#i have a detailed understanding of what kind of care to ask for and how to give useful feedback to my provider

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 29

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5946

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Meeting Pamela (Yes, this is a warning), Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 29

Waking up in his arms, wrapped in warmth and safety, was something you’d come to treasure. Dean was still sound asleep, his face softened by whatever peaceful dream he was lost in. His brow was unlined, lips parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but wish he could always look this at ease, free from worry.

With your arm over his waist, you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, a comforting rise and fall that matched the quiet room. You wondered, not for the first time, what he might be dreaming about. Whatever it was, you hoped he could have dreams like them often if they brought him this sort of peace.

The soft darkness of your room hid the details of his face, but that didn’t matter. The comfort of your bed paled in comparison to the peace you felt lying there with him, feeling for once that nothing could reach you. You knew that today, the two of you were supposed to go meet this psychic, Pamela, and you had your reservations. 

Bobby wouldn’t have suggested seeing her if she couldn’t help, and you knew that. He trusted her, that much you could tell with how he talked about her the day before on the phone with you. Still, a flicker of apprehension settled in your mind—uncertainty about this “psychic” and what she might see in you.

Taking one last, quiet look at the man who was sound asleep and lost in some peaceful dream, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. Since he’d made coffee the day before, you would do that today. Your wrists still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the first day. An almost annoying reminder of the ordeal you’d gone through only days ago. 

As you waited for the coffee to brew, and during your first cup, your mind wandered, curious and apprehensive about meeting this Pamela person. Bobby had explained that she was a friend of the family, and even knew the Winchesters but hadn’t seen the boys in years, before Dean graduated. You just weren’t sure how to feel about being around someone who called themselves a psychic. Was she an empath, like you? Did she have premonitions, and that was what she called being psychic? You weren’t sure.

“Someone’s lost in thought,” Dean’s voice, warm and slightly teasing, pulled you back. He leaned in the doorway, his hair still tousled, an easy smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” you asked, meeting his gaze as he came closer.

He shook his head, reaching out to rest his hands on your hips. “Not on purpose,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, the kind of kiss that made your heart skip a beat. 

When he pulled away, you looked up at him, feeling slightly puzzled, not understanding what he meant. He loved that confused expression of yours, the way your brows dipped down, your eyes narrowing, just a little, and you always tilted your head, just a bit. God, you’re adorable. You let out a small huff at his thought to you, which only made him smile wider. The warmth of his affection wrapped around you, and you couldn’t be mad at him.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind this morning, huh?” he asked, his tone a little playful but also a little serious. This was the first time your thoughts had pulled him from his dreams, worrying him slightly. 

“Did I actually wake you up?” you asked since he hadn’t answered you.

He nodded, his tone shifting to a gentler seriousness. “Yeah, kinda. Your thoughts… they just sorta pulled me awake.” His words sank in, making you wonder what all he’d heard or felt. Your mouth opened, about to apologize, but you quickly closed it and refused to think the word, which was utterly difficult. Hearing him chuckle at your momentary conundrum brought a pout to your lips. “I feel bad,” you mumbled, looking down and away from his gaze.

Dean’s thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles on your hips, then brought one hand to your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Don’t,” he began in a soft whisper. “You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m in this with you, even if your thoughts wake me up at two in the morning.” He gave you one more tender kiss before pulling away to get himself some coffee. You knew he was right and it wasn’t like you’d done it intentionally. A sigh of resignation left your lips as you got another cup of coffee, joining him at the kitchen table. Your mind, just like Dean’s, was elsewhere, though.

Pamela had told him he’d find his soulmate, but he’d have to have more patience than he’d ever had in his entire life. At the time, he didn’t understand what she meant. Sitting across from you now, with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help the small smile that played along his lips. Pamela typically wasn’t direct when it came to the premonitions she told people. There were risks with that. She was good, though, and she was never wrong.

“How about I make us some breakfast, then we can head out,” Dean offered, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.

Looking up at him, you smiled slightly, then shook your head in mild amusement. “If you want. I also don’t mind just picking something up and eating on the drive.” “Yeah, but this way, I can focus on just driving instead of trying to eat, drive, and sneak glances at you,” he replied playfully, making you smile.

Dean made a simple breakfast for the two of you, which helped soothe the tension your thoughts had brought you earlier. Something about seeing and feeling his emotions when he cooked was different than other times, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. The two of you ate in mostly comfortable silence, with only light conversation. Dean knew you needed a distraction, or you would end up in your head again.

As with all the other times, Dean teased you ever so slightly when he helped you dress, but today, he brushed out your hair. It was a pleasant sensation, even if you were only used to having your aunt do that when you were little. Occasionally, his fingers would brush along the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms. He wasn’t ready to tell you how he knew Pamela, not yet. Plus, he was pretty sure she’d say something when the two of you got there. For now, he was enjoying hearing the thoughts you were desperately trying not to think about due to the light teasing he was doing while braiding your hair. Every time the word ‘tease’ drifted through his mind in that soft whisper, he just chuckled, looking forward to the day you were ready, so he could truly show you what teasing was.

The drive started out quiet, the familiar rumble of the Imapla’s engine and the early morning sun casting long shadows across the road. Dean had his arm draped casually over the wheel, the other between you two, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the leather seat. Every so often, he glanced over, a quiet warmth in his gaze. His thoughts whispered through your mind, You’re not alone in this.

After a while, he broke the silence. “Pamela’s place isn’t far. She lives on the outskirts of the town. I guess it has to do with her physic thing, not being able to be around people. It’s kinda cozy, like a mix between a library and a crystal shop.”

You laughed softly at the mental image, trying to imagine someone who could be a psychic and a grounded friend. “So, any other advice for meeting her? What’s she like?” Dean’s lips quirked up. “She’s, uh… well, let’s say she’d got a bit of a mouth on her. Don’t be surprised if she cracks a joke or two about us. But she’s got a good heart, even if she’s blunt as hell.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, already feeling a bit more at ease. Maybe meeting this Pamela person wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Perhaps she really could help, and she sounded like someone you might be able to get along with. At least now, you weren’t nearly as tense as you had been, and Dean was thankful for that.

About an hour or so later, Dean was parking in Pamela’s driveway, and your nerves seemed to be getting to you again. He sighed, feeling your anxiety tighten around his chest as he opened your door. “Breathe. She doesn’t bite.”

“I can’t help it,” you mumbled, leaning against him as he draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close.

The two of you walked up the few steps onto the porch, but before Dean could knock, the door swung open. Pamela stood there,  her initial smile shifting to a raised eyebrow, like she’d seen something neither of you two did. “You two haven’t bonded yet?” she asked bluntly, seeing the incomplete connection between you.

Dean just chuckled at Pamela’s bluntness, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant with her statement. “Nice to see you too, Pam,” he replied, his tone light.

Pamela gave him a quick, assessing once-over before turning to you. Her sharp eyes sparkled, but behind them, there was a glint of familiarity and warmth, as if she’d known you long before you ever stepped foot on her porch. She’d seen you in several premonitions over the years, even before you were born, but seeing you now, standing there, made it hard to keep her tears away. “You must be the one Bobby told me about,” she said with a soft smile, even though it wasn’t the whole truth.

Taking a calming breath, you nodded. “He said you could help me with the whole empath and premonition thing,” you replied, trying to get your anxiety under control. “But, what did you mean by we haven’t bonded?” Pamela let out playful laughter at your question. She’s still innocent. “Sex, honey. You two haven’t had sex yet.” And with that, she turned on her heel, heading inside, leaving the door open for the two of you to follow.

Your jaw nearly hit the porch at her bluntness while your cheeks turned a bright red in embarrassment. Dean attempted to hide his faint discomfort, clearing his throat before taking your hand. “Sorry. I tried to warn you she was blunt,” he told you apologetically, then left a quick kiss on your cheek before leading you inside.

She was sitting in her living room, relaxing in a recliner opposite a plus-looking couch. Pamela gestured for the two of you to take a seat as she sipped her coffee. “Alright, down to business,” she began, leaning forward and setting down her coffee cup. “I can help you, but until the two of you fully bond, these will only partially work.” 

That blush crept right back into your cheeks, and you glanced away, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. Pamela looked over at Dean, studying him, opening herself up to feel both your emotions. She needed to understand more, the things neither of you were saying, the things her premonitions never included. 

Pamela was able to feel both your current emotions, but she went deeper, like following a thread along a winding path. She had already seen several of the things you’d been through in your life, including the car accident your parents were in. Something else was holding you back; she just had to find it. It was the one thing that always evaded the premonitions she had about you.

Dean gave your hand a gentle squeeze, pulling your gaze to him. I’m right here, Sweetheart. His whispered words in your mind, a quiet warmth settling over your nerves. You scooted closer to him, leaning into his side as he held you close. It’s okay, he thought to you, trying to soothe the wave of emotions rolling through the connection. Goosebumps went down Pamela’s arms as a chill found her spine. You accomplished things you shouldn’t have without bonding with your soulmate. She drew in a shaky breath. “Honey, lemme see your hand,” she asked softly; all playfulness gone now, and it sent a chill through you. You looked over at her, a little puzzled. Pushing past your worry, you hesitantly held out your other hand for her. Pamela moved to sit on her coffee table in front of you, preparing herself for what she knew would come through the contact. She took a slow, deep breath before taking your hand in both of hers. 

As soon as her hands touched yours, an intense wave of emotion crashed over you, her gaze turning distant, almost as if she were seeing something beyond the room. Her eyes shifted, focusing on things only she could see, and her expression grew strained as she glimpsed more pieces of your past, things that her promotions hadn’t included.

The silence stretched as Pamela’s grip tightened slightly. Then, she exhaled slowly, her gaze clearing as she looked back at you with something close to awe. “You’ve been through more than most,” she murmured; her words carried something raw and empathetic. “But there’s something holding you back… keeping you from bonding completely with Dean.”

Dean held you close, his jaw tightening as Pamela continued. Her words had shifted the room’s energy entirely, and he wanted to be sure you were ready for whatever came next. He also felt almost helpless, unable to do more than hold you. That was when Pamela placed one of her hands just above his knee, causing him to jump at the sudden contact.

Pamela’s eyes glossed over, like she had gone into a trance. “Stay in the bunker. Three days past Dean’s birthday, don’t leave. Call Crowley two days before Dean’s birthday. You’ll know what to tell him,” her voice sounded distant, but the words scared the hell out of you. 

The chill in her voice raised the hair on your arms. Your stomach dropped at her cryptic words, the weight of something unseen pressing down. Whatever she’d seen seemed to ripple through her and you wondered if you’d ever reach the ability level she had. However, it also scared the hell out of you.

She saw far more but couldn’t reveal anything else, knowing it could make too many other things permanent. Slowly, Pamela let go of your hand, also withdrawing her hand from Dean. You couldn’t control how your body began to shake the moment she let go. 

“It’ll be okay. Alright?” she told you softly, closing herself off like she had learned how to do so long ago. Your life truly had been one of hardship, a living nightmare that no one should have to go through. But soon, all that would be behind you. She could only give you so much. You would have to do the rest.

“Geeze, Pam,” Dean bit out, holding you tighter as he felt your body shake, and the frustration rising in his voice.”You were supposed to help her, not scare the shit out of her.”

Pamela sighed, returning to her recliner. “Look, I don’t always have control over when I get premonitions, alright? Just… be there for her over the next week and a half. And neither of you are to leave the bunker, for any reason,” it was the only warning she could give them, not wanting to speak what she’d seen out loud. Premonitions were odd in that way. If too much was said, it could solidify what was seen, and never in a good way. She’d seen it happen. It was how she had lost her soulmate, and you were the reason she was still alive. But she couldn’t tell you that either; it would have been too much right now.

The weight of her words had you in a mild state of shock for the moment. It was a lot: the emotions that had flooded through you, the way your memories had flashed quickly through your mind, and then there had been what Pamela had said. Right now, you were just doing your best not to freak out. Pamela knew your nerves were shot; she had felt it before she closed herself off. So, she headed into her kitchen, pouring you almost half a glass of whiskey. Two or three shots wasn’t going to be enough, and it wasn’t like you were driving.

“Here, hon, this’ll help,” she said gently as she held the glass out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the glass, which shook slightly in your grasp. Wrapping both hands around it, you managed to steady the glass, then hissed at the burn in your throat after taking a sip. Dean kept his arm around you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles. He didn’t know how to help this time, not with something so far beyond his reach.

For a while, silence filled the room, giving you time to sip the whiskey and settle your nerves. You couldn’t even form a complete thought before another one began, and then the same would happen to that one as another one quickly tried to take its place. Dean did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that felt right, and that was holding you close while also trying to calm his emotions, which felt like a whirlwind.

Halfway through your drink, you finally took a decent breath, even if it was shaky, and looked over at Pamela. You still had questions, but her words had brought more. “Dean mentioned that premonitions don’t work like I think they do. So, how do they work?” 

Pamela knew this question was coming, she’d seen it, as well as others. “Well, like with your first nightmare, it’s sometimes hard to know what the consistent is, the thing that won’t change.” She began, wanting to find just the right way so you could understand. “In your nightmare, you were taken. In real life, you were taken. Nothing else in the nightmare mattered as none of the other stuff happened.” “That’s frustrating,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to Dean before taking another sip of the whiskey.

She watched you for a moment, reading the two of you like a book. “Your fear. It’s what’s holding you back from everything. You’re afraid of losing him. I get it. Fear has literally been the one thing in your life that you can’t seem to get past. I know this is easier said than done, but if you don’t take that leap of faith, fear will ruin your life.” You felt that knot in your stomach as she spoke, knowing she was right. Dean thought he was going to be sick with what flooded through the connection. It was far more intense than other times he’d felt your fear in the past, like someone had opened the floodgates. “Bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right,” Pamela told him, her eyes on you, and Dean bolted down the hallway.

“What happened?” you asked, puzzled as Dean disappeared.

Pamela sighed, knowing she couldn’t just give you everything. “Fear can be a wonderful motivator or a crippling monster. You’ve been living with fear most of your life, so to you, it’s just part of who you are and how you see the world. But, to someone like Dean, what feels like a small knot in your stomach is ten times more intense because he’s lived with hope.” Those goosebumps found your skin and proceeded to dance along every hair slowly. Then, you furrowed your brow in confusion, setting the mostly empty glass on the table. “No. I just haven’t hoped for anything. It’s not the same,” you tried to explain, but all she did was chuckle.

“Kid, fear is what dashes hope. With all the events of your life, your hopes have been crushed, repeatedly. You don’t see it as being afraid, by not hoping for things. But that’s not how it works. I know you’re afraid of going all the way with Dean. I know you’re afraid that you’ll lose him after doing so, and that, in the end, you’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been,” she explained, her tone soft, even if her words twisted at your gut and brought back the anxiety in your chest. “Yes, you accepted him as your soulmate, but that only connects your mind and soul. Once you fully bond with him, things will smooth themselves out. It’s a giving of yourselves that’s intimate, far deeper than just a physical act. Because of the connection the two of you already have, it’s going to be intense when it happens, but in a good way,” Pamela added softly, trying to give that flicker of hope in you a little more of a nudge.

There were a lot of people who had wanted to argue as to how bonding worked, but Pamela knew the truth. She’d been through it once and had chosen to remain single after losing her soulmate, to never bond with anyone again. Changing the way “the system” saw things was always hard, but at least there were some things they had finally begun to truly look at.

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “How do I get over it?” you asked quietly.

Pamela moved to sit next to you, putting her arm over your shoulders and tugging you a little closer. “It’s called a leap of faith for a reason, hon. Stop being afraid of living life to its fullest with a man who would walk through hell to get to you. I know you want to surprise him on his birthday with it. I also know he’d wait forever for you. Stop being afraid.” 

There was something in the softness of her voice, the way she spoke, that calmed you similarly to how Dean’s presence did. Just mentally considering what she was suggesting made your anxiety spike. Pamela just held you like she had been, shielding Dean from an onslaught of emotions she knew he couldn’t handle in his current state.

Normal people felt emotions on a normal level, like those who hadn’t gone through highly traumatic experiences. Even those who had, as long as they weren’t empaths, they still only felt emotions on a normal level. An empath who had a wounded soul felt emotions so profoundly that it was too much for any normal person to understand, let alone feel. Dean was unique, as he had been able to handle your emotions, at least until your true fear had slipped through the connection. On top of that, the fact that the two of you hadn’t fully bonded, had Pamela utterly intrigued.

When Dean finally made his way back out to the living room, he was looking a little green around the gills, and you offered him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be alright, Sweetheart. Just not used to your emotions being that intense,” he told you with a smile just before a burp slipped out, due to his recovering stomach.

“After you two finally have sex, it’ll be easier,” Pamela pipped in, making you blush and Dean grumble a little. Then she turned to you, “Think about what I said, hun.” Her tone was soft, like earlier, soothing your emotions further. She kissed you on the temple before she went over to Dean, leaning close to his ear while you zoned off a little.

“She’s gonna be okay. Both of you are. Just do what I said, and things will turn out like you’ve been hoping for,” she whispered as Dean tried to keep his expression stoic, when inside, he was almost as happy as the day you accepted him as your soulmate.

Dean’s eyes were on you, taking in your slightly slumped posture, your far-off gaze, and all he wanted to do was take away every horrible thing you were going through. “I’m gonna take her home. Thanks, Pam,” he replied gratefully before going over to you.

You jumped a little when he set his hand on your shoulder. “You ready to head home?” Puzzled, you looked up at him. “But, what about how to deal with other people’s emotions?” 

