#i’m actually going to be talking about the others soon

[galaxymagitech]

Ah, permission to ramble. I choose to take this at face value and rambled…a lot. Bear with me, I’m not really sure how to articulate this one.

Dick is a peacemaker in the family, but he’s not a peacekeeper. There’s a distinction there that a lot of people miss. They’ll portray him as either constantly fighting Bruce and holding grudges or completely just bowing to Bruce’s every whim.

Dick will fight with Bruce. He’ll stand up for himself or his siblings. But then his anger drains away like water in a colander, leaving him empty. He’s quick to fight, but pathologically quick to forgive. As soon as the fight is over, it just sort of drifts away.

I feel like Dick’s relationship with Bruce very much has a rhythm to it—high tide and low tide and then high tide again and then low tide again. A sort of inevitability that they’re both very aware of. And Dick doesn’t really stay mad at Bruce. He keeps leaving, but when he returns, it’s to help, with his previous grievances forgotten and unaddressed. Even after Bruce hit him over Jason’s death, he comes back without mentioning it to help. He fought Bruce over what he did to Jason, but was still there talking to Bruce as he pulled away and basically made Dick and Barbara the heads of the family. The strange thing is that Dick can hold grudges. But when it comes to Bruce, all that sort of just washes away. The tides again.

Why? Well, I have a theory about that. To some degree it’s subconscious, but people do have some control over their emotions. And staying mad often makes things really hard. For two reasons:

Sometimes, Dick’s relationship with Bruce is good. He doesn’t want to “ruin” it by focusing on Bruce’s past actions—ie: he wants to take advantage of what he knows will be temporary. And also, if Dick is too angry to enjoy the highs, then all he has left are the lows. So in order to get anything positive from interacting with Bruce, Dick has to push away his (100% valid) anger.

People don’t like when you’re angry at them. If Dick lets on that he’s still upset about something that Bruce considers to be in the past, let alone brings it up, the fragile success will be destroyed. And then it’ll be Dick’s fault for breaking the peace. So Dick needs to get really good at letting things go, or else he’ll just send things careening back into a fight, because Bruce leaves everything unresolved.

I’m not saying Dick is making an actual conscious calculation in his head where he goes “I need to stop being angry or else Bruce will hit me again.” But in general, I think that within the constraint of him not really being able to leave Bruce’s orbit, he developed the defense mechanism of pushing this away.

Over time, this becomes so ingrained that Dick literally can’t stay mad at Bruce.

I didn’t experience abuse, but after growing up constantly arguing with my mom I have trouble staying mad at people for any length of time—especially people who have said something hurtful to me. I will continue to act completely normally immediately after a really bad screaming match. Literally, tear tracks still on my face, back to normal interaction, what’s for dinner, here I’ll unload the dishwasher, etc. I’m not even pretending, I just. Literally don’t care anymore. My brain just whisks everything I’m upset about away and I can’t think about it while interacting with the person. Sometimes, depending on the situation, I can think about it at other times. But not when that person is in front of me. Something in my brain won’t let me.

And maybe it’s projection, but I feel like this matches up really well with Dick’s actions. He genuinely can’t stay mad at Bruce because he doesn’t let himself think of those grievances. All the horrible things Bruce has done to him are sectioned off into times when he’s fighting Bruce and forgotten when he’s on good terms with Bruce.

So in the context of therapy, he will genuinely believe it when he recants what he said about Bruce being awful. Because he’ll be calm (and maybe a bit numb) and look back at himself from a week ago and it’ll just be utterly incomprehensible. Why was he so mad anyway? It’s not a big deal. Whatever. It’s fine. He and Bruce are on great terms, no hard feelings! (He can’t have hard feelings, they’ve all just disappeared, and he’s glad of it, because Bruce made a joke during patrol today and that wouldn’t have happened if Dick was refusing to speak to him over something dumb.)

