pack, in my own way to be in one gathering. Family and friends of Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie.

And I'm posting on the occasion of Universal Children's Day which is celebrated on November 20th (along with June 1st as an alternative date and the first Sunday of October as Children's Week), so Happy Children's Day! The three separate drawings I drew represent mostly preteens and teenagers as they would look in my Quack Pack version, since it wouldn't fit all in one drawing. The first drawing shows Huey, Dewey and Louie, April, May and June Duck, Gosalyn Mallard and Webby Vanderquack in my style (taking mostly the Topolino style). The second drawing shows boys and mostly features Phooey and Kablooie Duck, Honker Muddlefoot, Zico and Zeca Carioca (nephews of Jose Carioca), Newton Gearloose (Gyro's nephew), Sonny Seagull (Garvey Gull from the Egmont comics), Gene the Genie (more of a boy), Gustav Goose, Doofus Drake, Dugan Duck (Fethry's nephew), and Shamrock Gander (Gladstone's nephew). Yes, Kabooie Duck is Donald's fifth lost nephew and wears mostly brown clothes and is in between my version of Phooey and Honker. Gustav is a friend of Donald's nephews in the Quack Pack, but in my headcanon he is Gus's distant nephew. The third drawing shows girls and young women who are still adolescents, but now adults, more like in their late twenties. This refers to Dickie Duck (Goldie's granddaughter), Loretta MacBridge (Brigitta's niece) and Matilda De Spell (Magica's younger cousin) who is located in the lower part of the drawing. The others are teenage girls Minima De Spell (Magica's niece), Vanessa (a friend of Donald's nephews from the Area 15 comics and mostly Dewey's and Louie's girlfriend), Susie McGuider (from the Quack Pack "Ducks by Nature") and an unknown duck from the Quack Pack from the episode "Shrunken Heroes". Since she doesn't have a name, I decided in my headcanon to name her Dottie Duck and she is Daisy's distant niece who appeared once in an old comic, but is now a teenager. I hope you like this and like these versions.

If you like these drawings and are fans of these characters, feel free to like and reblog this. Just don't use the same versions of mine from my drawings without mentioning me and without my permission. Thanks! Also Happy Children's Day and congratulations to Topolino on their 3600th anniversary edition!

[our-queer-experience]

So, today I (trans asexual gay and autistic boy) got asked out by the very pretty boy(gay) across the street. How/ Why did this happen? I screamed really loud when I accidentally saw him shirtless.

This happened over like a month.

Basically, I have my desk at a window because I love sunlight and I coincidentally can see a bit into his window. I don't usually look in there because that would be creepy and my family also has a really pretty garden so I have more important things to be looking at.

Anyway, the one time I look up and my eyes look into his room, my dude is TAKING OFF HIS SHIRT and what am I supposed to do? I don't know so I scream "I CAN SEE YOU CHANGING, I'M SO SORRY!" and I duck under my desk. After like five minutes, I peek up over the desk. HES STILL THERE WITHOUT A SHIRT. Now he's also staring up at my window and my very embarrassed face and hes chuckling at me and I just decide to go back to drawing (what I do at my desk). Next time I look up, he's wearing a shirt and waving at me so I wave back. Then he leaves me be.

The next time I'm outside in the garden, chilling with the cats (I love cats), I hear him call out like a "Hey!" so I say "Hey" back and I don't really remember most of our conversation because I was really nervous for some reason. He did think my name was cool, and I did the classic "thanks I choose it myself" but I stutter over my words and he calls me cute or something. In the end, he gets my number.

We start hanging out, mostly bringing each others friends along. We do that for a few weeks until we hang out on our for once. I go to his house, we hang out in his room with the door open (his mom made that very clear). We talk about our interests (he likes sports and fashion) and he gets me going about my special interest, mallards (ducks if you don't know) and other waterfowl. I get self conscious at some point and stop talking, but he scoots closer and says he likes to listen to me talk and he thinks my voice is very nice (I voice train so i very much sound like a boy from my age group). I tell him I like his voice.

Next thing I know, he kisses me.

KISSES ME.

KISSES ME.

Somehow, about ten minutes later I'm back at home. According to him, I stood up and said "I HAVE TO GO HOME, IT'S LATE" and I scampered off. It was 4:30 pm.

The next day, hes at the door asking for me. He has flowers, my favorites to be specific, and A CHOCOLATE DUCK. A CHOCOLATE DUCK. (It was like cartoon duck. Think rubber duckie.)