Pamela chuckled as she sat back in her recliner. “It’s fairly easy. Picture a bubble around you. When you want to let other people’s emotions in, imagine the bubble thinning or going away completely. When you want to keep other people’s emotions out, just picture that bubble around you. It’ll take practice, but that’s the easiest one I can give you to start with.”

Well, it sounds simple enough.

“Thanks,” you sighed, glancing down at the last shot of whiskey, debating drinking it. Before you could even ask your next question, she spoke again. “As for the premonition thing. Only time and practice will help you understand what the constant is, the thing that won’t change. Once you find balance, understanding your premonitions will get clearer.”

The entire ride back with Dean was silent, as you were lost in your thoughts, trying to piece it all together. Feeling how you pulled back, like you were closing yourself off, all Dean could do at the moment was give you space. The whiskey had not only settled your nerves but had also seemed to calm your thoughts far more than they had been back at Pamela’s.

You really did have a ton of questions, but none of those felt like they mattered at the moment. Your thoughts were now only on what had happened back at Pamela’s and everything she had said. It wasn’t so much Pamela’s premonition that was on your mind. It was what she had said about taking a leap of faith. You didn’t focus too hard on it, though, as it only triggered your anxiety. 

As Dean pulled into the garage, he stole a quick glance at you, and it felt like you had your walls up again. All he had felt through the connection was that you were there, but your emotions weren’t mixing with his. Back at Pamela’s, it had been your fear that hit him like a punch to the gut, and he was unable to keep breakfast down, and now, there was nothing. He wondered what Pamela had said to you while he’d been in the bathroom, but now something was nagging at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach you.

When you heard his door open, it pulled your gaze to him, a puzzled look on your face. “Did you need to pick anything up, since we have to stay in the bunker again?”

It was at that moment that your emotions began trickling through the connection again, making him let out a breath of relief. “We’ve got enough to get through, and there’s still plenty of meat in the freezer. I think we’ll be okay,” he replied, giving you a reassuring smile.

You could tell something was bothering him, but you’d ask him about it after getting into the bunker. Still feeling in a bit of a daze over it all, you got out of the Impala while Dean locked up the garage. That awkward silence between the two of you, had Dean debating chewing Bobby out for even suggesting you go see Pamela. 

He silently followed you down the stairs, through the second door, and into the living room. You wrapping your arms around him threw him for a complete loop, but he held you close as your emotions finally began dancing with his again.

“Talk to me, please,” he whispered, unable to truly express what it had felt like when he couldn’t feel your emotions, but you felt all of it from him.

You let the comfort of his embrace sooth everything coursing through your mind and soul. Pamela’s words had shaken you, but they had also clarified things, too. Now, it was just finding the courage to make that leap of faith. For now, though, you focused on the warmth from his body and the tenderness of his embrace.

“Just trying to process everything Pamela said,” you replied quietly, resting your head on his chest as your body finally felt like it was relaxing.

Dean held you just a little closer, fighting the lump of emotion in his throat. “I’m here, if you want to talk about it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Giving him a gentle squeeze, you looked up at him, that small yet genuine smile finally finding your lips. “I know. I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot to sort through. Can we watch a movie and cuddle, though? I don’t want to think about it right now,” you asked.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting your presence and gentle emotions soothe the tension that had gripped all his muscles. “Yeah, we can watch a movie,” he replied softly, gently cupping your cheek.

You hummed as you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, letting all your stresses go. There was plenty of time to face what you knew you needed to. Right now, all you wanted, all you needed was to be tucked comfortably against him while enjoying a movie and his embrace.

“Can I help you get into something comfortable first?” he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully, which matched the smirk that found his lips. You had inadvertently managed to distract him from what he’d been going through, so now, he was going to deliberately distract you.

As a giggle left your lips, he scooped you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. His laughter brought peace to you as he carried you to your room and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You weren’t ready to go all the way with him tonight, but this time, you let yourself enjoy his teases. It was like exposure therapy, and even though it made you anxious, it also helped you push through the feelings.

Dean raised an eyebrow when you hadn’t told him he was being a tease, debating asking you about it. He could feel your desire, so he knew he’d gotten to you. He just couldn’t understand why you hadn’t said anything. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his concern slipping through the connection.

“Yes, Dean. I’m okay,” your words came out playful, so Dean relaxed again, but you could still feel something nagging at him. “I’ll tell you what. Tonight, just hold me, and tomorrow, I’ll share what’s been going through my head, I promise.” 

He feigned frustration; the hint of a smile gave him away, pulling laughter from you. That made his smile widen, and he scooped you up into his arms again, spinning you a couple of times. The way your laughter filled the room made his heart soar. You quickly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and held on. When he stopped, you looked up at him, still giggling a little, and it felt like the moment was frozen in time. The smile on his face made his eyes sparkle as the lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled. Feeling the joy that not only flowed through the connection but also radiated off him made your heart melt.

God, I love you. The thought whispered through his mind, and he just couldn’t help himself, leaning down and capturing your lips in what was intended to be a tender, loving kiss. However, when you reciprocated, and one of your hands cupped his cheek, he had to take a deep inhale through his nose, pulling you ever closer to him. Dean teased your lip with his tongue, desperately wanting to deepen the kiss, and you almost did, but you knew you were ready. Pulling back a little, you looked into his eyes, seeing the desire, the love, and sighed. But before you could answer, he spoke. “I know. I can wait,” he told you gently, resting his forehead against yours.

It was getting harder for him not to progress things, but he would keep his word and wait for you to be ready. With his body tingling, he took you out to the living room, setting you gently on the couch. You worked on catching your breath while he slipped in a movie, adjusting himself before he plopped down next to you. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you against him.

The night was relaxing as you finally found your peace again, without worry. Pamela’s words were still in the back of your mind, but you let them stay there. The two of you slipped easily into your nightly routine, with him cooking and you doing the dishes. He again came up and held you, even teased you a little, but kept it light. Dean mainly had done it to hear your giggle and those cute noises you made when he slipped his thumbs just under your shirt and rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You had insisted that he pick a movie, but he was quite persistent about you choosing one, as he loved seeing that child-like joy sparkle in your eyes and dance through the connection. So, you picked the movie, the two of you lying down on the couch and cuddling for the length of it. Although, after about forty-five minutes or so, you began falling asleep. 

It had been a long, emotional day, and being wrapped up in his comfort let every ounce of stress dissipate from your body. Feeling your petite frame against him, your muscles no longer tense, and the way your breathing began to even out in a sleepy sort of way allowed Dean’s stresses to slip away as well.

“You want to head to bed early?” he asked sleepily, finding himself just as sleepy as you.

“Sure,” you breathed out, forcing your eyes to open again.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he grunted as he got off the couch, climbing over you.

For a moment you just laid there, watching as he turned off the movie and began turning off excess lights. You weren’t sure why it brought peace to you, seeing him do mundane things, but you allowed the emotions from those moments to move through the connection, wanting him to feel it, too.

Even though he was exhausted, he went over and tenderly scooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed. He tucked you under the covers on one side of the bed before he slipped out to change and get the last couple lights. You were almost asleep when he crawled into bed, scooting close to you. Snuggling against him, you let out a content sigh.

“Good night, Dean. I love you,” you whispered, eyes already closed and sleep tugging at your conscious mind.

He held you a little tighter, “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against your head, breathing deeply.

The day may have been rocky, but right now, in this moment, with his arms around you, it felt like a distant memory. The stillness of the room, coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart, gently lulled you into a deep sleep. Dean felt your breathing become steady as your body relaxed further in his arms. A small smile found his lips as he closed his eyes, knowing you were sleeping peacefully.

I love you, Sweetheart. I always will.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 30

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[singto-prachaya]

Film Thanapat has now apologized for what happened:

With Film? “ First of all, I would like to say that I am sorry for what happened (tears welling up in my eyes). If possible, I would not want it to happen. (What effect did what happen have on us?) “As everyone has seen from the hashtag, it is neither too much nor too little for our work.”

Is it a big deal for us? “If you ask, it’s quite a lot. To be honest, after reading it, we understand the feelings of many parties.”...

Is the new thing really affecting you? “That is Davika’s personal matter, right? I think she must have been quite affected mentally. ( How much have you been affected?) First of all, I would like to thank you for understanding me because the feedback that came in for me wasn’t that bad. Many people understood. What I saw was that people said that it only happened to me. As for me, I’m an actor, right? I’m determined to do my duty as an actor to portray the character to the fullest.” Have you talked to the behind-the-scenes team? “I have had the chance to talk. For that part, I’d rather let the adults and the team talk about it. Actually, I don’t know that much detail.”

Will Channel One’s work not use real animals anymore? “ I feel good about it. They will stop harming animals, no matter what kind. As we know, even if they don’t speak the same language as us, they have feelings and experience pain just like us. It feels good to hear that.”

In the film part, people feel sorry for us? “Now I’m crying. I consider it something we’ve learned from each other. It also makes everyone be more careful about this.”

so one31 and their mae yua production knowingly committed animal abuse (and made jokes about it, actors and staff alike) with the excuse that it was done under the vigilance of "experts"

watchdog thailand (animal rights group) has been informed and also calls in to question the "experts" involved

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Made a behavioral health appt with a new provider because I'm getting new insurance and can't keep sering my therapist out of network and I needed a new psych anyway, and somehow these people managed to schedule me an intake for literally the day after Christmas?????

Like.....I called this morning..... and they're getting me in DURING A HOLIDAY PERIOD in under a week???? Take the holidays out and that is literally 2 (MAYBE 3) business days.

Color me fuckin impressed.

Like this is so fucking quick that I just assumed until SEVERAL HOURS LATER that the appt must be for Jan 26th because that made more sense. I checked. December. Like damn yall got some efficient intake procedures.

On the other hand, they did hold a brief risk assessment for me on the phone before scheduling and the less flattering (to all involved) option here is that I just scored high enough that they were like "we're slotting this bitch into one of the emergency intake slots"

Hopefully they're just very efficient lmaooooo I don't need yet another phone call letting me know I'm too much of a liability to take on as a patient rn

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[kateschi]

same book, different chapters

synopsis: an ordinary evening takes a turn when katsuki expresses what you've always known but never expected to hear.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

being with katsuki is a lesson in unspoken understanding. you knew who he is long before you started dating him—loud, brash, and not the type to share his feelings openly.

but it didn’t take long to realize there’s so much more to him than that. his love is quiet, reserved, and shown in the details:

how he pulls you out of the way of a passing car, or how he remembers the smallest things, like your favorite kind of tea or that you prefer your coffee without sugar.

and that is enough for you. mostly.

you didn’t expect him to be the kind of boyfriend who says "I love you" with ease. katsuki isn’t like that. it isn’t something you hold against him either.

but every now and then, a small part of you wonders what it would be like to hear him say it—to hear those three words slip past his lips in the same way they had from yours.

you say it first, a quiet “I love you” in the middle of a peaceful night when the world outside feels still.

his response comes in the shape of hugging you tighter, securing you in his arms. however, he doesn’t say it back, and you don’t expect him to. you don’t need him to.

still, there are times when you find yourself holding your breath, wondering if one day he’ll actually verbalize it.

it isn’t that you doubt his feelings. katsuki isn’t one to waste time on things or people he doesn’t care about.

you know how much he cares by the way he silently takes care of you, always putting you first in his own way, even when his words are rough around the edges.

it’s just that sometimes, words have a way of making things feel more real.

tonight is one of those easy evenings you cherish—one where you don’t have to think too much about anything. the two of you are in your kitchen, making dinner together, though “together” is generous.

you’re doing most of the work while katsuki stands next to you, arms crossed, casting a critical eye over everything you do.

“you’re putting too much salt,” he says, the frown on his face making you smile.

“pretty sure this is the exact amount the recipe says to use,” you reply, amused at how serious he always gets when it comes to food.

“tch, that recipe’s wrong. I could’ve made this better with my eyes closed.”

“then why don’t you?” you tease, turning your head to glance at him. his gaze is sharp as usual, but the small curve in the corner of his lips betrays him.

“maybe I’ll cook next time,” he grumbles, looking away like the very idea of giving in bothers him.

you laugh softly, enjoying the banter. this is something you love about him—how even in these simple moments, his presence fills the space with a sense of ease.

there’s no pressure to be anything other than yourselves, even when his blunt honesty clashes with your more relaxed approach.

as you stir the pot, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander back to the three words. you know katsuki isn’t the type to say things until he’s ready, and you respect that.

but part of you is curious—would it ever come naturally to him, or would it always be something unspoken between the two of you?

still, as you stand there, the warmth of his steady presence beside you, you realize that maybe you’re okay with it remaining unspoken. katsuki shows his love in ways that don’t need words to validate them.

and then, without warning, you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard.

“katsuki?” you ask, your voice soft, as you lean into him instinctively.

he doesn’t answer right away, just holds you there. his touch isn’t hesitant, but it is different from the usual casual touches you’ve grown used to.

“you’re annoying sometimes,” he mutters, voice low in your ear.

you chuckle, relaxing further into his hold. “I know.”

there’s silence for a beat, and then: “but I love you anyway, idiot.”

you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. you turn your head slightly, trying to see his face, but he buries it against your neck, hiding his expression. “did you just—?”

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mumbles, voice suddenly gruff, though you can hear the embarrassment beneath the words.

a smile breaks across your face, warmth spreading through your chest. you didn’t expect it, but that makes it all the more special. he isn’t saying it because the moment demands it.

he isn’t saying it because you’re waiting. he says it because he wants to, because he feels it.

“I’m not,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your happiness bubbles up in your voice. “but…I love you too.”

you feel his grip tighten around you and a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[ventique18]

AU where Yuu is a neighboring dragon princess who Malleus is absolutely charmed by.

🦇: "WHAT? What do you mean you asked her to marry you?!"

🐉: "Well, I could not help but be swept off my feet at the sight of her. What with her sitting in the garden I've taken great care to tend to, reading a book with such a beautiful smile on her face... Before I could help myself, I told her..."

🦇: "Told her what?"

🐉: "That I would be willing to resolve our kind's population crisis with her if only she would agree to have me as her husband."

🦇: "Malleus you've met her twice. What is wrong with you? I bet she slapped you in the face."

🐉: "She did no such thing! In fact she stood in front of me-- quite so elegantly, mind you,"

🦇: "And?"

🐉: "And before I knew it, her face was so close to mine,"

🦇: "That worked?! And then?"

🐉: "Lilia, she smelled like berries and lilies. Her eyes were like a crystalline bloom of--"

🦇: "My goodness, boy, I don't need the details! Get on with it!"

🐉: "I could feel her breath on my skin,"

🦇: "And?! By the seven, what happened next?!"

🐉: "And then she started sniffing me."

🦇: "... Sniffing?"

🐉: "And asked whether I'd been drinking."

🦇: "..."

🐉: "..."

🦇: "HAHAHAHAHHA"

🐉: "Lilia! This is no laughing matter! I do not understand why she did not just answer with a yes or a no! What am I supposed to tell grandmother if she asks me how our courtship is going?"

🦇: "The next time you meet the princess-- ow, my stomach hurts-- just ask her what her favorite book is. Don't you dare tell her again that you want to breed with her!"

🐉: "But how will I know when to announce to the kingdom that we will be marrying, if all we do is talk about our favorite books?"

🦇: "When she tells you she'd be willing to resolve your kind's population crisis with you, of course!"

🐉: "What if she doesn't ever say that in the next ten years or so? That is not exactly a phrase as common as 'the weather is nice today'."

🦇: "This boy, I swear..."

🦇: "When she starts letting you in her room and on her bed, then you'll know she wants you, too."

🐉: "I see..."

🐉: "Then I must ask permission to enter her room posthaste."

🦇: "Yes... Wait. No. Boy, BOY, GET BACK HERE!"

[00kittenz]

── our little secret. ( psh ) 🧸

๑ In which Sunghoon makes you realize just how badly you’ve missed his touch after going almost a week without it…

pair: sunghoon ㅊ f!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, cheating (oof), secret relationship, slightly jealous and possessive sunghoon, teasing, begging, fingering (in both holes lol), praise and degrading, oral (f + m rec.), spanking, piv, unprotected s.x | words: 2.0k

this is based off this ask i got the other day !! i kinda wrote more smut cs im a slut for hoon what can i say lol. but thnx to that anon for this delicious idea ヾ(>᎑<๑)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“why haven’t you been answering any of my calls ?” sunghoon looked visibly in distress, profusely running his fingers through his hair, “had me worried sick about you..”

you stood in front of the doorway quiet, heaving out a sigh before you could explain, “..i’m really sorry hoon. it’s just i got caught up again with—” stopping yourself mid sentence, you spare him of any further details, deciding to just drop this whole subject entirely. “actually never mind, just forget it.”

he isn’t dumb, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. it’s just he chooses to turn a blind eye to it all. doesn’t wanna get caught in the midst, even though he quite literally already is. he’d rather not hear about another fight you and your boyfriend had, or knowing the stability of your relationship with him at all. in the beginning it didn’t affect him as much, but as time went on he just couldn’t bear to listen anymore. sunghoon will never understand why you’re still with him when he can be all that you need and so much more.

call him delusional or whatever, but you were his girl. no one else’s. he’s so crazy about you that if you asked him to kill someone for you he’d probably do it without even hesitating. it’s kind of pathetic to be so blindly in love with someone who’s already taken, but he’s been dead set on you since the day you two locked eyes. ‘love at first sight’ or whatever you may call it. he’s never felt more deeply in tune with another person, it’s like you two were made for each other. of course he’d give anything for you to break up with that loser, it’s just going to take some time (and convincing) to get you to finally do that. plus, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right ?