So, yeah. Dick’s anger at Bruce burns hot and then snuffs itself out. He would spend a therapy session crying about the abuse, and then come back the next week being like “oh that me wasn’t in his right mind, ignore it, I’m fine lol” and truly believe what he’s saying.

Oh. And in terms of disregarding his own feelings and believing that he’s completely unreliable when angry? Yeah, Bruce definitely taught him that. Whether through emotional abuse and repeated invalidation, Bruce saying that Dick is too angry for his opinions to have any weight, or just Batman constantly repeating that emotions make you too irrational. But I think Dick would consider anything he says when he’s angry to just be him acting irrationally. He could break down in therapy and say that Bruce is abusive and then just go “oh I was throwing words out there because I was upset, don’t trust whatever I said, Bruce definitely didn’t abuse me.” And then react completely calmly when the therapist asks him if each anecdote actually happened. Yes, Bruce hit him. Yes, Bruce spied on him. Yes, Bruce said that. But it’s all fine, what are you even talking about?

And I think the therapizing himself is a way to sort of skate over that gap in his emotions, because he doesn’t want to confront the fact that his brain is covering up large chunks of memory. So he doesn’t a brief analysis, thinks he’s dug into his brain fully, and then presents this “photocopy” Dick Grayson to the therapist. In his mind, he’s being completely honest. But by simply presenting everything to the therapist in the way he’s determined to be most truthful, he obscures all the messed-up thoughts that led him to that conclusion. It’s why you don’t have the overseers oversee themselves—they may produce a full report and believe it’s completely honest, but they’ll miss the things they don’t want to see.

So if Dick Grayson is going to successfully have therapy, then he should probably actually explain events instead of just presenting his self-psychoanalysis.

I think we all know that each and every one of the Batkids is on the verge of falling apart, constantly, just under the surface.

But I think there's something special about Dick Grayson when you think about him like this. Because generally, I think everyone expects the other batkids to be deranged and unstable, but Dick's general presentation to the outside world is as an easygoing dude. He probably seems like the most normal of the bunch.

But beyond even that, I think Dick thinks he's perfectly fine. Bro goes through life, constantly on the verge of breaking down, his mind consistently picking apart every single thing and every single person in his life, not really trusting anyone, and never really sleeping, and he's just like "Yeah, this is how life works."

Then he looks at all his siblings, and he's like, "Damn, look at how screwed up they are :(" and meanwhile he's 100% the worst of the bunch.

Barbara and Wally are the only people who are privy to this, I think.

[stove-top96]

what if you did a valentine’s day one shot where the reader gets asked on a date and yandere batfam are not happy about it?

I LOVE your works so far!! I hope that you’re sleeping well and eating!! have a great day/night!!!💜💜💜

-🐈‍⬛

Please, Please, Please

Oneshot

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.5K Words

Masterlist

You glance at the clock—15 minutes tell school is over. To pass the time you doodle on the corner of your notebook. Mr Miller's chemistry class was the worst. His monotone voice could lull anyone to sleep.

Your eyes drift to your desk mate, Parker. They seem just as bored as you, staring blankly out the window. Chemistry was the only class you had without Tim, which left you alone without anyone to talk to. Parker is nice, they’re the only friend you have that’s not already a part of Tim’s circle— If you could call them a friend.

They seemed to catch you staring because they started to scribble something in they’re notebook. A moment later they slid it over to you.

‘You understand any of this’ you smile and glance up at them. They had a cheeky grin. It was cute.

You shake your head and scribble something down. ‘Not a bit’.

They take the notebook back, Parker chuckles as they read your message, rolling their eyes.

“Guess we’re screwed than” they whisper.

You let out a small giggle “guess so”.

The bell rings before you and Parker can chat more. You’re quick to pack up your things, you wanna get home as soon as possible.

You sling your backpack over your shoulder but before you can head out the door Parker speaks up.

”Hey Y/n I got a question for you”

you pause before turning all your attention to them “yeah what’s up?”