He asks me out. I say yes. I take the flowers and the chocolate duck. I close the door. I scream.

Me and the boy I pulled by being autistic I guess? (does this meme work in this situation?)

Anyways, now I have date in like two days and what should I do? What do you do on dates? Hold hands? Give gifts? Can I talk about ducks on dates? (I'm already researching about what he likes so I can make conversation about it.) What should wear? I DON'T KNOW! Help?

my only ex was also autistic, so i would say it’s totally appropriate to talk about ducks, but make sure you talk about other stuff. ask about how his week was, his work, his interests, and ask questions and be engaged with that. i always had fun holding hands on dates, and usually you can kiss people goodbye but i’ve never actually done that. dating was weird for me so i am not the best at advice, but this guy sounds like a real catch and this is a really sweet story, something out of a book really.

[heroes-of-lemuria]

No one asked but teehee. I’m in a mood so I’ll Yap about my personal specific species/breed hcs for the heroes. I like to try and make my anthros more. Accurate to animals I suppose? It’s just how I like to draw, so I like to model them more closely after very specific animals than the game does. A whole lot of yap up ahead.

ill put this under a cut for courtsey. 2 images to keep them squished tiny

Stallion I base off of Irish Cobb horses. I’ve already said this but he’s a draft breed because of the feathering, and I really like the idea of a UK breed for him for obvious reasons. They also will come in the coloring and are notably very hairy horse breeds, if you ever see the horses with the mustaches they’re probably an Irish Cobb! So that’s a fun addition

Solomon I go whooping crane. The colors are not exact but there really are no pure white cranes with yellow feet and beaks. There’s egrets but I’m stubborn on the crane thing so they’re the closest I can find. Yeah

I’ve mentioned the bantam but he’s a chicken mutt to me. But most basis on Japanese bantams, tan chau bantams, and bhrama chickens.

Mandar also vexed me I ended up a blend of salamander species. I lean towards southern two lines salamanders, they are orange and the males grow little mustaches during breeding season, a detail I think is fun with how many manders in krok have facial hair. I wish I could throw in a touch of North African fire salamander for some kind of regional note but they really are not visually similar at all.

Duck I go with mallard ducks. I just like them a lot. And I think her having still having still been a bronzeish brown color is cute. There’s other chickens with closer bill colors but shh. Also the females have these orange bills with darker patches on them, this is where me drawing Duck with beak freckles comes from. Plus I think it’s cute haha

Buck! Key deer. A subspecies of white tail deer found in the Florida keys that’s notably very small. I think a type of deer that were so separated from other populations due to living in Florida wetlands works really well for Sky City haha. Plus if you line all the heroes up house guest style and don’t count Mandar bc he does stand up straight sometimes he is the shortest of the heroes, which I like. (Very close to Shadoe but I do think she’s slightly taller, even counting for her heels ) so them being really small is an added bonus

Shadoe. I’m sorry to be boring she’s just a white tailed deer to me. Do I have to add a picture of one here? If anything her fur color is a bit darker than the average white tail. While I’m yapping about tiny design decisions I do the nicked ear I draw her with comes from Adam’s concept art! It never made it in the game but I love that detail so much I put it in for myself haha

And Dog. He’s a bulldog obviously but because he’s not super fucked up looking like some of the Marleybonian ones and he’s from Heap I went with the American Bulldog over the English one. Also they’re notably bigger, and going into heights again Dog is by far the tallest hero. Have y’all noticed he’s like crazy tall?

[allthingsfangirl101]

In The Crossfire – Timothy McGee

Masterlist

Being engaged to a federal agent does not allow much time for wedding planning. Tim told me to plan it, but something felt weird about not getting his opinion before making decisions. Plus, I hate making big decisions.

Knowing this, Tim tries to make time for us. Coffee before work, extremely late dinner, or, like today, quick lunch breaks.

"I'm sorry we've pushed back the meeting with our wedding planner four times now," Tim sighed as we sat at a table outside and waited for a waitress.

"It's okay," I shrugged. "You're in the middle of a crazy case. I was talking to Ziva while you and Tony were interviewing that suspect today. She says that someone is drugging recruits at Norfolk. That's crazy. And sad."

"Yeah," he sighed as he slipped off his suit coat. "It's been a rough one."

I reached over and grabbed his hand. He smiled as he lifted our intertwined hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. We went through lunch, talking about small things and making small decisions. We jumped when there was a weird sound, echoing down the street.

"What was. . ." I started to ask as Tim and I stood up.