“come in.” you usher him inside quickly before anyone sees, shutting the door behind you with your foot.

once he fully walked through the door, your arms immediately swung around his neck, unable to hold back anymore. you missed him more than anything, you missed holding him, seeing him, been craving his touch all day, everyday; which is why you decided to cut the ‘date’ you had with your boyfriend short today. you came up with some lame excuse, saying how you weren’t feeling well and needed to go home. he looked as though he didn’t believe you but he let you leave anyway, hoping that you’d feel better and to text him once you got back home. spoiler: you didn’t.

this has been going on for a couple months now, no one knows of this clandestine relationship, not even your closest of friends and you’d like to keep it that way. it’s a horrible thing to say but you don’t necessarily feel any remorse or guilt for what you’re doing at all, if anything you like the thrill of it. sunghoon made you feel things that you’ve never felt before, he was everything that your boyfriend wasn’t and that’s what drew you in the minute you two met.

“missed you..” you muffle into his shirt that were clinging on, basking in the rich scent of his expensive cologne, your favorite one to be exact.

“i missed you so much more baby,” he shamelessly confessed, not caring if it comes off clingy. “couldn’t have you all this week so i’m gonna have you now,” he continued, “been dying to have a taste of these lips again.” he engulfed you even tighter, lifting your head up to lean in and kiss you for the first time tonight.

๑ ๑ ๑

“god.. you’re so fucking pretty.” sunghoon whispers against your skin, peppering kisses along your jaw, sinking down towards your neck. his hands roam everywhere, exploring every inch of you. god, how you’ve missed this feeling so. so. much.

he finally had you right where he wanted, he’s been wanting this for days, thirsting for you all week; and now that he has it you he wasn’t just gonna let you slip away so easily. you let his arms lift your sweater over your head, aching to kiss below the collarbone. his hands cupped your ass, lifting you up from the couch as he carries you to your room, settling you down onto the bed.

“so gorgeous baby.. ”

his eyes danced around your bare upper body, down to your soft, round thighs, to your legs.. admiring your curvy figure. it’s like you were sculptured to perfection; he’ll never not be obsessed with you. an angel that’s descended from heaven is what you are to him. you knew his words had an affect on you, you felt it, he had you dripping for him just from his compliments alone.

his large hands caressed your breasts while his thumb teased your nipple, feeling it stiffen the minute he comes in contact with it. you held your breath for a second, feeling hypersensitive from not being touched in so long. the reactions you had as he did so was enough to make his boxers tighten under his sweats. he needed you more than the oxygen that pervades his lungs, if he could live in this moment forever — he would without even thinking.

when his index and thumb twisted your hardened nip, the moan you let out was hoarse.. broken.. you couldn’t believe you hadn’t felt his touch for almost a week. seemed like an impossible task in hindsight. sunghoon coated his saliva around the base of your nipple, his arm sliding down your body to cup your wetness.

“my precious girl,” he let out a low chuckle, feeling how soaked you were through your thin pajama shorts.

“so wet for me, huh, so needy for me?” he teases you with his fingers, tracing everywhere but your clit.

you squirmed underneath him, grasping onto your pink bedsheets. oh, how you so badly missed his dirty talk.. it looked so good on him. you buck your needy hips up against his hand, wanting to feel more of him as much as you possibly can.

“hmm..fuck..” you gasped, making him chuckle at you again. his hands shift to your waistband yanking them down as they hung to your feet.

“spread.” you didn’t even hesitate for him, your legs shot open. your hand held under your thigh, keeping it open so sunghoon could get a glimpse of your pretty glistening cunt. he stood between your legs, spreading apart your folds as if he were inspecting you.

“mm.. hoon.. please hurry i want your fingers..” you moaned, he spared a glance at your sparkling eyes before complying.

he simply hums at your eagerness, “then i shouldn’t keep my girl waiting, should i ?..” his fingers hid themselves in your weeping hole slowly while he eyed you, drinking up your features.

you felt his fingers trace the inside of your cunt making your face contort messily, your bottom lip held captive by your upper teeth.

“uhhuh, you like that right baby, you missed this ?” he thrusted his digits in and out of you at a pace that kept gradually fastening.

you had no intention on responding, it’d only be a waste of breath. especially when he knew you already liked it. your moans filled the room beautifully.

“fuck, you’re so good for me.. gonna ruin this pretty pussy.” he’d been fingering you into oblivion as his hidden digits thrusted into you, his thumb ran circles around your blushing clit.

“hah, yes ! yes, baby ! i’m coming!..” your shaky hand held onto his wrist. hips bouncing themselves towards him, you exploded.. your juices coated his fingers and the sheets you’d rested on before you were called to taste euphoria.

“good girl, you took it so well for me.” he slapped your thigh, following it up by pulling his layers down, revealing his hard. he laced his fingers around the base, pumping hisself a few times before hovering over you, kissing your bruised, swollen lips from earlier.

your hands were quick to palm him, cupping his balls lightly squeezing them. “oh shit..baby,” he moaned against your skin before sitting you up and guiding you onto your feet.

“knees.” he said before you quickly dropped onto the floor.

he looks at you with eyes full of nothing but admiration and lust before brushing his pink tip against your lips. “open.” he orders once again, raising his brows at you. once you do as your told, he eased himself inside your sticky coated mouth.

at this moment you thought of nothing but pleasing him right, your hands gripped his thighs while your head bobbed slowly on his length. once you were comfortable you quickened yourself. you loved when he was all whiney, especially for you. his hands gripped your hair as he groaned your name, feeling him throbbing inside you.

“mhm.. hell yeah.. just like that for me princess.” he praised you, that moment causing you to squeeze your legs together.

you sucked him harder as your mouth slid off his tip, hands replacing it. your hand added a pressure your mouth couldn’t as you jerked him. his balls sat in your mouth and you suckled and licked until he couldn’t take it anymore

“shit !” he tapped your shoulder before lifting you up onto your feet once more. “all fours now, hurry up.” he groaned at you.

“but you didn't-” you felt his hand swash against your ass causing you to yelp and hurriedly get into position.

“good girl,” he wasted no time into pushing himself inside you, pounding into you as if this were the last time he’d see ever you. you felt your insides tickle everytime he caressed your G spot.

“fuck ! sunghoon, right there..” you pitched, having hold of the comforter for stability.

his middle finger caressed your asshole, taking some of your heats slick to use it as lube. once his finger was inside, your lower felt a dry pain, that was until you felt the pleasure rising from it. his grip on your waist tightened while he watches your ass move fluidly everytime he pushed inside you.

“such a obedient little cunt, isn't it.. so wet and needy for me. she loves this cock fucking her dumb, doesn't she?” he slapped your ass and he wasn’t planning on stopping until he saw handprints.

“trying to milk me aren’t you.. shit..” he hissed as he felt you clench around him.

your hand reaches down to your bud caressing it slowly, ready to reach your high again. “hmm, yes hoon, come on me, please !!”

sunghoon never turned you over so fast. he rubbed his shaft between your folds before bursting onto your smooth abdomen. the sound of you begging for him left him winded.

“fuck.. fuck.. y/n..you have no idea what you do to me..” he went down on you drinking you all up, cleaning you out. “taste so fucking good. who are you tasting so good for?..” he praised again.

“just for you hoonie, only you !” you whined out loudly, playing with the stickiness that caked on your stomach.

not long after, you yourself let out on him. he didn’t fail to drink you clean. he was so drunk off of you that anything you said would be gospel, he’d worship the ground you walked on, whatever you wanted you’d get it in a heartbeat.

he comes up to cup your face, kissing you practically everywhere, your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, nose, mouth, neck— he made sure not to miss a single spot. just wants to show all his appreciation for you. he’ll never meet another girl like you, to him you were irreplaceable. most would probably think of him as an idiot to stay with you, but he wouldn’t listen even if a million people told him.

he’ll wait for you if he has to, no matter what he isn’t going anywhere. for now he’ll take what he can get, continuing to keep up this façade as though you’re just “friends” to the outside world, but clearly it’s so much more than that. sunghoon didn’t mind that he was your dirty little secret, he would continue to play along for as long as you needed. or, he’ll just keep fucking you into submission until you finally give in, until you won’t even want to think of another man’s hands touching you the same way his does.

[luveline]

Hi!! Sometimes in ur bombshell reader fics she talks about how she has nervous energy would u ever write a bombshell reader fic where she has one of those days where she just woke up wired and Spencer tries to calm her down?

“Spencer,” you whisper. 

“What?” 

Spencer turns another page. You, across from him with your legs crossed, slouched, poke at his leg gently with your foot. “What are you reading?” 

“It’s just a book on Wyoming land boundaries.” 

You nod. Spencer watches you from across the top of his book, at first without worry, and then an attentiveness that furthers all the reasons you may or may not be in love with him. 

“You okay?” 

Everything should be fine. The case is solved. You’re heading home, without turbulence, two hours at most from touching down after a job well done. “I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You smile fraughtly. You try your best to be the perfect image, to put that best foot forward, and you nail it ninety nine days out of a hundred. Nobody knows about your nervousness besides you, and that’s how you’d like it to stay, but Spencer clearly cares about you too much to look away. 

He closes his book and sets in on the table, pushing a glass into his hand. “Here,” he says, leaning forward. “It’s not poisoned.” 

You take it. Feeling his gaze, you drink a little sip that immediately goes down the wrong way. Your coughing swallow perturbs him worse. 

People tend to look at Spencer and see someone who needs more help. Even the people closest to him can doubt his ability, but as far as you’re concerned he’s proven to understand emotion quite well. He won’t shake a stranger's hand, he can’t flirt to save his life without notice, but he can make you feel better. He’s good at taking care of you, even if nobody else can see it. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, leaning right over to touch both your knees at once. He pushes your skirt up a half inch with the movement, but his eyes are on your face. “You have the jitters?” 

“Think so,” you murmur. 

“Maybe it’s the air pressure.” 

You’re sure he knows you get like this sometime, but his explanation is kind. His hands on your knees are somehow strangely placed and still a natural feeling. Just like sitting together at his place to watch TV, or elbow to elbow on the train into New York, your boundaries with one another are eroding. 

“Wanna come and sit by me?” he asks, like he’s thinking the same thing. 

You laugh softly. “In all that space?” 

The seat is big enough for a larger person, but not you and Spencer together. 

He squeezes himself right to the side. “Come on,” he insists, sitting back, “just sit with me.” 

“I’ll squish you.” 

“So squish me.”

You think about it before setting your traded glass down. You don’t know why you have these weird moods, you don’t understand what it is about Spencer that can make them feel better, but he’s offering to make it go away. You have no real reason to turn him down. 

In the end, you sit in the chair beside him, ignoring Hotch’s perturbed look as you stand and then quickly plop yourself down at Spencer’s side. Your thigh has to go completely on top of his, but otherwise, it’s not so bad. It’s more room than you thought. 

It works quicker than you could imagine. With both of your heads held back the space between you is still minimal, which means his face is in detail. His hair brushed back and with the barest traces of gel, a little curled, what had Hotch said? His boyband hair.  

Spencer turns toward you, eye shadowed as he presses his forehead to the chair. “Is it just jitters?” he asks. 

“Sometimes I think I get… weird,” you say. 

“Me too.” He pulls your leg further into his lap. You’re shocked at first, but it’s a friendly move that takes the strain off of your knee. “Can I tell you something?” 

“Of course you can.” 

“I’ve started to care a whole lot less about being weird since I met you.” 

You fight the urge to touch his hair. “I don’t think it’s about caring, Spence, I just.. don’t feel right.” 

“Okay.” He nods sincerely. “Okay, well, we can work it out. We’re still hours from Virginia, you can turn your brain off. We can work it out.” 

You’re relieved to have him promise it. This isn’t the sort of thing you can work out, but it doesn’t matter, Spencer caring this much makes all the difference. You take a deep, deep breath, and you give him a grateful smile, before you rest your cheek on his shoulder. That’s just wanting, no weird feeling or jittering at the root of you as he lets a warm breath kiss your forehead, his nose pressing into your skin. 

“Don’t let anybody see,” you mumble. 

His next breath is a little shaky. “I won’t.”

See what, you’re not sure. But soon you start to feel less like you’re gonna try popping open an emergency window, and that’s enough for now. 

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

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[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby trope Simon Riley / female reader

You’re startled.

He can tell just by the way your eyes pinch at the corners, your shoulders high and tight beneath your ears. You’re flustered, you’re stressed, rubbing small circles on the baby’s back, playing with the hem of the their hat.

Your discomfort, the unease radiating from your frame, combined with the saw blade currently buzzing through his brain, nearly makes him dizzy.

Still, even in this moment, you leave him breathless. He feels the same itch, the same swell of emotion as he looks at you, drinking every single detail in like a starved man.

He tries, and tries to make the connection.

I didn’t know how to contact you.

What does that mean?

It feels monumental, feels like there’s a black hole opening in his stomach, sucking his heart out into the universe to be obliterated.

It’s just there on the cusp, teetering on the edge.

I didn’t know how to contact you.

“I’m uh,” the baby’s tiny arm flings out a little fist towards your chest, and slide your finger into their grip, smoothing your thumb across, what he imagines, is very soft skin. “Do you have a minute?”

He nods wordlessly.

The cafe is quiet.

Simon can’t see the baby’s face. They have your complexion, your hair… but he doesn’t know what they look like. Not really. He doesn’t even know if they’re a boy or a girl.

He doesn’t know anything, and inside this out of control situation, he yearns for it. The plan. The knowledge, the ability to plot and counter plot the next move.

This… instability, this lingering question in the air-

fills him with fear.

An earl grey sits in front of you, spiraled steam curling in the air across the table, where you’re rocking a little bit, side to side, swaying like a sailor.

You worry your lip between your teeth. "I know this is kind of... a shock." He blinks. "I tried to find you, I scoured social media, I went back to the to the pub and asked if anyone knew you, I had them look through all their credit receipts from that night, but... everything was a dead end. It was like you were a ghost." His lips twitch.

"Why?" He thinks he knows, thinks he understands now, but he needs to hear you say it, needs to watch your lips form the words. You stare down at the table before taking a long, deep breath, placing your hand protectively against the back of the baby's head.

"This is your son, Simon."

And there it is.

He's a dad. There's a tiny life, a tiny piece of him, in this world now.

He's a father. A father, to a son, just like his brother was. A father, to a son, like his own father was, and his father before that. A vicious, endless cycle. One his brother vowed to break, and did.

One that terrifies Simon now.

The first words out of his mouth are unintentional, and cruel. "Are you sure?" He winces as soon as it splays out in the silence, and you wilt into a shade of embarrassment.

"I uh, yeah. I'm sure. The pill isn't foolproof and we weren't exactly... careful. I... um... there's no one else." You grimace, averting your eyes, and his stomach clenches.

"I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." You wave it off, keeping him at arms length. You keep your gaze down, and he curses himself. Making a mess of it already.

He's very good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the job, always has, but in this moment, he's struggling to stopgap the flow of consciousness that seems to be melding together by the minute. Worry, panic, fear all roar at the forefront, but beneath them, buried by mountains of darkness- shines something unexpected.

Happiness. Hope.

A baby.

Something possessive thrums inside him, beats in the veins of his heart. It's reverent, identical to way he felt the first night he met you, the night the two of you made him. Together.

You had his baby. You did. The girl who was everything. The sweet girl who took him like you were made for him.

No matter what happens, no matter where you go, he'll always be the man who gave you a baby. Who gave you his son.

It's sick, how pleased he feels. How satisfied. Something long buried in the genetics of human beings, now rearing its head inside his own.

You were everything, and now- you always will be.

His throat is suddenly very tight, nose stinging with effort to allay his emotions. "What's his name?"

"Orion." You smile, timidly, but tears shine in your eyes. "I really like stars. I used to tell him all about the constellations when I was pregnant. I call him Ry for short." Orion.

"I like it." He tells you gently, and you smile again, more confident.

"I'm glad." He studies you. You're beautiful, possibly even more so now, but there's a thread of exhaustion pulling across your face, like you haven't slept in a year.

A new realization settles in his bones like a chill, and his stomach pitches. He thinks he might sick.

You said there's been no one else, so you've been alone? Did you do this on your own? Do you have family, friends? Anyone to help you?

He's no fool. He watched Beth go through it all, struggle through it all, even when she had support.

And he was the asshole that walked out of your life that morning, not caring for the consequences. Not caring for you.

He missed it. He missed all of it.

"I'm sorry I left that morning without... saying anything. I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'd take it back if I could." Your lips part in surprise, and then you nod.

"I- thank you." The baby fusses, tiny cry sounding from your chest, and you fidget with the carrier, pulling him free. "Do you want to hold him?"

Orion fits against his chest perfectly. It's like he was always meant to be there, nestled on top of his forearm, staring up at his dad. Simon is painfully and hyper aware of the little activity in the cafe, the people coming and going, but it does nothing to stop the tears that wet his cheeks.

"You're a natural." You whisper from your new seat next to him, hand smoothing over the back of the baby's head. "I knew he had your eyes, I remembered them so clearly. When he was born, it felt like I was looking into them all over again."

There are a million things he needs to say, to explain, and a million questions he needs to ask. Already the clock is ticking down to the time that he'll need to report on base. Already, the curtain is closing on this tiny piece of heaven he's found himself inside. He needs to tell you, have a frank conversation with you about his job, his life, everything.