”I was wondering…” their voice wavers and their cheeks go pink “well you know how Valentine’s Day is in a few days” Parker stumbles out, fingers tapping on the notebook. you nod.

”I was hoping… you and me could go out together, like on a date” their voice seemed to gain some confidence, and a boyish smile tugs on their lips.

You paused. You haven't really thought about going on a date with anyone, but the more you think about it why would you say no. Parker’s nice, funny, and they’re pretty cute.

You smile “Sure sounds like fun”.

Parker stares at you, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You take that as your cue to start heading out.

“Uhh. Yeah we’ll talk more tomorrow yeah?” They stammer.

“Yeah lets talk tomorrow” you call out from the other end of the classroom, before heading out the door.

Walking through the halls you check your phone. It’d been buzzing all class, it had to have been Dick.

<Dick>

Hey baby bird, how were your classes?

I’m in town today and we need to go out.

I Just asked Alfred I’m picking you up today!!

I’ll be waiting outside

Tim’s got a ride so don't worry about him

just you and me today!!

You scoff rolling your eyes. He easily could have sent these as one message, he just liked being annoying.

After putting your books away in your locker, you made your way to the parking lot. It’s packed with people and cars, but before you could spot him.

“Babybird I missed you so much!”

He yelled from across the parking lot, as he leaned against his car. You cringed as students stared at you and him. Could he get anymore embarrassing?

He ruffled your hair as you got into the passenger seat.

“C’mon let's go” he ushered you inside before, racing out of the parking lot.

“So I’m thinking we head to that new cafe you were talking about, and maybe stop by that old bookstore you like so much before we head home.” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yeah sounds like a plan” you smile.

He starts talking again, you tune him out. Your mind wanders back to when Parker asked you out. A giddy smile tugged at your lips. It made you feel all warm inside, this will be your first valentine’s on an actual date.

“You spacing out baby bird?” Dick raises a brow.

”sorry, sorry long day” you stammer. Dick makes a face, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“sure.” His voice is a little irritated. Great, he's already starting to get pissy.

Your family’s always been weird about you. It's probably because you're not a vigilante but you can still take care of yourself.

It’s been getting worse as you get older, they just keep adding rules on top of rules. No going out past 7. No leaving anyone’s side at a gala. Always eat lunch with Tim’. Damian has way less rules than you do, and he doesn’t even follow them. It’s like they're scared to let you grow up.

Lately it’s been worse. Conversations stop once you enter a room. Touches lingering a little longer than normal. Eyes lingering for too long.

Whatever you’re used to their overprotectiveness.

It’s why you plan to keep your Valentine’s Day plans to yourself. You can just imagine everyone’s reactions. Dick will probably get super clingy. Tim will pull up their search history. Damian will go on a rant about how Parker doesn’t deserve you. Jason might corner them in some alley. and Cass will have that disappointed look on her face, the kind that makes you feel horrible.

Bruce might even ground you.

“Yeah” Dick’s grip tightened on the steering wheel tightens “no way” he mutters to himself.

Dicks muttering snaps you back to reality “what did you say?” You ask.

He forces a smile “Oh nothing baby bird, just excited”

You and Dick make it back after a few hours, and you’re exhausted. He took all across Gotham, trying to any and everything with you. It’s pretty obvious that he was trying to make up for lost time. He’s been in Blüdhaven more often.

by the time you step through the front door you want nothing more than to calloused into bed.

Instead you’re greeted by Damian. Judging from the scowl on his face he’s more pissed off than usual

Damian crossed his arms. ”You said you’d only take them out to eat.” He scoffed.

Dick slid off his shoes lazily , not even bothering to look up.”We were having too much fun and lost track of time.” Dick forced laughed.

Damian doesn’t move. ”You were gone for nearly 3 hours.” His voice is flat, clearly not buying the excuse.

“It’s my fault” you chime in, trying to diffuse the tension. Damian’s head turns toward you, his expression softens. “I asked Dick to drive me all over town” you smile, Dick ruffles your hair before heading down the hall. Damian doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes locked in on you.