"I don't know," Tim said, grabbing his gun. Suddenly a truck drove by and someone rolled down the window. I froze when I saw the gun.

"Get down!" Tim yelled as they started firing. I ducked under the table and was suddenly hit with the fear of Tim being shot.

"Tim?" I said, still hiding. "Are you. . . Are you still there?"

"I'm here, baby," Tim yelled over the sounds of shotguns. "Stay down."

I held my breath as I waited for the shooting to stop. When it did, I slowly stood up. I got lightheaded as I took in the scene.

"They're gone," Tim said as he holstered his gun. "I should call Gibbs. It could have to do with our case. Y/N, are you. . ." His question got caught in his throat when he turned and saw me clutching my right shoulder.

"Tim?" I stuttered.

"Y/N!"

In seconds, Tim was at my side. I didn't know what to do as he checked to see if the bullet had gone straight through my shoulder. I gasped in pain when he put pressure on both wounds.

"It's going to be okay, Y/N," he tried to soothe me. "Just hang on."

"It hurts," I said with tears in my eyes.

"I know, baby. I know." He wrapped his arms around me and led me to a nearby table. He sat me down, grabbed two napkins, and put pressure on my shoulder.

We sat like that for what felt like hours until the police got there.

"McGee!"

We looked up to see Tim's team running towards us.

"Are you two alright?" Gibbs asked.

"Y/N was shot," Tim said, not letting go of my shoulder.

"Ducky!" Gibbs yelled. I smiled weakly when Ducky and Palmer came running toward us.

"Y/N, my dear," Ducky smiled as if nothing was wrong. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I've been better," I tried to joke.

"Thank you, Timothy, but Palmer and I can take it from here."

Tim hesitated before letting me go. The second he did, Ducky swooped in and started looking my wound over.

"Umm, I'm not sure how to ask this, my dear," Ducky chuckled.

"Go ahead and ask, doctor," I tried to say without sounding like I was in pain.

"Are you wearing an undershirt?"

"Ducky!" Gibbs and Tim both yelled.

"I am perfectly okay with that question," Tony smirked. Tim glared at him and Gibbs hit him on the back of the head.

"Is there a reason for that question, Doctor Mallard?" I asked.

"It'll be easier to examine your wound and patch you up without your shirt, but if you weren't wearing an undershirt, I would take you somewhere more private and without the eyes of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

"I appreciate that," I giggled.

"Me too," Tim said, still glaring at Tony.

I started to take off my shirt but gasped in pain. "Hang on, my dear," Ducky said gently. "Let me help you."

"Does DiNozzo have to watch me undress?" I tried to joke.

"No, he doesn't," Gibbs said. "Tony, go talk to witnesses."

"Ms. Y/N is a witness."

"Other witnesses," Gibbs snapped. "Now, DiNozzo, or I'll lock you in the back of the truck."

"Talking to other witnesses, boss."

Once Tony was gone, Ducky started to help me take off my shirt. I ignored the embarrassment flooding my body as Gibbs, Ziva, and Palmer watched as Ducky looked at my shoulder. Tim was pacing nervously as Ducky did his best to patch my shoulder.

"We need to get you to a hospital, my dear," Ducky said as he finished covering my wound. "I'm afraid both wounds need to be stitched up before you lose too much blood. I suggest a nice clean surgery suite. I know a surgeon at the nearby hospital. Best in the country. I'll put a call through to him and he'll have a room ready before you get there."

"Thanks, Ducky." I started to sit up but instantly got woozy. Everyone jumped toward me but Ducky and Tim caught me.

"She's lost too much blood, Jethro," Ducky said. "She needs to get to a hospital. Now."

"McGee, take her." Gibbs tossed Tim his keys before saying, "Take my car. We'll meet you at the hospital as soon as we can."

Tim instantly wrapped his arms around me and led me to Gibbs' car. He helped me in the front seat and knelt down. He gently cupped my face in his hand and kissed me.

"Everything's going to be okay, baby," he whispered. "I promise."

I leaned my head against the headrest as Tim ran around to the driver's side. I could barely stay awake as he drove us to the hospital. I woke up to Tim helping me out of the car and into the hospital.

"Agent McGee?"

We looked up to see a doctor jogging towards us. "This must be Y/N. Doctor Mallard already called. Right this way, Ms. Y/N. We will get you all patched up."

"Please come and get me the moment you can," Tim said.

"I promise you will be the first person I find," the doctor smiled.