But when he looks down at Orion, slowly falling asleep in his arms, and then looks up at you, he decides everything can wait.

The world looks different now, and he's never been more grateful-

and terrified.

[thelostconsultant]

Instant dad - pilot

pairing: Oscar Piastri x ex!reader

summary: You have no choice but to tell Oscar he has a five years old son. Now he wants to be a part of his life to make things complicated...

note: A little warmup chapter. Oscar is in his early 30s, so yeah, there's a time jump.

[part 1]

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarified as he glanced over at your boyfriend. You’d been together for three years, he had been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why wasn’t he enough?

But he insisted on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you had confirmed that you weren’t married and the biological father was alive, so now they wanted to have a chat with him. He didn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father had absolutely no idea he had a child. What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son was reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sat by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school was perfect, they knew how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you wanted the best for him. You wanted to make sure he didn’t get bored, that he would get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needed.

At the age of five, he could read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he was a quick study in general. It was infuriating how he was a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminded you of him. And if you met F1 fans together, someone surely went, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that wasn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there was no way you would ever tell him the truth. He had his own, certainly busy life and he probably didn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he was good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes wasn’t the same as having your own. Your son on the other hand could find out when he got old enough to understand why you had left and went no contact with his father. That was over ten years away, of course, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you made sure the few photos of you and Oscar were stored somewhere safe in case he wanted to see them when the time came.

Now you were cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You had no idea if he was still using that old social media profile of his, but you had to try. So, you took a deep breath and started a call, deep down hoping he wouldn’t answer. You weren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you had no choice. And then his face showed up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’d been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asked, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence followed his words, your brain in overdrive as it tried to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward was the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you added, hoping the meaningful look you were sending his way could be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you could see the wheels turning in his head as he did some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “He’s your son.”

His face was emotionless for a while as he tried to process the news, but this was nothing new, he was the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you thought he would end the call, he let out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asked, although you could tell he was unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumed you wanted money only made you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snapped. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar put up a finger as he bit on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asked, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then stated, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You didn’t have a choice, you knew that. If he didn’t do it for Oliver, he would have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nodded. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar began hesitantly, and you could see as he sat down on his couch and looked up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You could see he was uncertain about this. He probably understood that becoming his father would mean he would have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there was still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asked, his eyes softening as he watched you. 

A smile crept on your lips as you thought about this, because it was so painfully obvious to you that you couldn’t deny it, no matter how badly you wanted to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nodded. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asked, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he was quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you had just discussed, and now he was changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” was all you said in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he pointed out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You were doing this only because of the school. You remembered what Oscar could be like; if he made up his mind about something, he definitely wasn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wanted a week with his son, and you knew that was the only way he would do what you needed from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thanked him, and were just about to say goodbye when he spoke up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you replied with a smile.

Oscar remained silent, but he let out a sigh and you knew something was on his mind, something he wanted to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admitted. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you told him kindly. 

After you said goodbye, you went up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you got there, they were sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you took the book and leaned down to give both of them a soft kiss. You couldn’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics would change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it wasn’t really your son you were worried about, the main issue was your boyfriend. Oscar was a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolized, of course he felt threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they met and he saw you were indifferent, he would finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

[daistea]

Since you take requests, would I be able to ask for something with Mithrun and Kabru with like a reader that's kind of dense with social cues/hints (especially if they're romantic)?

(I had people confess their love to me, and I still didn't get it till they put it in very clear terms)

(it's probably the 'tism, but I digress. )

I think it's potentially an absolutely hellerious dynamic since Kabru always plays 5D chess with every social interaction. As for Mithrun, I think it's funny to think how the other canaries would just be repeatedly hitting their head on the wall because their captain won't say it straight and they just don't g e t i t.

Ps: I absolutely love how in-depth all of your understanding of characters and their personalities are, and I just hxfhxdvgudts.

This blog just brings me so much joy

Yaaa!!

“Iᴛ’s ᴀ Dᴀᴛᴇ” Kᴀʙʀᴜ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Mɪᴛʜʀᴜɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

gn reader

5000 words ;P

Warning: reader is very oblivious. Like incomprehensibly oblivious (for the lolz)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

♡ Kabru ♡

- Kabru has had little flings here and there throughout his life. He treated every partner with respect, of course, but Kabru wasn’t particularly looking for love. He doesn’t dislike the idea of love, it just hasn’t happened yet.

- So, when Kabru starts to genuinely fall in love with someone, it’s a new feeling. He’s observant enough to recognize what it is.

- Unfortunately, the person he’s falling in love with is you.

“He’s been unusually quiet lately,” Holm remarked. Who he was remarking that to remained to be seen. Mickbell didn’t care much. Kuro had other things to worry about. And Rin had already made the same observation three times earlier that day.

The first floor of the dungeon was always crowded, and Kabru’s ears were usually open for anything that could be of use. The leather armor merchant to his left had recently raised his prices. The cobbler to the right was in an argument with an older lady over the shape of a patch he’d made on her favorite boots. And Holm was concerned about Kabru’s recent lack of observations; as concerned as Holm could be.

“Is that really such a shock?” Kabru sent Holm a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a chatterbox.”

But he was aware of himself enough to know that his behavior lately had been odd. He was usually so good at hiding it, too, but the comfort of his friends seemed to lower his walls. Without realizing it, Kabru had spent their latest dungeon expedition sighing to himself, staring at walls, and missing the details of important things. On the third floor, they’d encountered thieves. His party always relied on him to clock the intentions of approaching adventurers— thieves tended to be overly familiar, friendly, and a bit too eager— but Kabru’s mind was elsewhere. The thieves attacked, and it had genuinely taken him by surprise. The fight wasn’t hard, but Kabru’s lack of preparation set off alarms in Rin and Holm’s heads.

“You’re not,” Rin agreed. Her brow furrowed and she got that cute little line on her forehead again. “However, you’ve really been out of it.”

“Have you been thinking about that person again?” Holm asked.

That person. That person? Kabru knew a lot of persons. The whole first level was filled to the brim with persons, half of them being his acquaintances. Kabru had zero desire to admit that he knew precisely who Holm was referring to, though, and decided to keep his gaze straight ahead as he weaved through the crowd.

When he didn’t respond, Mickbell laughed, “Yeah, he’s thinking of them alright.”

“Heat?” Kuro asked.

Mickbell scoffed from his place on Kuro’s shoulders, “Tall-men don’t go into heat! At least I don’t think so. But they catch feelings, like a cold. Kabru’s caught a cold.”

“Not sneezing,” Kuro mumbled.

“A feelings cold, I mean! The worst kind.”

That was one way to put it. Kabru couldn’t help but sigh as he led the party towards a quieter spot in the corner. Once they were out of the sea of people, he leaned against the stone wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have feelings, I’m simply curious,” he said.

Curious. Right. Mickbell sent him a scrunched up, narrow-eyed look that was reminiscent of constipation. Yet, Rin interjected before the half-foot could say something heinous. “What’re you curious about, particularly?” She asked.

“Good question,” Kabru folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head in thought.

What was he curious about? You held so many secrets. You had this look in your eyes that drew him, a look that reminded him of a room in his mother’s house. She always told him to not go inside. Her rules only made him want to turn the knob even more. And when he finally did disobey her and go inside, all he saw were boxes full of ceramic unicorn miniatures. Still, the rush of satisfaction he’d felt at finally knowing what was in there couldn’t be matched. That’s what he wanted to do to you, open your door and take a peek.

Or, perhaps a ‘peek’ was an understatement. He wanted to meticulously inspect every inch of your mind with a microscope, to know the atoms unseen by the human eye, to be intimately acquainted with every molecule you possessed.

“He’s zoned out again,” Holm muttered, ripping Kabru out of his thoughts.

He looked up, eyes widening at the observation. Holm was right, he was zoned out again, staring at the dirt on the floor and contemplating you.

He forced a smile, “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m just preoccupied. It’s that person, I simply want to know their intentions.”

“Intentions for what?” Rin asked.

For everything. There was no simple answer.

“Oh hey,” Mickbell glanced over his shoulder. His voice was flat as he scanned the room, “There they are.”

Kabru followed Mickbell’s gaze, a straight line that led directly to you— all lines seemed to lead directly to you lately. His heart clenched in a way that was both unpleasant and addictive. Without realizing it, he pushed away from the wall and began striding toward where you stood.

“Wait,” Rin grabbed his arm as he passed. Kabru blinked, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak. She met his eyes and frowned, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. They’re not as mysterious as you think they are.”

Nonsense. You were incredibly mysterious. Kabru could tell you had secrets, layers. He dreamed of pulling them back one by one.

“They couldn’t disappoint me,” he sent Rin a smile that he hoped was reassuring— he knew it was, he’d practiced it in the mirror and on other people all the time.

“I think they will,” she argued.

“They won’t,” his smile faltered just the slightest. Rin didn’t usually get involved in Kabru’s… hobby. Did she know something he didn’t? He decided to not ask outright, accepting the challenge of figuring out the meaning behind her concern on his own.

Rin let go of his arm and Kabru was free to go. His mind switched elsewhere, onto you, and before he knew it he was already slipping through the crowd of bodies to reach you.

You were in front of the vegetable seller’s stand, inspecting a lumpy potato. Kabru knew the vegetable seller was cheating on his wife. Usually, he’d try to get more out of the man, digging deeper simply for the sake of knowing. Yet, you stood there, beautiful and mind-consuming. What did Rin mean by ‘I think you’re going to be disappointed’? Kabru was rarely disappointed with secrets.

“Hey,” he raised a hand as he neared. You looked up from the potato and returned his smile. There was that look in your eyes again, that closed door he desperately needed the key to.

He loved crowds. He loved the hundreds of voices. He loved listening to each one and assigning them meaning, picking apart their words, filing them away into neat little categories. Yet, the crowd might as well have disappeared. All he saw was you. All he wanted was you and your words and your thoughts and your fears and your goals and your likes and your dislikes and your intentions and your—

“Oh hey,” your voice cut through the wants like the slash of a sword, “Kapru.”

Kapru.

His brows furrowed and he plastered on a polite smile— also practiced in the mirror. “It’s Kabru.”

“Right, sorry,” you shrugged.

Were you playing with him? Were you sending your pawn out, a piece that you expected him to take for the sake of a larger, more powerful move? Was it bait?

“How are you?” He forced himself to ask, though he could hear the weakness in his voice. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t notice.

You only tilted your head in thought, “I’m fine. Just buying potatoes.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Kabru said. It was a lie, you saw him last week. “My party and I are about to go back to the surface to restock. We could grab a drink if you wanted.”

“Why?” You asked.

Why? Why? Kabru couldn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why. ‘I want to take detailed notes on every word you say, every gesture, every breath’ wouldn’t be helpful to his cause in the least.

“Because we’re friends,” he slowly explained. Again, there was that hint of weakness lacing every syllable. He wanted to tear his voice box apart and reconstruct it in a way that wouldn’t falter every time he saw you.

But you didn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” you sent him a smile that made his heart clench.

Alright. Kabru’s smile relaxed, “Alright,” he echoed. “It’s a date.”

‘It’s a date’ was a common saying, of course. But it still held implications, it still held desires, it still signified something more— At least to him it did.

You remained unphased by it, though. Usually, when Kabru said that, there would be a laugh or blush or the widening of eyes. You gave him nothing of the sort. No flirtatious looks, no intention-laced smile, no flicker of recognition.

“See you then,” was all you said.

Rin was wrong. You couldn’t disappoint him. Opening your doors and peeking inside your mind would be so satisfying.

- You go on several dates with Kabru without realizing they’re dates.

- After one date when you make friends with the next table over and invite them to join your meal, introducing Kabru as ‘my friend’ and not ‘the man who is courting me’ or ‘my boyfriend’, he begins to wonder…

- Do you not realize that these are dates?

Kabru knew he had the tendency to stare, but he usually kept that urge locked away for the sake of masking. Always masking. Always aware of his surroundings and the people and the words and the looks.

He kept his staring urge hidden at first. Yet as time passed, as you went on more dates, he couldn’t help himself. He had to stare. He had to drink in every detail of your face, coveting it all as a desert wanderer would covet water.

And you didn’t seem to mind. You would give him this look sometimes, a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mixture between affection and confusion and bashfulness. It was his favorite expression of yours and never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.

Kabru knew he was falling in love. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d never been truly in love before. At night when he forced himself into bed, he stared at the ceiling and mused on the future you had together. Neither of you had said anything to make the relationship official, but was that even needed? It was obvious that you were together— to him, at least.

Kabru held your hand as he led you through the crowded streets. Once you caught up to his side, he placed his palm on the small of your back. He wasn’t much for PDA, but it was a necessity when traversing the island together. He didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.

Once you were in a more quiet spot, he sent you a smile, “I have to ask, I’m too curious; What’s your favorite date that we’ve had together?”

You thought for a moment, “Hm… I would have to say last week. It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays anyway. I think it was the 7th? Yeah. June 7th, Thursday. That’s a good date, it’s a bit cool outside and all the flowers are blooming. But if I had to say which one was my favorite, I think it would be April 18th. I’m not sure that we spent that date together, though.”

…Okay.

Like the sunset rising over the mountains, it began to dawn on him.

Were you stupid?

No, you weren’t stupid. He had seen you in the dungeon before, how you fought and strategized and reacted. You couldn’t be stupid.

Then what? Were you playing hard to get? Were you teasing him? Was this a move on the board, your Knight piece pressing forward to continue the assault? Kabru needed to know.

He kept his hand on your back but his gaze straight ahead. “That’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t nice, actually. “What about when we hold hands? Do you enjoy that?”

You shrugged, “It helps us keep track of each other as we go through a crowd.”

“But I hold your hand even when we’re not around other people.”

The face you made betrayed your true thoughts. “Yeah, it seems like your hands are cold a lot. You really should start keeping gloves with you.”

“...Do you think I’m holding your hand because my fingers are cold?”

Another flash of confusion, another furrow of your brows. “Why else would you hold my hand?”

The sun rose completely over the mountains and the daytime, clear and bright, engulfed his world.

You had no clue.

- This stresses Kabru out immensely.

- He starts taking notes. He has a special little book just for you. A lot of the pages are filled with scribbles and question marks.

- He makes a plan on what to do. He’s going to up the ante, he’s going to make his feelings so clear that you can’t ignore them or be oblivious even if you tried.

- He starts getting more touchy. He kisses your forehead often. He kisses your knuckles. He’s around you all the time, every chance he gets. He tells you you’re beautiful. He says that he wants you to meet his mother. He talks about your future together.

- You say, “Oh, your mom? Cool. You think we’ll get along? I’m always up for making new friends.”

- “You want a future with me? Well, I’m free next Wednesday.”

“I like you,” Kabru was breathless and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess from how often he’d run his fingers through it. He was disheveled and hadn’t slept the entire night.

You glanced up from the book you were reading, “Oh? Cool, thanks.”

He sent you a look. “No, I mean I love you.”

“Yeah,” you flipped a page in the book, “love you too.”

“You do?” Hope bloomed and unfurled like a spring flower. Kabru felt his cheeks grow warm, a fire igniting within him.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, “I love all my friends, of course.”

That spring flower suddenly wilted. The fire was doused by a cold bucket of water in the form of your words. Kabru wanted to scream and bang his head against the wall.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers tensing as he leaned forward, desperate. “I’m in love with you. This is really hard for me to say, but I think you need to hear it like this. I love you. I love you. I love you…” Somehow, his cheeks went even hotter. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his embarrassment, “I-I… Sorry. I just need you like I need oxygen. I…”

You snorted, “You don’t need me to breathe, I’m a person not an organ. You’re breathing right now just fine.”

He was not breathing just fine, but that was beside the point.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kabru said. He could hear how strained his voice sounded.

You watched as he walked away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Then he screamed. It sounded like he also kicked something, a crate or box maybe.

How odd.

- When it finally gets through your head, he’s actually a bit satisfied by your embarrassment at it all. Yes, please do acknowledge your obliviousness. Please do apologize for treating his love confession so casually. When you do so, he feels as if he could melt from the relief.

- He still wants to bang his head on the wall, though.

- And he’s spent a lot of nights screaming into his pillow.

- Kabru continues to play 5d chess with you, just simply out of habit, but you’re playing Hungry Hungry Hippos the entire time. He still finds himself trying to pick apart your actions and responses, but he’s learned how to take things at face value when it comes to you. It’s a difficult adjustment, but one he’s willing to make.

- He starts to learn, take more notes, observe your behavior. For dates, he lays it out carefully. You two are going to do this specific thing. Why? Because he would like to see you happy, and hold your hand, and kiss you. Why? Because he loves you. Now you get it.

- You’re fascinating actually. Genuinely, he starts to adore how your brain works. He wants to pick it apart and hold the pieces up to a magnifying glass.

♡ Mithrun ♡

- He does not care.

- Be as oblivious as you want, that’s not going to stop Mithrun.

- The Canaries, however, are going insane.

“How’s it going with them?” Pattadol asked. Her hands were folded in front of her in that polite way, the way that told Mithrun that his second in command had something on her mind. Pattadol thought she was subtle. She was not.

And he knew precisely who she was referring to. Might as well give her an answer that’ll satisfy her curiosity, lest she keep asking questions.

“Fine,” he answered, “just fine.”

Yet, Pattadol’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Just fine?” She asked. Her voice went up a pitch. “It’s just fine? Really?”

“Really.”