You start to make your way to your room, Damian follows— of course.

”you promised to be my model for my newest painting. When do you expect to make it up?” He asks. You hum “After dinner? You’ll still have a few hours until patrol”.

He pauses for a moment “I suppose that will work.” He says, the faintest smile forming on his lips.

You grip the handle of your bedroom door, praying you’ll get some alone time for once.

You don’t.

As you step inside Damian follows, his sharp gaze assessing the space. You sigh but don’t say anything.

Dinner should be ready in an hour, Damian’s not gonna leave anytime soon. might as well scroll through your phone in the meantime.

You and Damian head downstairs and as you make your way to your seat the conversation at the table does. everyone's eyes flicker towards you. You raise a brow but before you can say anything Alfred pipes up.

”I cooked your favourite tonight master y/n” he says, as if nothing is off.

You smile, shaking off the tension. “thank you Alfred”

As you go to take a bite you notice Jason’s gaze. it’s not his usual lazy smile. It’s sharper, more intense, watching. Did something happen? His anger is almost never directed towards you. Did Bruce say something?

Before your mind starts to wander your eyes glance towards Cass, she’s frowning like she’s almost disappointed in you but not quite.

“How was school today y/n?” Bruce’s voice cuts through the silence.

Everyone’s head turns to look at you. Waiting, as if they’re expecting something.

It’s fine you’re used to your family being weird like this.

You take a sip of your water ”it was fine” you force a casual tone. There is no way you can let them know about Parker.

Jason tilts his head “Nothing exciting happened?” He asked, studying your face.

You swallow “No not really.” You take another bite of your food, praying they don’t press the issue any further.

The family shares a look, silent but you noticed.

you pretend you didn’t.

Dick tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. But everyone seemed to be too lost in their thoughts to put in much effort.

The air remains heavy, the tension is palpable, and you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

It was the longest family dinner ever.

As the week drags on your family grows more intense.

It’s different this time.

They watch you closer, you never get any alone time. Even after spending more time with them than usual, they still expect something from you.

But what?

You don’t have time to think about that, todays the 14th, your first real valentine’s date. And you have everything planned.

At lunch you subtly drop a hint to Tim that you have this big chemistry project due tomorrow. Then after Lunch you’ll text Bruce and Alfred that you'll be home late, ‘working on it’. Bruce might check in with Tim, but Tim will confirm your story.

It’s practically fool proof.

Excitment courses through you all day. You have chemistry next, so you’ll be able to see Parker. You were just so excited— you deserved this.

At lunch Tim did not seem amused, in fact he looked quite pissed.

When you told him about your ‘Chemistry project’ he just forced a simile and nodded, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the period.

You didn’t pay him much mind though, you were to focused on your date.

As you walked through the halls to your chem class you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for Bruce’s response.

<y/n>

I have this super big chemistry project due tomorrow. My partner and I are gonna work on it together after school.

They’ll give me a ride back, don't worry.

<Bruce>

Ok, Tim will wait for you.

Shit.

what were you gonna do now? Tim was already onto you, there’s no way you’ll be able to go out now.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice Parker sitting down.

��Hey y/n you okay?”

You frown ”I don't think we’ll be able to go out today, my family is on my ass right now”

Why can’t you just have one nice thing, for once?

”oh” Parker pauses, they fiddle with their bag. Parker’s clearly upset about the situation as well. Then suddenly their face lights up.

Parker grins ”What if we go right now?” they exclaim. Quickly packing up their things.

You blink “What do you mean?”

“There’s only 10 minutes until class starts. We can leave right now and the teacher will never know” Excitement exudes from their voice.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

you’ve never even thought of skipping class before. You family would kill you.

But then again they’re the ones that never let you do anything. They control everything

So who cares what they do, you want to have fun.

A grin tugs on your lips. You scramble to pack up your stuff “sure lets do you”.

Parker gives that same childish smile from when they asked you out.