The doctor gently took me from Tim. I looked over my shoulder and tried to send him a smile to reassure him I was fine. He sent me one back.

* * * * *

The doctor sewed up both wounds and put my arm in a sling, but the news he just told me distracted me from the pain in my shoulder. He was finding Tim which gave me too much alone time to think this through.

"Y/N!" Tim ran in and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled away and started scanning me. "Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Tim," I stuttered. "There's something. . . The doctor found something."

"Found something?"

"I'm not saying that you need to live in a bubble now that you're pregnant, Ms. Y/N," the doctor said as he walked in, "but maybe just when your fiancé is working a dangerous case."

"Now that she's. . . What?" Tim stuttered.

The doctor looked up, just realizing that Tim had joined me. "I'll let you two talk," he smiled before leaving again.

"I guess I'm pregnant," I said with a small chuckle. I gasped when Tim wrapped his arms around me again.

"You're pregnant," he whispered.

"We're pregnant," I gently corrected. He pulled out of the hug and gently cupped my face in his hand. I watched as his smile slowly fell. "What's wrong?"

"You got caught in the crossfire," he said under his breath. "You, my fiancée, got caught in the crossfire. Our baby got caught in the crossfire."

"Tim, stop," I said quickly to stop his spiral before it got any worse. "When we first started dating, I knew that what you did was dangerous. I also knew and still know that you will protect me no matter what. This was not your fault, Tim."

"I'm not going to let something like this happen again," he promised. "You and our baby will always be safe, Y/N, I promise."

"I believe you."

[hkpika07]

The Spencer Post

Hi this is where I explain my observed nuances with Spencer and how I personally characterize him. Explaining why I think he acts the way he does. Please note that like 90 percent of this is headcanon.

Let’s get some backstory on Spencer. His job is to be the personal private engine of the Duke and Duchess of Boxford. This is a very prestigious job, one unsurprising of his class of engine. Being a Gresly and being implied siblings with the real life engine Mallard, he has a lot of expectations and responsibilities put on his buffers. On top of that, let me remind you he is a private engine. Not only does he carry the weight of expected perfection as the other greslys, he has to look good and be the status symbol for the Duke and Duchess. He has. So much to keep on top of, to keep track of and remember. He arguably might have more expectations placed on him than Gordon or Scotsman.

Not only that but Spencer is very….alone. He doesn’t fit in anywhere on account of his position. He’s not really a mainland engine because he’s not always on the mainland. He’s not a Sodor engine because he doesn’t live on Sodor, he lives with the Duke and Duchess presumably at their main house somewhere else. He’s a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into either picture.

But how does this affect how he acts? Why does he act like such an asshole? Well, the answer is a bit more complex than you might think. As we all know, steam engines are always at a risk of being scrapped. The exception being Sodor because Sodor is a steam sanctuary. But on the mainland it’s a different story. If engines on the mainland are at risk for being scrapped for not being useful enough, what’s to stop them from sabotaging each other in order to get a leg up on them. To make their competition look bad just so they can live another day. On the mainland its every man for himself. And if you want to survive, you take out the weakest.

And Spencer, poor poor Spencer, already burdening the weight of perfection on his shoulders and his status as an outcast fueling his desperate need for validation and need to fit in. Lets the mainland engines’ way of thinking pollute his brain. This idea of needing to take out those below you, less useful and who are a threat, infects his mind and influences his actions. He thinks he needs to get rid of those underneath him so he can continue to survive, to not jeopardize his position as private engine.

And he takes this way of thinking to Sodor. He harasses Edward and says he should be scrapped before losing to him in a race. He hunts down Hiro because he thinks he’s a piece of rusted scrap metal and nothing more. He becomes rotten. Vindictive. Vitriolic.

But…. He gets better. He gets lectured pretty harshly by the Duke and Duchess for his hunt on Hiro. And he spends more time on Sodor. And once again, he’s influenced. Because at heart, Spencer is a people pleaser. And this fact is important.

Because Spencer’s personality and morals seem to fluctuate wildly throughout the show. Sometimes he’s a great guy, if a bit snobbish, and in others he’s quite possibly the biggest asshole ever known. And here’s why I think that is. Spencer pingpongs between Sodor and the mainland. Thus his personality is influenced by whoever he is around. And to be frank, the mainland engines are massive pricks, and would 100% tell Spencer he’s too soft or insane for letting a “useless hunk of scrap iron” live. For not falling into the every man for himself mentality. And so every time he returns to Sodor he’s been conditioned to think that way because he molds into whatever people tell him to be.