She unlaced her fingers and spread out her hands as if gesturing to something, but all that surrounded them was Mithrun’s under-decorated living quarters. There was really nothing to gesture at besides the wooden cabinets and the bed. Mithrun waited, aware that she was picking through her piles of thoughts— probably thoughts mixed with screams of frustration— to find the right words.

Finally, Pattadol forced a shaken smile, “It’s clear to anyone that knows you that you’re in love with them, Captain.”

That was what she decided to say? It was a bit blunt for Pattadol’s usual style. Mithrun only shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty obvious.”

“So why haven’t they noticed yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want you to be happy for once!” Pattadol snapped, but she then took a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to sound that way. This is hard for me, talking so openly about these things… But it’s so frustrating to watch.”

Mithrun could understand that. While he personally wasn’t frustrated by the circumstances, he knew that the Canaries couldn’t stand watching his interactions with you. It wasn’t a big deal in the long run, in his opinion. They’d get over it.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Do you have any ideas on how we can do that?”

“Do what?”

Pattadol’s eye twitched ever so slightly. Her fingers tensed like claws, and Mithrun felt the corner of his lips turn up in a barely-there smirk. But genuinely, he wasn’t sure what she referred to. Did she mean the part about him being happy, or the part about you being oblivious? She should’ve been more clear.

“About…” she hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t sure what she meant either. She then nodded as if deciding, “About everything. About the obliviousness, your happiness, etcetera.”

He didn’t know what the etcetera referred to, but didn’t care to ask. “You don’t have to do anything,” Mithrun assured her as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The wood creaked slightly from the movement. Everything on this boat creaked, as was the nature of boats, he guessed.

“I would like to do something,” Pattadol nodded, determined. “We all would.”

A shrug, “Alright. Then do something.”

- Pattadol, over-achiever and top student and certified Girl Who Cares Too Much, takes that as a challenge.

- Cithis only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- Fleki also only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- And Lycion also also joins because he thinks it’ll be funny (though he does care on some level. Not really about you, but about Mithrun. And it’s painful to watch.)

- Otta is forced to join.

- The attempts are weak at first, like dipping a toe into the water to see how cold it is. Mithrun only has so much patience for interference with his life, so they have to be smart and tread carefully.

- Pattadol gives Mithrun a hint. “There’s some pretty flowers growing beside the road over there. You should give one to them!”

- “What would they need a flower for?”

- Mithrun asks that on purpose. He knows precisely what he’s doing. Yes, people generally like receiving flowers, he knows that. But he also believes that flowers are useless gifts.

- “Then what present do you suggest?” Pattadol asks.

- Mithrun has an idea. He gets you soap. Everybody uses soap (hopefully) It’s a useful gift, and if he gives you the same kind he uses then he’ll get some weird sick flicker of pleasure from having his scent on you. (He wisely chooses to not say that part aloud.)

You held the little bar of soap in your hands as if it were an injured baby bird you found on the ground. Yet your feelings towards it were far from protective or empathetic. This soap said something. It had a mouth and it used it to scream.

You met Mithrun’s flat gaze, “Soap…”

He nodded, “Yeah. Soap. It’s a gift for you.”

For you?

Mithrun continued, “It’s the same kind I use. Smells the same.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a handful of pebbles and they all had gotten stuck in your throat. “Do you… think I’m stinky?”

You cursed yourself for even asking that. What a useless question. Obviously, he thought you stank! He gave you soap! He was trying to tell you something, being subtle and polite for once! Usually Mithrun would just say it bluntly, but he’d been working on his desires lately. Perhaps he’d also decided to embrace societal expectations? You weren’t sure. But soap. Soap!

You didn’t notice how Mithrun tensed. You didn’t see him quickly blink several times and tilt his head. You didn’t see the slight widening of his good eye. “No, I—“

“I’ll go use this right now,” you interrupted, “I’ll go wash away my stench so you can finally stand to be near me.”

Despite the horror, you were a bit proud of yourself. You’d taken a hint, maybe you were getting less oblivious.

- In your defense, a bar of soap is a weird gift.

- Alright. Mithrun admits it, he needs help. He’s not so prideful anymore that he won’t admit that he doesn’t know what to do.

- Pattadol is really triumphant about that but does her best not to show it.

- Plan B: make it so obvious that you have no choice but to realize his feelings.

“This has to be the most physically uncomfortable I’ve felt in a very long time,” Mithrun said as he tugged at the ends of the fancy, over-decorated blouse the Canaries had put him in. “I honestly prefer Cithis’s frilly dresses.”

Which was saying something. Mithrun had a preference? That was a good sign.

“It makes you look handsome,” Pattadol said.

“The only thing it makes me is itchy,” he corrected.

The Canaries had somehow found a blouse— not a shirt or tunic, a blouse— that made Mithrun feel something other than indifference. He usually didn’t care about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable, but the clothes they’d stuffed him into were offensive to human-kind, like vegan bacon.

It had a big frill on the front and puffy sleeves. It was somehow both too flowy and too tight at the same time. The trousers weren’t much better, digging into his legs. And the shoes…

Mithrun didn’t want to talk about the shoes.

It was clear to him that Fleki and Cithis had only contributed to the outfit because they thought it would be amusing. Good for them, he supposed. Pattadol seemed to genuinely like it, Otta looked horrified, and Lycion was in some in between state where he wanted to show pity but couldn’t quite stifle his giggles.

“Remind me again what the point of this is?” Mithrun asked with a sigh.

“We got them to agree to a date!” Pattadol said, grinning, “I said outright ‘it’s a date’ so there would be no confusion. I made it clear that the date was with you. Now, if you show up looking like a million gold with a bouquet of flowers, they’ll get the hint.”

Mithrun did not want to do that.

Mithrun rarely wanted to do anything, but this just felt wrong. In his opinion, the relationship between you and him would develop naturally in a way that fit both of your personalities. He didn’t mind waiting for you to realize his intentions, he had time. As long as you didn’t fall in love with someone else, and didn’t stop him from staring at you or touching you, then he wasn’t in a rush.

But since the Canaries insisted, seeming to think that this was the right course of action, he would go along with it. Maybe it would be an utter disaster and Pattadol would realize that she knew very little about relationships— especially a relationship involving Mithrun. He was aware enough of himself to know that it wouldn’t be conventional.

With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the ridiculous outfit on, Mithrun entered the restaurant Pattadol had chosen. He found you immediately. You sat in a chair with your elbow on the table and your ankles crossed, waiting.

Mithrun held a bouquet of pink roses as he approached. You lit up when you saw him, but your brows then furrowed.

“Where’s Pattadol?” You asked.

His stride faltered, “She isn’t coming.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, “well since she set this up I assumed she’d be here.”

Why would she be here? It was a date Pattadol had set up for you and Mithrun specifically.

You probably didn’t know it was a date, he realized. Pattadol thought she’d been clear by saying ‘it’s a date’ but failed to realize that that was just a common phrase among people and meant nothing to no one.

Calm, he slid into the seat across from you and watched as you raised a brow, “What’re you wearing?” You asked.

“My team picked it out for me.”

“You look like you’re part of an opera or a ballet, like you’re about to stand beneath a balcony and start spouting poetry to your lover.”

That was a good description, actually. Those were the words Mithrun had been looking for earlier when he saw himself in the mirror.

He nodded, “Yep.” Then, wordlessly, he held out the bouquet to you.

Your eyes widened, “For me?”

“I’m handing them to you, aren’t I?”

Gingerly, you took the flowers and held the stem of the wrapped bouquet with both hands as you inspected each petal.

A flicker of surprising satisfaction ran through his chest. You liked the flowers. It made sense, most people liked flowers, even if he didn’t see why.

You dipped your head down toward them presumably to smell them, but your lips then parted and you dug your teeth into the nearest rose.

Mithrun froze.

You chewed on the rose, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You gave the flower a good shot, a proper taste, but it didn’t take long until you grabbed a napkin and spit up the pink slobbery mess into it.

“Sorry,” you sent him an apologetic smile and tried to hand the bouquet back to him, “they don’t taste that good, and I don’t think I could season or cook them in a way that would help.”

Mithrun knew he was staring. He knew he was making a face, slightly tilting his head down, intensity in his eye. The kind of face someone made when they were internally screaming.

He was not internally screaming, but he was thinking— about you, how your brain worked. And how it was so damn charming for some reason and all he wanted to do was kiss you until he was all you could think about.

He wanted something. The feeling was sweet, a shot of adrenaline, one of Fleki’s drugs. Addictive. Like the slow drip of honey. He could survive off that want for ages.

Wordlessly, Mithrun threw the bouquet over his shoulder to get rid of it. Judging by the gasp that followed, it probably hit someone in the head.

Loving you was as natural to him as breathing.

- Mithrun decides to not let the Canaries interfere any longer. He was wrong earlier in thinking he needed their help. He doesn’t.

- Also, watching them go insane over your obliviousness and his lack of communication provides a good bit of entertainment.

- When he finally decides to give into that all-consuming, new, exciting desire and kiss you, your response is, “But I wasn’t casting a spell, no reason to try and stop me.”

- God, he adores you.

- He takes kisses whenever he wants them, with no care about what you think his intention is.

- After a certain kiss that involves tongue and teeth and fingers digging into your waist, you start to openly wonder… Are you in a relationship with Mithrun?

“Yes,” Mithrun didn’t even glance up at you, remaining unphased by your rather serious question, “We’re in a relationship.”

He continued to jot down notes about a monster he saw, as if he’d just casually answered a question about the weather. ‘Is it going to rain today?’ ‘Yeah looks like it.’

You gulped, “How long?”

“A year now,” he kept writing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. A flash of disappointment crossed his mind; there goes one of his hobbies, watching the Canaries have a crisis over his love life.

You buried your face in your hands. Mithrun stopped writing and patted your head as if comforting a dog.

- The Canaries are pleased that this is over. But actually, they’re going to have to watch you not realize it when you’re engaged to the Captain.

- At your wedding you’re in regular clothes. Someone asks why and you say “Mithrun told me we’re going to a wedding. He didn’t say it was ours.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[evasive-anon]

Jason Attacking Tim at Titans Tower

Fanon vs Canon

We've all seen the versions in fanfiction but I'm not so sure everyone's seen the original so if you're one of those batfam fans who doesn't want to read the comics (regardless of reasons) but you are curious about how it actually went this is for you.

What I'm addressing:

What does Jason actually say to Tim during the attack?

Did Jason drug all the other Titans?

Did Jason really wear a Robin costume?

Did Jason slit Tim's throat or call him replacement?

Did Jason actually break Tim's bo staff?

Was Tim crying or scared?

Did Jason write a message on the wall in Tim's blood?

Did Jason's eyes glow green?/Did he follow pit rage mechanics?

Panels and details below. This is a LONG one.

What did Jason actually say to Tim during the attack?

Dialogue in fanfiction during the Titans Tower attack varies based on what kind of fic you're reading but usually its either 'time to clip Replacement's wings' if its staying a beatdown whump 'or oh no precious lil bby why is no one watching you' if its an accidental child acquisition. Not judging either option, but this ain't about them its about the real shit.

Look at these opening lines:

Hey, Tim. I was here first.You're the Red Hood. You've been cleaning up Gotham the easy way. Easy? What do you know about easy, Tim? You had a father that looked after you. You went to a private school, right? You slept in a bed. I slept on the streets, I lived in the alleyways in Gotham. Trying to survive. Until Bruce took me in. I trained as hard as I could. I did whatever he asked. . . at least at first. But it didn't matter. They said I wasn't tough enough to be robin. But today, they say you are. Show me, Tim. Show me what you have that I didn't.

Jason really puts himself out there in all of his dialogue in this encounter, the struggle of having to fight for anything and everything he got in life, even the things that came to everyone else for free, and then being told he wasn't even good enough for the things he fought for.

There's a trope in fanfics that if Jason knew Tim stalked Batman and forced his way into being Robin that it would change how Jason felt about the situation but that's even addressed in this comic:

You were a kid, worried about how Batman was spiraling down into darkness. You spent weeks tracking the dark knight. Solving a mystery no one else could. You discovered who he was behind that mask. Millionaire Bruce Wayne. You were so pleased with yourself, I'm sure that you forgot who you were really dealing with. I know Bruce Wayne. And let me tell you, Tim if someone was trying to find out who Batman really was. If someone was stalking him for weeks. He'd know about it. You can't be that good. I am. He let you find him. And I bet he said the same thing to you as he did to me, didn't he? That you had a talent to make a difference in Gotham. That he needed someone he could trust in war on crime. That you were one of a kind. The light to his darkness. Robin, the Boy Wonder.

Tim saying 'I am' is really such a moment that doesn't come through in text because he is right that he really did do that but I also completely understand why Jason wouldn't believe it.

TBH my favorite part is how done Tim honestly sounds with Jason thoughout all his trauma dumping. Like imagine a grown man who used to work the same part time job as you breaking into your house, dressing up in your work uniform, ranting about how much the job ruined his life while he beats your ass??? God, and he probably had to write a fucking report about it after. RIP Timmy.

What do you want? Do you want to be Robin again? Is that it? You... want to take it away from me? Why in the hell would I ever want that? Don't you get it? When I died no one cared! No one remembered me. Are you completely insane? No one could forget you. I've spent my entire career wearing this mask under your shadow. I had to convince Batman to let me try this. All because he'll never stop blaming himself for what happened to you. You ask me, that's the only reason he hasn't taken you down. He's holding back. But me? No freakin' way. That's the Robin I wanted to see. Still. You do realize the whole idea of training a teenager to fight against something he'll never eradicate is a mistake. It didn't even surprise anyone when I died. When I failed. I failed-- but I'm still beating you. Do you think you're that good now?! Do you really, Tim? Yes.

Tim bashing Jason across the face as he says 'no freakin' way'? *chefs kiss*

Jason drugging the other Titans to knock them out?

Little bit true, Kory was actually just already away from the tower and BB and Cyborg were about to bounce because of the drama going on with Donna's return but Jason like super tazes them and then drugs Raven who he thought already went through enough shit without him knocking her out violently.

Note: Jason says in the text here that he never rolled with Cyborg or BB but like he actually did in some comics so?? The continuity is lie I guess idk.

Did he show up in Red Hood gear or a Robin costume?

Both tbh but he spent most of the time in the Robin costume but bro actually made a stripper rip away version of his Red Hood gear so he could dramatically reveal the Robin costume underneath. I can't believe no one ever includes that in their fics its so fucking funny.

Does he call Tim 'replacement' or slit his throat?

No, this came from a Batman comic with Hush not Teen Titans. That incident takes place in a graveyard not Titans Tower and he calls Tim pretender not replacement.

Does Jason break Tim's staff?

Tragically, no. The bo staff snap would have been iconic. Instead he just takes Tim's staff and beats Tim up with it and breaks stuff. BUT!! He uses it to bust a statue in the TITANS MEMORIAL ROOM which is a place in Titans Tower just for having statues of dead previous titans and Jason is rightfully pissed he didn't get one. Like Tim is correct in saying no one forgot him still but like I would be hurt too if all my friends made cool statues of friends that died and then just left my zombie ass out, like wtf.

Note: I am seriously losing my shit that I have never seen someone bring up the memorial room in a fanfic. That is so much angst material. 😭

Tim crying/ being scared?

Hell no. He's a fucking Robin you know he's being a sassy boy the whole time, even towards the end when he's about done he's still saying he's her and I love Tim for that.

Note: There are a few different times where Tim does a flippy Robin move and then Jason just fucking copies it like flexing that he can do it too, and its just so petty and stupid he's trying so hard to be better than an actual child. 💀I get why in the context of the situation but its still so ridiculous.

Message on the wall in Tim's blood?

TBH I really don't know for sure on this one?? Like its implied that he did but Tim isn't bleeding all that much throughout this beatdown and like we don't see Jason do it just the Titans reacting to seeing it after. It could be Tim's blood, it could be red paint, and it could even be that Jason packed an actual bucket of blood to bring with him to write a message with after he finished. TBH the world is your oyster on this one.

Note: If anyone can find another comic where this event was brought up where they actually clarify it was Tim's blood hmu and I'll update this but I couldn't find any.

Pit rage/ glowing green eyes?

Fanon only at this point in the comics. Jason is seems to be himself and even thinks Tim and his friends are pretty cool at the end, and he's just like reflecting on if he had good friends if he would have turned out better as he leaves.

[unstable-samurai]

Passenger

Nana x Male Reader

word count: 7.8k

A/n: special smut to celebrate Nana's birthday 🥳

You're sitting at the counter, glass half-empty. The bar lights are dim, casting a warm amber hue that makes the place seem imperfect, but in a comforting way. Most nights, someone else serves you, someone who never asks your name, and you never feel the need to say it.

But tonight, that person isn’t here. Instead, there’s Nana.

You’ve noticed Nana before. How could you not? She stands out like a wildfire in the middle of a forest. She has that kind of beauty that’s almost aggressive, as if every detail was designed to challenge the idea that perfect people don’t exist. Her hair is long, black like the night outside, and her body... Her body is like a work of art, covered in tattoos you try not to stare at for too long, but they demand attention. Her curves, her intense eyes. She moves like she doesn't care about the world, but you notice her every move, and although you haven't realized it yet, she also notices you.

Tonight, she's the one who walks up to you. When she stops in front of you, you can’t hide your surprise.

"Another one?" she asks. Her voice is slightly deep, velvety.

You nod, trying not to seem nervous, but you know you are failing.