Despite the small voice telling you this is a bad idea, you felt excited, giddy.

you felt free.

You race to Parker’s car. A mix of adrenaline and excitement made you run faster than you ever have before.

Behind you, Parker struggled to up ”Jesus, Y/n— I’ve never seen you run so fast before” they gasped, hands on their knees trying to catch their breath.

You chuckle “sorry I got excited”

Parker shakes his head, same childish smile on their face as they unlock the car, before sitting on the driver’s side.

Before you get in you look back at the school. A shiver runs down your spine and a little voice whispers at you to turn back.

For a moment you pause. If you turn back now you wont be in any trouble.

You shake it off and hop into the seat.

+++

A cozy cafe would be the best choice. It’s close to the school you’ve been there a couple of times, and the food is really good.

As they pull into the parking lot you’re nervous. This is your first date, what is supposed to happen? What’s even the proper etiquette?

You shake your head and brush those thoughts away.

As you and Parker walk inside, you relax. The cafe is warm, with subtle pinks and blues on the wall. It smells like coffee and pastries. Parker picks a table near the back, and you settle down across from them.

Conversation between you two just seems to flow. You never realized how funny they are until today.

Any doubt you had washes away.

Once you’re finished giving the waitress your order, you take a sip of water enjoying Parker’s company. Then the bell to the door jingles.

You briefly glance up— just to see who’s there.

Bruce. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Damian.

They stand in the doorway, eyes locked in on you. Their faces are unreadable.

your stomach drops.

You’re stuck. frozen like a deer in headlights, under the weight of their stare.

How did they know?

They make their way over to your table.

Bruce stops in front of you, towering over the table. “I’m disappointed y/n” his voice is monotone, but you can see the crinkle in his brows.

you just stare back at him. Too stunned to speak.

you try say something, anything. But the words die in your throat.

Dick grabs your arm, his grip is soft but firm. ushering you out of your seat.

Dick and Damian walk you out. You don’t resist, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Before you walk out the door you glance back.

Parker is surrounded.

Bruce says something too low for you to hear. Your chest sinks. You can only guess what they’re saying to them.

They look petrified.

It feels like an eternity before everyone else gets into the car.

“You’re grounded” Bruce states. A faint smile, barely there tugs at his lips.

You want to disappear forever.

Being grounded meant one thing.

You’ll never be alone again.

Tears start to slide down your checks, your voice wobbles ”I’m sorry— please don't ground me”

No one speaks.

No one listens.

You glance out the window, watching your freedom slip away.

I got my first request done!!!!!! As you can tell I need a lot of practice with writing short stories/oneshots. I suck at making things fast paced but I did my best. I hope you like it 🐈‍⬛ anon, tysm I had a lot of fun writing it. I also kept Parker GN so that way the reader can truly be any self insert. I’m working on CH. 03 of wicked Game rn so that’ll be what I post next. But if you have any ideas send a request I need more practice.

Also 215 followers! Thank you!!!

[yuurei20]

Summarized transcript of the Twisted Radio episode with Diasomnia! 🐉🦇⚔️⚡️

Highlights: A very good episode, all the Diasomnia VAs love their characters and each other’s characters and each other and it is very obvious when they interact.

Disclaimer: These are not direct quotes, this is all general summarizations and paraphrasing~

Begins with how they are happy to be all together in one place, for the first time in two years.

The opening talk set by last week: what do you find yourself buying when you travel?

⚡️It seems 🦦-kun wanted to buy a dragon sword… 🐉 I’ve bought one before. 🦇 Why wwww 🐉 In elementary school

On topic: 🐉 I love milk. Every time I go some place I buy milk to drink. A recent musical I was in traveled nationwide and the milk in Hokkaido is different depending upon the area. I was so happy.

🦇I like to get things to remind me of the trip. It doesn’t matter what they are. It doesn’t even have to be related to the area. Just a prize from a Game Center or a gacha toy or anything is fine.

⚔️ Dragons. Apparently they’re growing in popularity. 