And on Sodor he molds into a better person. I think that later on in the series where his personality is more solid and less horribly inconsistent, he genuinely comes into his own with the help of the Sodor engines. Knowing that he always has a place on Sodor and grows out of the mainland mindset for good

He learns. He grows. Yes he fucked up bad but he was heavily misguided and insecure about not only fitting in, but also being perfect. His mind was poisoned but it got clearer. He finally made friends and has a place he can say he belongs to.

I love Spencer, I only want the best for him.

[crazycurly-77]

Memory Loss - Chapter 4

After a short night you sat on your desk the next morning and analyzed a case for another NCIS team. As always you sipped at your coffee and looked at Gibbs’ desk which was standing opposite from you. 

Unfortunately it was the third day in a row unoccupied and you all hoped that would change soon. 

Yes, he could be a real bastard, but on the other hand he could be someone to talk to about everything and who would stand by your side, no matter what. 

It was odd and very weird that he wasn't there. Tony tried his best to hold the team together. Sure, he enjoyed giving orders, but he tried to lighten the mood, too. 

But….he was not Gibbs. 

And that you all perceived. 

The team worked away and tried to act as if everything was normal, but it was really hard and the tension of not knowing what would happen and whether your boss would recover increased with every hour that you anxiously waited for news from him. 

In the afternoon there was suddenly a lot of commotion and then Ducky was nearly storming into the bullpen. He was very excited calling “he's awake!!! The doctor said we should come to the hospital, so come on, let's go!” 

Shouts of joy like “Yes!”, “Yeah!”, “Wonderful!”, “He made it!” were heard in the whole bureau. All were excited and the mood full of tension changed to one full of joy. 

You all were very happy that he woke up, but in this general happiness there was also a certain fear. Would he be the same as before the accident? You were on your way to find out. 

Arriving at the hospital, doctor Miller was already waiting for you. “Hello and thanks for coming” he greeted the whole bunch. 

“As for the health status of Mr. Gibbs…his injuries are healing well and he woke up an hour ago. In order not to overwhelm him, I suggest we visit him all together so we can check if he knows everything and everyone or if there is some partial or whole memory loss. Afterwards, please only visit him individually for the time being in order to protect him.”

You all nodded your consent and then went to the impatient Patient. 

Coming into Gibbs’ sick room he sat in his bed and looked annoyed. “Doctor, when can I go? I have work to do and I'm fine.” “Mr. Gibbs, I'm happy that you are feeling fine, but we need to run several tests before you can go. So, please answer some questions.”

Gibbs huffed out but he had to go through this. If he liked it or not. Then doctor Miller asked him certain things about himself and his colleagues. 

“What's your name?” 

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs” 

“Where do you come from?” 

“Stillwater” 

“What are you doing for a living?” 

“I'm the team leader of the MCRT of the NCIS.”

“Good” the medic said, nodded and made some notes. 

“What happened?” Gibbs then wanted to know. 

“A bomb went off and you were hit very hard on the head by a heavy weight. You were out for 3 days.” replied doctor Miller. 

Gibbs only nodded contemplating what he was told. Then the doc asked him “do you recognize any of the people in this room besides me?” 

“Sure. Timothy McGee, our probie. Anthony DiNozzo, my second in command. Jenny Shepard, director of the NCIS and my former partner in different missions.” Then he paused, thought briefly and said “Doctor Donald Mallard, my brother. Abby Sciuto, my daughter.”

You all give each other surprised and questioning looks and doctor Miller took some notes. 

You yourself were standing right next to his bed and thought he had forgotten about you. It would hit you hard, but after all, you had only been on his team for almost a year. 

But never underestimate Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He hasn't forgotten you, but the exact opposite. 

From his sitting position he looked up at you and his face lit up. 

He took your hands in his and said softly “my love, I'm sorry for worrying you. You must have been out of your mind because of that. But besides a few bruises I'm okay, be assured. It's wonderful seeing you again, I love you. But you already know that.”

He chuckled and then cupped your cheek with one hand, pulled you to him and kissed you softly. 

You didn't know what possessed him, but it was wonderful feeling his lips on yours. And yes, you answered his kiss as softly as he was kissing you. 

Breaking the kiss for air you heard the others gasp. 

At this moment the doc asked “do you know who she is?” Gibbs stared at him for a moment and then, looking lovingly into your eyes, replied “of course I know. That's Y/N Gibbs, my wife.”

(To be continued...)

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Here you will find the other chapters of this story and the other stories I've written to date.

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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