"You come here every night," she says as she fills your glass. "But I never serve you."

"Yeah. It’s always that bearded guy," you reply, forcing a smile. Your voice feels smaller than it should.

"What brings you here every day?"

"I like the atmosphere."

"It’s not the best place to be every night, you know."

You let out a sigh.

"Still, you work here every night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"And that’s exactly why I know it’s not a good place for you. By the way, my name is Nana."

You grip your glass tightly, as if it’s the only anchor keeping you there. You do the formalities, say it's a pleasure to meet her and also give her your name, then continue: "Well, I’m new in town," you end up saying, not sure why you’re opening up to her. "I don’t know many people yet."

She pauses for a second, as if studying you. Something in her eyes changes. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her lips curve suggests she’s interested.

"New in town... and you’ve already chosen this hole of a bar to spend your time?" she teases, with a half-smile.

You laugh, a short, nervous laugh. "It’s what’s available."

She leans in a bit, resting on the counter. "And what are you looking for here? Besides cheap beer?"

You think about the answer. You don’t have one. Or maybe you do. Or maybe you really don’t.

"I don’t know," you reply.

She smiles. A smile that says she understands what you’re going through.

—

The bar is almost empty now, just you, Nana, and a few lost souls at distant tables. The conversation flows easily, slipping through words like the drink she keeps serving you. You feel a lightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there when you walked in, as if the weight of the day had melted away, dripping to the floor along with the drops of beer.

"I get off at midnight," she says, casually, as she dries a glass with a cloth. "What do you think about going for a drive with me?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

She looks over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raised, a small smile on her lips. "Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?"

You glance around, as if expecting someone to wake you from a prank. "I thought... I don’t know, it was just bar talk."

"Bar talk is usually full of crap, I know," she says, pushing the glass aside. "But I’m not the type to say things just to say them. When I need to clear my head, I go for a drive."

Now you’re more intrigued. "A drive?"

She leans on the counter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing strange about a bartender inviting a guy she barely knows to go out at night. "I have a hobby," she says, without rush. "I like to restore old cars."

"Old cars?" That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last.

She points her thumb outside, toward the street. "The Impala out there. It’s mine."

Your eyes follow her finger, and you see the car parked outside. A black Impala, classic, gleaming under the faint streetlights. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but you never imagined it was hers.

"You’re kidding," you say, with a half-smile. "I see it there all the time, but I didn’t know it was yours. It’s beautiful."

She smiles, a smile that feels more personal now, as if you’ve hit something you didn’t know you were aiming for. "I restored it myself," she says, with contained pride. "Took a few good years, but there it is, ready to take me wherever I want."

You can’t hide your admiration. She’s different. Very different. The kind of person who seems to have lived a hundred lives while you’re still trying to figure out your first. And she seems to enjoy keeping you off balance.

"You... seem like a one-of-a-kind girl," you blurt out, without much thought, and realize how foolish it sounds once it’s said aloud.

"I could say the same about you," she replies, with a wink.

You feel a little out of place now. She has this confidence, this raw energy that you’ve never had. And you, the opposite of everything Nana seems to represent, never imagined attracting someone like her. But, for some reason, here she is, inviting you out, asking you to get into her car, to see her world.

"So," she says, suddenly serious. "Are you coming or not?"

Your mind is still processing everything, but before you can overthink it, you respond. "I’m in."

"Then you’ll be my passenger for the night," she says, grabbing her car keys from her pocket and twirling them on her finger. She leans closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can smell her. "I’m gonna take you to places you’ve never been before," she murmurs, and the way she says it makes it feel like those places aren’t just physical.

—

You’re standing outside, arms crossed against the chill of the night that seems to grow colder by the hour. The bar has finally closed, and now you can hear the muffled voices inside, the last of the staff finishing up. The black Impala is parked in front of you, gleaming under the streetlight. You wait, anxious, unsure of what to expect.

The door to the bar opens, and she appears. Nana. This time, without the counter between you. You notice now, in a much more intense way, how her body fills the space. She’s all soft lines and yet strong, tattoos tracing her arms that you imagine extend to places you haven’t seen yet.

She pauses for a second, noticing your gaze, and smiles with a bit of amusement. "Like my tank top?" she asks casually, turning slightly as if wanting you to get a better look. "I think it fits just right, don’t you?"

You swallow hard, and suddenly, your words seem to have evaporated. "Yeah... it looks great on you."

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head as she slips on her leather jacket. "You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?"

Before you can respond, she opens the car door and motions for you to get in. You walk to the other side, feeling the ground unsteady beneath your feet. When you settle into the passenger seat, the smell of the leather upholstery mixes with her perfume, something intoxicating.

She starts the car, the engine purring low, deep, like a beast waking up. Nana leans slightly toward you, offering a cigarette. "Want one?"

You hesitate for a second, but... why not? "Sure."

She lights your cigarette first, then hers. The car still parked, both of you smoking in silence. You cough twice before getting the hang of it. The smoke mingles with the cold air seeping through the slightly cracked window. She seems content with the moment, like the entire scene is unfolding exactly as she had planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

She takes a long drag from the cigarette before answering, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. "I was thinking we could head to the coast. There’s a cliff along the road where you can see the sea, the bridge, and the lighthouse... it’s beautiful at night." Before you can respond, she continues, turning her face toward you with that mischievous smile that seems to be her signature. "But honestly? The destination doesn’t matter much. What matters is the ride." She looks at you for a second longer. "The company."

The way she says that — the way her eyes linger on yours — makes you feel like, yes, you will understand.

“I’m in your hands,” you say.

—

The Impala rumbles softly as she finally parks on the shoulder near the cliff. The road seems deserted now, wrapped in darkness, except for the thin line of streetlights stretching ahead. You step out of the car, the night air cooler here, damper, with the salty scent of the sea rising up to meet you. Nana gets out on her side, slamming the car door and pulling the zipper of her leather jacket up to her chin. She glances at you for a moment, her eyes gleaming, as if analyzing your reaction.

“This way,” she says, her phone's flashlight on, pointing to a trail that winds down a small hill, overgrown with weeds. “Watch your step here. It gets slippery.”

You descend slowly, each step sinking slightly into the loose soil. The wind is stronger here, whipping through the leaves and Nana’s hair, which she pushes back carelessly. You follow close behind, focusing on each movement, trying to appear confident but feeling the vulnerability of walking along a dark trail leading to a cliff.

Finally, you reach the cliff’s edge. The view is breathtaking—the suspension bridge stretching across the gap, the sea below churning under the distant light of a lighthouse. Lights flicker in the distance, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this scene, this moment.

“Wow,” you murmur, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle... but I’ve seen pictures of people here.”

“Some braver tourists come here,” she says. “I think it makes them feel alive.”

She turns to you, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want to take a picture too? To mark the moment.”

You laugh nervously but agree. “Sure… why not?”

Nana raises her phone, positioning you against the dramatic backdrop. “Stand there, try to look... introspective.”

You awkwardly pose, crossing your arms and gazing at the horizon. She snaps the picture and looks at the result, chuckling softly. “Came out great. I’ll send it to you later.”

She shows you the picture, and yeah, it really is great.

She leans against a rock, lighting a cigarette and offering you one. You take it, inhale slowly, the bitter taste blending with the night. Silence hangs for a while, until she breaks the tension with a question.

“So… how’s life treating you?” Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it, a genuine curiosity, like she really wants to understand.

You hesitate, thinking about how to answer. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, to be honest.”

She laughs quietly, but not mockingly. It’s more a sound of recognition, like she’s heard that many times before.

“Knew you’d say something like that,” she replies, blowing smoke to the side. “Most people aren’t sure. Everyone pretends they know what they’re doing, but really, we’re all just fumbling in the dark.”

You look at her, waiting for more. She seems to be building up to something bigger.

“See… the problem is, we’ve been taught to measure happiness the wrong way,” she says, her tone turning more serious now. “They made us believe that happiness is about having things. Buying a new car, getting a promotion, finding the perfect partner. And all that’s just temporary bullshit. When you get it, it’s great. It lasts for a while. And then?”

She pauses, as if giving you time to process. “Then you need something else. Another goal, another prize. Happiness has become this trophy we’re always chasing. But no one tells you the race never ends. It’s like working on a treadmill.”

“You think we shouldn’t chase those things?” you ask, trying to grasp where she’s headed.

She looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. “It’s not that we shouldn’t chase them. It’s that we should stop measuring our lives by them. What really matters is right now. We spend so much time trying to build a perfect future that we forget the present.”

She exhales slowly, as if each word comes from some deep, lived truth. “What happens when you reach all those goals and still feel empty? Modern culture, capitalism, they sell you this idea that you’re incomplete until you have everything. But no one tells you that ‘everything’ doesn’t exist.”

You stay silent for a moment, considering. It feels like she’s saying something that’s been lurking in the back of your mind, unspoken.

“So, what should we do? Just give up on all that?”

Nana gives a sly smile, like she’s been expecting the question. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about redefining what ‘everything’ means. For me, it’s this. The journey. The company. Not the destination. What you do now, in the moment, with the people you’re with... that’s what matters. Happiness is in what you do along the way, not what you achieve at the end.”

She flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the tip under her boot. “Once you start living in the present, you stop worrying so much about achieving the future. Because, one way or another, the future comes. And most people don’t even know what to do with it when it arrives.”

You stand there, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of her words. It’s a philosophy that challenges everything you’ve been trying to do since moving to this new city, trying to fit in, trying to find your path.

“So, what now?” you ask, more to yourself than to her.

She smiles, looking at you in a way that makes the air around you feel heavier. “Now? Now you finish that cigarette, enjoy the view, and stop worrying so much about what comes next.”

—

On the way back to the car, Nana stops suddenly, spinning on her heels with a provocative gleam in her eyes. “Get in the backseat,” she says, her voice soft but with an authority that leaves no room for questioning.

“Why?” you ask, unsure of her intent.

She smirks. “Just do what I’m asking.”

You hesitate for a second, but curiosity—and something else—wins out. You open the back door and slide onto the seat. You barely have time to adjust before Nana climbs in after you, straddling your lap without hesitation. The warmth of her body against yours is immediate, electric.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Her question comes as a whisper in your ear, her lips barely brushing against the skin of your neck.

Before you can respond, she kisses you, and everything becomes a blur of lips and skin, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands move down your body while yours trace the curves of hers, feeling every inch.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt out, unable to hold back.

She laughs, a low, confident sound. “I know,” she replies, her lips barely leaving yours.

Her movements grow bolder, her body pressing into yours, her hips grinding provocatively against you, making you even harder beneath her. She notices. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

All you can do is nod.

“I’m going to take the lead tonight,” she says, sliding down without breaking eye contact.

“Lead on,” you answer, giving in completely.

She kneels in the cramped space of the backseat, shrugs off her jacket for more comfort, and tosses it to the front seat. Then, with swift efficiency, Nana unbuttons your pants, pulling them down along with your boxers in one fluid motion. Your hard cock is now exposed, throbbing under the dim light of the car.

She wraps a hand around it, pausing for a moment as if admiring her work. “Mmm, big and thick,” she comments like she’s appreciating a piece of art. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip, running her tongue slowly along it, teasing. “Relax,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours, “because now, I’m taking you to the edge.”

She starts slowly, teasing. The tip of her tongue circles the head as if testing your limits. “Did you expect to get a blowjob tonight?” She smiles but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll show you what it’s really like.”

Her tongue trails from the base of your cock, moving upwards agonizingly slowly, every movement deliberate. One hand grips you at the perfect spot, squeezing just enough to make you pulse, while the other fondles your balls, alternating between pleasure and pain in a rhythm that makes your mind spin.

You groan, the sounds escaping uncontrollably. “Fuck, Nana…” is all you can manage.

She pauses for a second, holding your cock against her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “This is what you’ve wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Her tone is a mix of teasing and command. “Seeing me down here, driving you crazy.”

Before you can answer, she takes you fully into her mouth, without warning, without preparation. Her hot mouth envelops every inch, the pressure perfect. She goes deep, as far as she can, not giving you a chance to breathe. You try to say something, but the sensation is too much.

She begins to move, her lips sliding up and down, with force and precision. “I want you to look at me,” she says, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. “Watch what I’m doing.”

You obey, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

She returns, this time more intense, sucking hard, obscene sounds filling the confined space of the car. Saliva drips down your cock, her hands working in sync, squeezing the base, each movement pulling you closer to the edge. She changes the pace again, speeding up, then slowing down, torturing you, keeping you on the brink of orgasm but not letting you go.

“You’ll only cum when I say so,” she declares, her mouth still around you, the words muffled but the command clear. “Understood?”

You can only nod, completely at her mercy. Every movement feels designed to extract the maximum amount of pleasure. Her hand is now firm on your balls, squeezing with precise control, while the other continues to guide the rhythm at the base of your cock. She speeds up again, sucking with a fervor that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Nana, I... I can’t anymore,” you moan, your whole body burning, muscles tense, pressure building.

“Not yet! Only when I allow it.”

Nana grips you harder now, almost brutally, her eyes locked on yours as she intensifies every movement. Her rhythm is relentless, no pauses, no mercy. Her hand squeezes the base of your cock as if she wants to wring every drop of pleasure from you. She knows what she’s doing, pushing you to the limit, not letting you breathe, not allowing you any control over what’s happening.

“Go on, I want to feel you lose control,” she whispers, her voice muffled as your cock slides deep into her mouth. The wet, filthy sound of each suck echoes through the car, mingling with your moans, now hoarser, more desperate. Her hand on your balls squeezes perfectly, making your vision darken at the edges.

She speeds up, her hot mouth sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and pressing in all the right ways. Her other hand keeps your cock steady, controlling every inch that enters and leaves her mouth. You try to hold on, but she’s in command and won’t stop until she breaks you.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she says, her mouth still wrapped around you, each word making your cock throb more, pushing you closer to the edge. “I want you to cum now. In my mouth. I want to taste it.”

Your legs tremble, your whole body tense. The heat inside you grows, the pressure building until it feels impossible to hold on for another second. The control you tried to maintain disintegrates when Nana increases the intensity again, sucking with a force that makes you let out a deep moan.

“Nana, I’m going to...,” you can barely form the words, your entire body ready to explode.

“That’s right. Now you can,” she murmurs. Nana takes you all the way in, her throat tightening around your cock, and that sends you straight over the edge. Her hand grips your base firmly as she keeps sucking, drawing out every second of your orgasm. You have no choice anymore, your body gives in, and you feel the first wave of pleasure rip through you, your cock throbbing violently in her mouth.

You cum hard, your body shaking with intensity, muscles clenched as your cum explodes into her mouth. She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate. She keeps you deep, her mouth sealed, sucking every last drop, feeling every pulse. You feel the warmth of your own cum fill her mouth, and she doesn’t stop, still sucking, wanting more from you. She makes sure you give it all, every drop.

“That’s it... good boy,” she whispers between licks, her voice warm and husky, as the last spurt escapes, your body still trembling, exhausted.

She slowly pulls your cock out of her mouth, her lips sliding along the length in the process. Her eyes never leave you, dominant, satisfied.

“I told you I’d take you to the edge,” she says teasingly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, your taste still on her lips.

You’re buttoning up your pants, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is a whirlwind—everything feels surreal, like you’re watching from the outside. Nana is there, still with that lazy smile on her lips, as if she’d just done something casual, something she does with anyone. But you know that’s not true, she saw something in you. Though you’re not sure what.

“How do you feel?” Her question pulls you back to the car, to the moment.

You chuckle softly, a little incredulous. “Good... Too good, actually,” you answer, letting out a breath in a sigh that tries to release the tension.

“Great,” she says, reaching over the driver's seat to grab her jacket back. “That was the plan. And we’re just getting started.”

You look at her, confused. “Wait, there’s more?”

She laughs, tossing her hair back before sliding into the driver's seat. “Of course there’s more. I haven’t even had my turn yet.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life like a beast awakening.

You join her in the front seat, grabbing another cigarette from the pack on the dashboard without thinking too much. The silence between you is comfortable now, almost conspiratorial. Nana glances at you from the corner of her eye, approving. “Light one for me too,” she says.

You obey, lighting both cigarettes and handing one to her. The smell of tobacco fills the car as the Impala rolls down the streets of the sleeping city. The engine hums, blending with the sound of tires on asphalt, a buzz that cradles the adrenaline.

Nana takes a long drag and exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Ever gotten a blowjob in a car before?” The question comes casually.

“No,” you admit.

She smirks. “And how did it feel?”

You think for a second, the words swirling in your mind, trying to find something that captures what just happened. “Indescribable... Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

She laughs, a low laugh, like she expected that kind of compliment. “Thanks,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm. She shifts gears and speeds up a little more.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, trying to understand what else she has planned for the night.

Nana shrugs. “I don’t know. But there’s a gun in the glovebox, we could go out and rob some places... like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Too bad I’m a pacifist,” you joke, playing along.

She pouts mockingly, as if disappointed. “Of course you are... The best guys always are pacifists.” She winks, taking another drag before leaning in closer, the smoke mingling in the air between you. “But maybe we’ll find another way to have fun, huh?”

—

The Impala roars down the empty road, slicing through the quiet of the early morning like a blade. The city lights flicker in and out of view, passing as yellow and red blurs, while Nana drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her cigarette. Each time she inhales, the glowing tip briefly lights up her face, showing the smile that never leaves her lips.

She’s been talking for minutes, maybe hours—you’ve lost track of time. Her words are like smoke, wrapping around you in a philosophical fog that seems endless. “Freedom,” she says, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly, “isn’t what everyone thinks. It’s not doing what you want, when you want. No. It’s knowing that you’re nothing, nobody gives you a purpose. You’re free to create your own.”

You watch the streets go by, the low buildings and traffic lights blinking green. “Sartre,” she continues, never taking her eyes off the road, “he had this view... that we’re all condemned to be free. Like, the freedom to have to make choices, to live with those choices. There’s no ‘fate,’ just the shit you choose to do.”

You nod, not saying much, but taking in every word.

“Real freedom is knowing that all of this,” she gestures widely with her hand, indicating the city around you, “is meaningless. You, me, everyone. And still choosing what to do with it.”

The Impala turns onto a larger avenue now, lit by an endless string of streetlights. “We live in this invisible cage, you know? Jobs, money, house, car. But none of it matters, because in the end... nothing matters.” She smiles sideways, as if she’s just told the most tragic and funniest joke in the world.

You stay silent, processing. You’re not sure if you agree, but something about the way she speaks, the intensity with which she lives, makes sense. It’s like she’s living everything with such urgency that you have no choice but to keep up with her pace. It’s terrifying and addictive at the same time.

Another turn and you pull into an alley, where a neon LED sign marks a convenience store. Nana slows down and parks the car. “Second-to-last stop,” she says, turning off the engine and turning to you. “Convenience store. Let’s buy something to celebrate this condemned freedom.”

You step out of the car with her, the cool night air hitting your skin. She pulls the zipper of her jacket up again. “Tell me something,” she says as you walk toward the store entrance, “if you could do anything right now, with no consequences… what would you do?”

The question lingers, heavy, as she opens the store door. You don’t know how to respond, but the truth is, ever since you got into that car, it feels like you’ve been living exactly that: a night without consequences, a blur of unexpected freedom.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to you. “Cheap philosophy, right? I promise I’ll stop here. Wait for me outside. Don't worry, I'll pay for your soda and buy some things and be right back.”

—

You’re leaning against the car’s hood, soda can in hand, but not really drinking. Suddenly, the convenience store door opens, and there’s Nana, but now she's holding something. It’s not what you expected—no bottles of beer or another round of cigarettes. She’s carrying a cake. Nothing fancy, just a white cake with frosting. And as she approaches, you can read what’s written, a bit crooked, in pink and blue icing: “Happy Birthday.”

You’re confused. “Happy birthday to me,” she says with a smile that tries to be casual, but you can see a hint of something deeper there.

“Wait, is it your birthday?” The question escapes before you can process it.

Nana lets out a short, humorless laugh, as if amused by your surprise. “Yeah, it’s today.” She waves the cake in front of you, almost like presenting proof. “Surprise, I guess.”

You straighten up, the soda can dangling loosely from your fingers. “Damn, happy birthday!” You hug her, awkward but sincere. The cake almost squashes between you, but she laughs again, this time genuinely. When she pulls away, you're full of questions. “But why… why are you spending your birthday with a stranger instead of, I don’t know, your friends, family?”

She shrugs, her eyes drifting for a second before returning to yours. “I don’t think anyone’s awake now to celebrate with me. I’ve got the whole day ahead for that. Right now, it’s just… my time. I was going to do this alone, you know? But then, I saw you alone at the bar and thought… maybe it would be nice. Maybe we could keep each other company.” She makes it sound simple, and maybe it is.

You watch as she places the cake on the hood of the car, like it’s the most natural setting for a celebration. She opens the packaging of a plastic knife—the flimsy kind that could snap at any moment trying to cut through tougher frosting—and starts slicing the cake right there, no ceremony, no ritual. Just a girl and a cake in a convenience store parking lot.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, but this is so… you,” you comment.

“Good. You can lose everything, except your essence.”

As you take your first bite, the sweetness fills your mouth, but it’s the bitterness of the early morning that still lingers in the air. You’re eating cake in the middle of a parking lot, yet somehow, it’s the most meaningful cake you’ve ever had. She’s eating too, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the city lights blend into the dark sky.

“Everything I’ve said tonight,” she begins softly, “was more about me than you. I’m getting older, and these dates always make me think… reflect on everything. The choices. What could’ve been different, what still can be. I guess I was just trying to reaffirm something to myself.”

You look at her, chewing slowly. There’s something vulnerable in that moment, something you hadn’t seen in her until now. “Nana, you’re doing great,” you say, your words feeling a bit silly, but somehow, they make sense. “Look at you—you’re killing it.”

She smiles, but there’s a melancholy curve to her lips. “Yeah, maybe. Who knows.” She sighs, not out of exhaustion—more like someone shedding a weight they've carried for too long. “I always get reflective on my birthday. Maybe I just need to stop overthinking.”

You smile back, and something inside you, a light sense of urgency, makes you promise, “I’ll get you a present later.”

“You’re already my present,” she says, and then, with a quick move, she swipes some frosting and gently spreads it over your lips.

Before you can react, she kisses you. It’s sweet and warm, the taste of frosting mixing with the heat of her lips. And for a moment, you think of nothing—not the cake, not the parking lot, not the wild world. Just her.

She pulls you a little closer, and for a second, you get lost in the rhythm of her breathing, in the way her chest rises and falls, pressed against you. Nana’s hair falls over her face, and you feel its softness brushing against your skin.

When she finally pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, your lips are still wet from the kiss. She quickly licks her own, as if savoring the moment. “This night…” she begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s been really great.”

You try to say something, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, so you just manage to say, “Thanks… for pulling me out of my comfort zone.”

“The night’s not over yet, we still have so much to explore, so much to feel. And if you think that was stepping out of your comfort zone… just wait.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to your lips before locking onto yours again. “There’s more where that came from.”

You chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because it’s all you can do. The weight of her words feels lighter now, the tension between you both like an electric current that keeps flowing, even when you’re not touching. Her taste still lingers on your lips.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” you say, finally taking in a full breath, as if you’ve been holding it since the night began. “I didn’t know it, but… I needed it.”

She gives a small nod, as if she knew that all along. “I can feel the energy of the people around me. And when I saw you at that bar… you looked like you needed a different kind of night. Something… off the script. And now here we are.”

“Yeah… here we are.”

“But seriously,” she continues, her voice lower, almost confiding. “I wanted tonight to be good. And I’m glad you’re here with me. Truly.”

You run a hand through her hair, just a light touch, but it says everything. “I’m glad you chose me for this.”

“You were the best choice of the night. And now…” She glances around, as if looking for something, anything to pull you both back into the moment. “Let’s finish this cake before it melts on the hood.”

She scrapes a bit more frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, but before tasting it, she smears another dollop on your lips again, with a mischievous smile. “This time, I want you to kiss me.”

—

Nana drives in silence, the car gliding along the nearly empty road. The city lights fade behind you, and the cool night air begins to seep in through the slightly open window. You feel the freshness, the smell of asphalt and dew-covered grass. She doesn’t say much, just smiles occasionally, as if she knows exactly what's coming and wants to savor your curiosity. And you, lost in your own thoughts, can only wonder where she's taking you now.

"It's a place where we can really relax," she says, breaking the silence. "You'll see. I promise."

Minutes later, you pull up in front of a motel. It's not one of those seedy places you see in mafia movies, but it's no five-star hotel either. The neon lights blink in soft tones, and the sign above the entrance looks a bit old, but well-maintained. You recognize the place by sight, but you never imagined you'd find yourself here. Nana pulls the handbrake in a swift, almost automatic motion and looks at you.

"Shall we?" She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car, and you follow.

Inside, the lobby is small and discreet. A receptionist behind the counter doesn’t even look up from the book she's reading while Nana handles everything. In minutes, you’re climbing the stairs, walking through narrow hallways with striped wallpaper. There's a strange calm in the air.

When you both enter the room, it’s... normal. No surprises, just a wide double bed covered with white sheets and a brown bedspread. A lamp in the corner casts a soft light, and the curtains are thick enough to keep the outside world at bay. In the background, a TV is mounted on the wall, a small fridge nearby, and the inevitable mirror above the headboard—a cliché the motel couldn’t resist.

Nana kicks off her shoes and jacket in seconds, almost like she's at home. She walks over to the bed and, without hesitation, jumps onto it, sinking into the sheets.

"Good," she says, looking at you lazily, "I hope you know how to make the birthday girl happy. You know what I mean, right?"

You give a half-smile, a bit awkward, and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge. The feel of the soft mattress under you eases some of the tension in your body. She reaches out and touches your arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "No need to rush."

She gets up and goes to the small light control on the wall. With a click, a soft neon glow, in shades of pink and purple, fills the room, replacing the lamp’s light. Now, the room has a warm, intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

She returns to the bed, this time with two small bottles of tequila she found in the mini-fridge. She hands one to you, opening hers with a pop.

"Shall we toast?" She raises her bottle in the air. "To unexpected nights... and the best company."

You raise yours too. "To the most interesting birthday girl I've ever met."

You drink, and the alcohol burns its familiar path down your throat, spreading warmth through your body. She lets out a soft laugh, that laugh you know so well, and moves closer. The closeness between you grows, not just physically, but in a way you can’t quite explain. As if, with every sip, every exchanged glance, something deeper is being built.

"I like this," she says, her voice soft, almost melancholic. "Being here, now. With you. It feels like... like I've finally stopped running for a second, you know? Like life pressed pause so I could breathe."

You feel the warmth of her hand on yours and gently squeeze it. "And I like that you pulled me out of my own head for a night."

She smiles, her eyes glowing under the neon light.

The tension between you grows, but it’s not rushed. It’s slow, almost like a rhythm you’ve created together. She leans in and kisses you, this time with a softness that suggests it's not just desire—it’s connection.

She pulls back, looking into your eyes, as if she’s studying every part of you. "From now on, the birthday girl is all yours."

Then she sighs, looking at you with those eyes that, until now, always seemed in control. But now, for the first time, they seem to be surrendering to you.

She gently takes the tequila bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table along with hers. Standing, Nana’s hands move to the hem of her tank top, and in a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, she lifts it over her head. The fabric slides down her skin like it's nothing, and suddenly, she’s exposed. Her slender body, the tattoos, her small, almost non-existent breasts, raw beauty without pretense. She sits at the edge of the bed, vulnerable for the first time.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks as she lies down on the bed. She’s not in control now.

For now.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand up, just to be able to look down at her, feeling the power of the situation shift. She stays there, lying down, waiting, in a long, tension-filled pause. You want her even more because of it.

Nana looks at you, biting her lower lip, impatient but silent. And then, with a brief smile, you lean over her. Your hands go straight to her neck, firm but not aggressive. Just enough for her to feel that you're in charge. She closes her eyes, her breath quickening as you lower your head and begin kissing her skin—first her neck, then her shoulders. Your touch is slow, every movement deliberate, and she melts bit by bit. She moans as your lips trail down to her breasts. You open your mouth, teasing her skin with your tongue, tracing the outline of her small, dark areolas. Nana sighs, eyes closed, wordless now. She’s passive, completely surrendered, her moans soft and ragged.

"Keep going..." she murmurs, barely audible.

You obey, but at your own pace. You take one of her breasts in your hand, gently squeezing while sucking on the other, your tongue playing with her nipple. Nana arches her back, trying to move against you, but your hands on her hips keep her in place. She struggles, impatient, but you don’t let her. "Slow down, Nana," you whisper, your voice controlled, almost cold. "The night is ours."

She laughs, a short, shaky laugh. "You bastard..." she says, but there’s amusement in her voice, an acceptance of the role she’s now playing. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you want to," you reply, your lips returning to her breasts, alternating between them now, nibbling harder, your tongue circling the areolas. She moans louder, finally surrendering completely to the situation.

Nana lets out a long sigh, her fingers twisting into the sheets as you move over her with more intensity, and her breathing becomes erratic. "Damn, this... this is..." She can barely form a sentence. "This feels so fucking good..."

She tries to squirm, seeking more contact, but you hold her down again, keeping her in place. And for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. She accepts it, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Then comes the moment. "Now I need you to eat me out," she says. And of course, you oblige. Her pants slide down her legs, and when you see it, there’s that wet spot on her white panties. You hold back the anticipation for a moment as you undress, there’s no rush, and that teases Nana in a fun way. Now free of any fabric, you trace your fingers over her panties, feeling the warmth, the moisture, while your lips travel down her thighs, following a path that leads you closer to what you really want.

She moans softly, but just enough to let you know you’re doing it right. Every second of anticipation is killing her, and she likes it. Until it becomes unbearable, and she squeezes her thighs around your head, whispering, "Lick me already. Come on, I’m about to explode."

When you pull off her panties, it’s like peeling away the last layer of something much deeper. The air in the room feels heavier, and her scent fills the space like a wild, addictive perfume. You kneel between her legs, the warm skin of her inner thighs pressing lightly on either side of you. Every breath she takes, every swallowed moan, brings you closer, deeper. Your tongue moves slowly, first lightly, as if testing, tasting the contours. The wet heat pulsing inside her precedes something big, something that’s going to break when you finally open the floodgates.

"Don’t stop..." she whispers, surrendered. "More... deeper."

You comply. Your tongue works as if following a rhythm only the two of you know. Its tip finds that exact spot, and Nana arches, her hips trembling, as if every muscle in her body is short-circuiting, rebelling. She moans louder now, unashamed, uncontrolled.

"Like that... don’t stop, fuck, keep going..." Her voice blends with her breathing, her moans becoming more spaced, almost suffocated.

You feel her taste growing stronger, the moisture increasing in your mouth, on your lips, and then, without warning, Nana’s entire body contracts. Her muscles tighten, her legs squeeze your head hard, and she cums, a muffled scream escaping her throat. Her body trembles, her hips spasming involuntarily, and you keep going, knowing it’s not over. Not for her.

"Fuck... this... my god..." She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, her whole body vibrating as if she’s in another dimension. And you continue, your tongue sliding faster, deeper, until she lets out a final moan, long, drawn-out, as if exorcizing everything inside her.

When you come back up, her taste is still fresh in your mouth. You kiss her, her tongue meeting yours, and she tastes herself on your lips.

"You... fuck... you drove me crazy," she says, her voice weak but still full of intent. She looks at you, her eyes bright, satisfied, then she smiles. "Now... fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last thing you’re going to do today."

She turns over on all fours, her knees sinking into the mattress with that natural movement, without hesitation. The invitation doesn’t need words; it’s all in the gesture, in the way her hips raise, her spine arched just enough to drive you completely insane. The tattoos scattered across her slim body come alive under the soft room light, every line of the design blending with the shadows, while her desire escapes in small sighs.

You grab her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as if trying to anchor her to the moment. The first thrust is slow, almost a test, and Nana lets out a low moan, something between pleasure and provocation. She loves feeling the tension building in you and pushes back, forcing you to go deeper.

"That’s it..." she murmurs through gritted teeth, "harder."

You obey. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her moans, growing louder each time. The pace quickens, you pull her closer, burying yourself deeper, while Nana moves against you, her hips meeting yours with perfect precision at each thrust. The sheets bunch up beneath her, and her moans turn into something almost animalistic, a rough sound that makes her body tremble.

"Fuck..." she moans, her head dropping forward, hair falling into her face. "Fuck me faster."

You grip her hips harder, her body responding to yours with absolute submission. Every movement is an exchange—a silent request, an inevitable response. Her moans become more erratic, the bed creaking with the frantic rhythm you both reach. Her whole body tense, the muscles in her back and thighs contracted, almost falling apart under your hands.

Suddenly, she stops, breaking the rhythm, and turns around. Her gaze is wild, a mix of excitement and challenge. "Now let me do it my way."

She climbs on top of you, her knees sinking into the mattress next to your hips, and the sight is mesmerizing. Nana looks down at you, her eyes half-closed, lips parted, as she slowly lowers herself, feeling every inch of you filling her again. She lets out a heavy sigh and starts moving, first slow, controlled, her hips rising and falling with calculated precision, almost cruel.

"You like watching me like this?" she asks, her voice raspy, full of satisfaction.

All you can do is nod. And she smiles, that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Nana picks up the pace, her hips slamming against yours with force, riding you without a shred of inhibition. Her hands find your chest, nails lightly scratching your skin, her face twisted in pure pleasure. She leans forward, her small breasts pressed against you, her mouth close to your ear as she whispers, her voice broken by moans.

"You... are... perfect."

Nana's hands grip your shoulders, her hips riding your cock with the precision of someone who knows their body well. But it won’t last like this. Not for long. You need to take control. "My turn," you whisper against her ear. She lets out a low moan, a half-smile, like she was waiting for it.

She climbs off of you. You both adjust, lying on your sides, legs intertwined, and you pull her closer, your mouth on her neck, tasting her sweaty skin, the scent of desire mixing with the heat of the room. "Closer," you say, as your hands travel down her tattooed hips, pulling her into you. Nana doesn’t hesitate, grinding her hips, sinking deeper into you, her eyes half-closed, mouth open, moaning.

"You like it like this, don’t you?" you ask, one hand sliding to her neck. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that same half-cynical, half-hungry smile.

"I love it," she murmurs, and then your fingers lightly tighten around her throat. Nothing violent, just enough for her to feel the pressure. It makes her moan even louder, her body reacting, giving in to the control you’ve taken. "Harder," she asks, eyes shutting like she's lost in her own satisfaction.

You squeeze a little more, controlling the intensity with the same precision you control the thrusts. Each time you bury yourself inside her, she grips the sheets, her whole body tense with pleasure. The heat of her skin, the way she moves against you, the sound of her moans muffled by your hand... all of it makes you lose track of anything else.

"You’re so fucking hot," you say, your entire body focused on how she’s giving herself to you. She moans in response, but her words are getting more fragmented, harder to get out. You release her neck for a second, just to let her breathe better. She swallows hard and lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief.

"Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again," she confesses, and you realize you’re almost there too. You pull out of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Nana into your lap, and she climbs back on top of you. The heat of her skin against yours is instant, and you feel her entire body mold to yours like a second skin. Your feet are planted firmly on the floor, ready for the intensity of Nana’s hips. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her pussy sinks down slowly on your cock with a precision that’s pure wickedness.

The room is a mess of discarded clothes, crumpled sheets, and the scent of sex hanging in the air.

She settles in, adjusts, and then starts riding, slow at first, almost like she’s teasing, savoring the moment.

"Mmm, I knew you’d like it when I ride you… Mmm, yeah, I bet it has become your favorite position…" she murmurs, her voice low, while her nails lightly scratch your shoulders, her ass moving with pinpoint accuracy on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, the tight, wet grip as if she was made for this.

You hold onto her hips tightly, fingers sinking into her skin, pulling her closer, deeper. "Fuck, Nana… You’re so good," you blurt out, not even realizing the words slipped out.

She lets out a little laugh, muffled by the sound of bodies colliding. "I know," she replies, and you can feel her ego swelling alongside the pleasure she’s giving you. She picks up the pace, and now there’s nothing gentle about it. No. Now it’s skin on skin, the sound of flesh against flesh, and her ass moving fast, faster, her moans coming in waves, louder and louder.

You feel everything. Her weight in your lap, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm only she controls. The way she moans when you pull her even closer, when you force the thrusts to go deeper. The sensation is brutal. You can barely think, barely speak, all you can do is moan along with her, your bodies drenched in sweat and pleasure.

"You like it when I do this, don’t you?" she gasps, her hair falling messily across her face as she rides you like she’s competing with her own pleasure. "You love it when I sit on your cock, right?"

You can only nod. Any attempt to speak would be a pathetic moan at this point.

She leans forward, her lips at your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "I’m gonna come like this… right in your lap," she whispers, like it’s a dirty secret. "And you’re gonna come with me. Together."

And there’s no escaping it. She’s pulling you along, dragging you down with her, every movement sinking you both deeper into this shared haze of raw pleasure.

Nana speeds up, riding with an almost desperate urgency now, her moans turning into muffled screams, her nails clawing at your back, leaving marks. With each thrust, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind, like the pleasure is tearing you apart from the inside.

Nana leans forward, her hair falling loose across her face, her hands braced on your shoulders as she picks up speed, and it’s like the world is melting around you. Each time she comes down on your cock, the sound of flesh slapping together is almost deafening. Her ass slides so perfectly in your lap it feels like you were made for this.

"Fuck, Nana…," you let out, almost without control, gripping her hips, pulling her even deeper, feeling your cock completely swallowed up. "I’m gonna come..."

She smirks, a wicked, crooked grin, as she keeps riding you with an almost violent intensity. "Come inside me."

Your hands slide down her sweaty back, fingers digging into her flesh, and you can only nod, speechless, your breathing ragged, your body already trembling, about to collapse. She leans in, her words a whisper against your ear: "Come with me… I want your hot cum in my tight little pussy."

And then it happens. Her body shakes, and yours follows, and everything implodes. You feel the spasm that grips her, her pussy tightening around you in a way that knocks the breath out of you, and that’s it. There’s no turning back. You come with a force that feels like it’s ripping your soul out of your body, filling her up, each thrust spilling more. Nana screams your name, or at least something that sounds like it, and she sinks down one last time, slowly, sitting fully on your cock, feeling every drop of your cum inside her.

"Fuck, Nana…" is all you can manage as the world comes back into focus, your body exhausted but still buzzing with the intensity of it all.

You stay like that, quiet, your bodies still pressed together, breathing heavy, trying to find a normal rhythm again. The room is drowned in silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the noise was so loud before it feels almost unreal now. You’re still inside her. You can feel the soft, steady heat of Nana’s body around your cock, a warmth that pulses slowly, matching the rapid beat of your heart. She doesn’t move, just stays there, relaxed against your body.

"It feels so good having you inside me like this," she says, almost like letting go of a secret, her voice low, muffled, without her usual brazen confidence. You smile, still catching your breath, and you feel a trickle of your hot cum running down your cock. "It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift," you reply. "Thank you. For this amazing night. For the conversation. For the sex. For getting to know you, Nana."

She stays quiet for a second, and you feel her body tense a little against yours. Like she’s embarrassed. Nana? Embarrassed? It’s almost funny. You can hardly believe it, but there it is, the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she looks off to the side. And before you can say more, she kisses you. A quick kiss, but full of urgency. Like she wants to stop whatever words you were about to spill.

"Shut up, idiot," she mutters against your lips, a little laugh escaping her.

You pull her a little closer, savoring the last remnants of the moment, not wanting to break whatever it is you’ve just created together. She sighs, relaxing even more, as if she’s finally let her body collapse after holding it all together for so long.

"This was a gift for me too," she finally says, letting out the laugh she’d been holding back. "And what a gift, huh? I didn’t think it’d be so... memorable." The word comes out with her typical sarcasm, but there’s a layer of real gratitude hidden beneath that tough exterior.

"I’d say the same," you reply, your voice a little lighter, your body finally slowing down, though still electrified by the feeling of being inside her.

Then, suddenly, she lets out a quiet, mischievous giggle. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "Can you feel how full of cum I am?"

She slowly climbs off your lap, placing one foot on the bed, her eyes locked on you as she spreads her legs. "Look at this," she murmurs, using two fingers to part her pussy lips, letting the cum start to drip out. "Wow, you really filled me up." The liquid drips down her fingers as she teases, "What’s better than a creampie for a birthday?”

—

You wake up to the soft light filtering through the motel curtains, making everything seem a little more golden, like the place was painted by an artist obsessed with warm tones. Your body feels heavy, but relaxed, your mind floating between dream and reality, the memory of last night still buzzing in your muscles, your skin, in the scent of Nana that seems to have fused with the air.

You barely move, and you can already feel it. She’s there. Pressed up against you. Skin on skin. Your naked bodies intertwined in a way that makes it seem like you’ve always known how to fit together, like you’re not strangers, like this isn’t the first time. And then, without warning, you feel her lips. First, a soft kiss on your chest, like she’s exploring the territory again, testing the waters. Then, the kiss travels up to your neck, and suddenly, her lips are on yours, warm and hungry. She doesn’t need to say anything. The way she kisses you says it all.

You finally open your eyes, your body starting to wake up, though you’re already fully awake where it matters. “Nana, you need to stop,” you joke, your voice raspy, trying to sound more relaxed than you really are. “You’re going to get me obsessed with you. And later, I’ll remember this and want more.”

She laughs, her lips still on yours, a quiet giggle that you feel vibrate against your mouth. “Who said we’re done here?” she whispers, gently tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth before letting it go. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

“So, you want to see me again?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, testing the waters.

She raises an eyebrow, like the question is ridiculous. “After a night like that? Of course I want to see you again. Many times, actually.” She bites her lip, her gaze a little challenging, like she’s already planning something, and you know she is. She always is.

Without warning, Nana reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocks it and smiles, a mischievous smile. She opens the camera and points it at you both. “Let’s capture this moment.”

You frown, still half-asleep, half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A night like this deserves a keepsake, don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. Her finger is already on the button, ready to take the picture.

The idea feels strange, but you go with it. You snuggle up to her, both of you smiling for the camera, like it’s something you do all the time. She snaps the photo, the two of you grinning, with no pretense. Just warm skin, relaxed bodies. Then, she takes another. This time, you tilt your head and kiss Nana, the sensation more vivid, with a clarity that comes with daylight, when everything feels more real, less driven by the adrenaline of the moment.

When the camera’s click finally falls silent, she tosses the phone aside and leans back against you, eyes closed, body relaxed. “This is going to be a good memory,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes you believe her.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, and you feel the warmth of her skin against yours. Nana settles more into you, a slow, almost deliberate movement. She lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and you feel her smile against your neck.

“I can feel it,” she says, her voice warmer now, closer to a whisper. “You’re already hard for me.” And then, as if to prove her point, she adjusts her body again, rubbing against you like she’s discovered a new toy and can’t resist.

You sigh, half pleasure, half yearning. “Yeah, I’m horny,” you admit, no beating around the bush. There’s something about the way she’s pressed against you, the smell of her hair mingling with the room’s air, that erases any notion of self-control.

“Good,” she says, as if that’s exactly what she was waiting for. “How about a nice blowjob to start the day?”

You already know the answer, but you stay silent for a second, your mind processing the almost ridiculous simplicity of the proposal, the casual way she talks about it, like she’s asking what you want for breakfast. It’s something you love about this now not-so-strange girl. So finally, you open your mouth. “Yes, please.”

She giggles, the kind of giggle that’s full of mischief, of pure fun. She leans over you, her hand trailing down your stomach to your cock, her fingers cool against your warm skin. “I knew you’d say that,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she starts to move slowly down your body, like she’s studying your every reaction.

Nana crawls down to your hips, her movements slow, lazy, like she has all the time in the world, and then lowers her head. Her lips touch the tip of your cock first, a kiss almost chaste, before she opens her mouth and takes you in.

—

The sun is already up, it's around nine in the morning. You're in the car next to Nana after a night that felt like it came straight out of a dirty and perfect dream. The motel is left behind like a distant memory, a blur of neon and crumpled sheets. Now, you're parked in front of your house, and reality is there, knocking at the door.

Breakfast helped you get your energy back. You had to insist on paying. It was the least you could do. Nana didn’t want to accept it, but at some point, she got tired of arguing. Though, you know she doesn't really care about that kind of thing. She doesn’t seem like someone who worries about small formalities. But for you, paying for breakfast was your way of thanking her for more than just the night. It was for a temporary collapse of everything you knew.

She leans against the steering wheel, her slender fingers drumming on it. "We’ll talk on Insta, I’ll send you the photos there too," she says, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

You smile, still a bit dazed, your muscles tired from all the pleasure and exhaustion. "That’d be great." You smile, not sure what to say in these final minutes. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Nana. I mean that."

She turns to you. “I liked meeting you too, you’re a nice guy.”

The words come out with the casualness of someone who's been through this before, but with a sincerity that makes you believe that, even if it’s fleeting, it was special in some way.

You watch her, her profile illuminated by the morning light, and realize how something so simple, a chance encounter, can turn your day, your week, maybe even your life, upside down if you let it.

"Happy birthday again," you say, your hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks," she replies. “I hope the rest of my day is as interesting as it’s been so far.”

You laugh, unsure if she's being serious or joking. But then, just before getting out of the car, something pulls you back, a final question you have to ask. "But... what now, Nana? What do we do?"

She looks at you with that smile, the one you’ve already learned to associate with the unpredictable. "Now?" She pauses, starting the car, her eyes focused on the road. "Now, we just jump to the next night and see what we find."

Of course. You knew she’d say something like that. You nod, a smile forming on your face, because there’s nothing more to say. You step out of the car, feeling different somehow, even though everything around you looks exactly the same as before.

Nana waves slightly, and you stand there, watching the car disappear around the corner, knowing that last night was just one among many that could happen.

[itneverendshere]

Maybe bartender reader and Rafes wedding is super emotional because she doesn’t have any family apart from her sister and she gets like sad when they’re writing the guest list or something??

a little drabble about getting the guest list done🥺🫶🏻 this was so cute to write, god they’re so in love😭😭😭😭 thank you for the request! hope you like this 💘

the last thing rafe ever thought he’d care about was wedding details.

but here he was, sitting at the kitchen table with you, half-listening as you flipped through guest lists and vendor catalogs. you were still months away from the big day, and it hadn’t sunk in completely—he was marrying you.

you were scribbling names onto a piece of paper, biting your lip in that way you always did when you were focused.

"okay, so… your side. let’s go over it,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

he noticed something then. you were staring at the list a little too long, pen hovering just above the paper, fingers tightened around it, and your jaw clenched.

he looked down at the blank spots on the paper, his hand slipping over yours, thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles.

"baby, what’s wrong?"

you blinked, like you hadn’t realized how quiet things had gotten, and looked up at him. your eyes were a little glassy, smile forced.

"yeah, i’m fine. just... thinking."

"thinking about what?" he asked.

it wasn’t like you to get worked up over stuff like this. you’d been cruising through most of the planning, but something about this part—about who you were inviting—seemed to be messing with you.

you put the pen down and sighed, "it's just... there's not many people for me to invite, you know?"

rafe furrowed his brow, not really understanding.

"what are you talking about? you’ve got your sister, milo, jj’s dumbass.”

you took a shaky breath, your eyes scanning the few names on your side of the list, gesturing with a soft, humorless chuckle.

"yeah, that’s pretty much it."

he sat up straighter.

rafe wasn’t the most emotionally aware guy sometimes, but when it came to you, he was always tuned in; he knew you well enough to get what was going on.

your mom passed away when you were young, and your dad? that deadbeat never showed up for anything, let alone a wedding. your sister and nephew were basically the only family you had.

compared to his list—shit, compared to most people’s lists—that was nothing.

he might’ve come from a big family, but he knew what it felt like to be lonely. even in rooms full of people, he’d never really felt understood until he’d met you.

"it’s not about how many people show up. i mean, shit, my list is mostly because rose’s making me invite people she thinks i should. that’s not what matters."

you laughed, but it was weak, the kind of laugh someone gave when they didn’t believe a word you were saying. he’d never thought about family the way you did.

"yeah, but it still feels… wrong," you admitted, "you have all these people, and i’ve got barely anyone. it’s like…" you paused, "it’s like a reminder that i don’t really have a family. not in the way most people do."

he’d never thought about it that way—had never realized how much it could hurt to feel alone in something so big, so full of love and celebration. his heart twisted for you, and he moved his chair closer to you, the wood scraping against the floor.

"hey," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "you know what family is to me?" he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek, "it’s you. it’s us, building something real together. i don’t care if it’s just me and you standing up there. that’s all i need."

you leaned into his hand, "it’s just hard.”

rafe felt the desperate need to make you feel the love that he did. he took both your hands now, looking at you with that earning look only you got to see, the one that reminded you how down bad he truly was.

"you’ve got me. and you’ve got jj and milo and your sister. but more than that, baby, we’re starting something here. you and me. we’re the start of something huge."

you looked down, the tiniest smile creeping at your lips.

"and if you think i’m not gonna spend my entire life making you feel like you’re surrounded by love," he continued, "then you’re crazier than me."

a laugh escaped you, airy almost breathless, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

"i know it’s not easy," he murmured, brushing his lips over yours in a barely-there kiss. "but trust me. i’ve got more love for you than any fuckin’ guest list can hold. and just so you know, i’m more than happy to go through the guest list and cut people if it makes you feel better. we could have this whole thing just be me, you, and a couple of strangers as witnesses.”

“i’m not asking you to uninvite your whole family, you idiot,” you scolded him, shaking your head.

“good,” he smirked, “because rose would actually kill me. but seriously, baby, this is about us. i don’t care if it’s just a tiny handful of people for you or a stadium full for me. the second you walk down that aisle, nothing else exists for me. not the number of people, not the table settings—just you.”

for the first time that night, a real smile broke across your face, “i love you, you know that?”

he grinned, all boyish and sweet, and pulled you into his arms. “good. because i’m madly in love with you.”

you made a face, pulling back just enough to narrow your eyes at him. "you’re disgustingly obsessed with me. like, clinically down bad, you know that?"

rafe’s grin only widened, completely unbothered.

"oh, i know," he replied, leaning forward like he was telling you a secret. "and honestly, it’s worse than you think. i’m at the ‘plan your dream wedding, tolerate jj for you, and learn to cook because you made one offhand comment about it’ level of obsessed."

you groaned dramatically. "absolutely shameless."

"don’t act like you’re not equally obsessed," he shot back, his lips twitching up in a smirk.

"rafe cameron, stop. i am trying to be serious here," you replied, but you couldn’t hide the way your lips quirked up, that little smile you always got when he pulled you out of your head.

"and i’m seriously in love with you," he said, giving you that stupidly earnest look he’d perfected, the one that he knew would make you roll your eyes. "face it, you’re stuck with me. not even a stadium full of rose’s golf club friends could make me take my eyes off you that day."

“gross,” you muttered, scrunching your nose up as if you were truly repulsed.

you leaned in anyway, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, and he was positively glowing.

“i’m serious, though,” he protested, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. “one day, you’re gonna look back on all this planning and realize it didn’t even matter. because it’s just me and you and whatever the hell kind of family we build.”

“see, that’s what i’m talking about,” you replied, attempting to hold back your laughter. “that right there? disgusting. obsessed. do you even hear yourself?”

he chuckled, not remotely phased, because it was true. he was completely, embarrassingly obsessed with you, and he wasn’t even pretending to hide it.

“you love it,” he teased, nuzzling into your neck.

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close despite your complaints.

"you know what? i do. but don’t get it twisted—I’m only marrying you because i’m really into the way you clean the kitchen when i threaten you.”

“admit it, you're just as disgustingly obsessed with me," he argued, still shameless, kissing your neck softly and feeling you melt against him despite your mock outrage.

“fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes with a grin. “but only because you’re so tragically whipped, and it’s kinda cute.”

he knew he’d spend his whole life happily being disgusting if it meant getting to love you exactly like this.