He talks about how around high school everyone loses interest, but then you become an adult and are like “actually yeah dragons are great” ww

🦇 We should get on that bandwagon. Officially recognized by Diasomnia ww ⚔️ We have the most noble and beautiful dragon of them all 🦇 Out of all the dragons that there are, he certainly stands out

(Everyone is laughing so much they are having so much fun)

⚡️I like getting fruit or something that was made from things grown in the area, even if it’s temporary, to remember the taste

(⚡️ is the host so it is his job to keep them on subject ww there are a lot of cuts in this episode, they must have talked for so long and needed to cut it down)

Fan letter: I had a dream where I talked about how wonderful Malleus-sama is for ten hours. What strange dreams have you had before?

⚡️I have been seeing the same dream since I was a kid. A kind of horror dream. The same dream where I am being chased by something. 

⚔️ There are dreams I had as a kid that really left an impression on me. I remember them pretty well. Like one where I became a character from a cartoon that could fly. I became one of the main characters. An enemy would appear, someone would say “Let’s go!” and they’d all naturally start to fly. And even though I was a main character, I’d say “Let’s go!” and I was the only one who wouldn’t be able to fly. Everyone else flew off and I couldn’t. I was the main character and they all left me behind. I started crying that I couldn’t fly and then I woke up.

🦇 I’ve had a dream about situation where I could fly, too. Even though I could fly, when I jumped from somewhere high up instead of going straight I would go fly upwards, then think, “Yeah, I can fly,” and that is when I could go forward. I perform safety checks within my dream.

🐉 In a dream I had in university I could fly, but just some light floating. Everyone else travels very quickly, and at first I can as well, but then I get lower and lower, and soon I am floating about 5cm. I’m technically flying, but…I saw that dream a lot.

(This entire story ⚔️ is in the background dying of laughter)

About Malleus

He was very mysterious when he first appeared. ⚡️ says he had the feeling from the start that he was a very good character. 

🦇 He had an atmosphere of someone who is difficult to go near.

⚔️ I like Malleus-sama even more now than I did before. Not just what about him that is firm but his soft side, his warm side, his cold side—we can see so many aspects of his character now, which has made him even more captivating. Because he is so mysterious something even more wonderful than what I had imagined has emerged—that is the impression I have of him now.

🦇 They did a great job with his casting. I didn’t really know anything at first, but doing this for so long, you can tell how perfect 🐉-kun is for this part. 

🐉 I’m so happy :D

🦇 Of course everyone wants to know more in the beginning because of his cool voice, but 🐉-kun has a kindness to him. And that is what I came to understand. They took that into account when they chose him. When I figured that out, I was extremely impressed. This isn’t something that just anyone can do. It’s not enough to just provide a cool character voice. It’s a distinct charm that he has.

⚔️ The character is really packed with substance, but there’s still space left, and you can sense that mysteriousness. Because there is so much going on inside of him there are things for you to grasp at while simultaneously stirring your imagination. I really sense that.

🦇 When you try to think of other seiyuu like that, no one really comes to mind. It has to be 🐉-kun.

🐉 Is it okay if I start to cry?

⚔️ And when he sings…

⚡️ That humming…

⚔️ That was amazing.

🐉 That was so hard to do. They told me, “please hum like you mean it,” and I thought, “what is humming that you mean?” Humming that follows a melody, that becomes a sound. I had never done that before. It was really hard. We tried several different patterns.

⚔️ It was scary. Both an ending and a beginning.

🦇 But as the story continues I find him cute, too. And 🐉-kun is cute, too.

(Everyone is laughing, I think ⚔️ is going to die here)

🦇 No I’m serious, really, really. 

🐉 While portraying Malleus the difficult thing is always not showing too much emotion,.The direction I am always receiving is “you can’t become human.” They’ll say, “that take sounded just like a regular guy.” The balance of how his normal is not normal for a human is always hard to do. And post-overblot Malleus—they’ll tell me, “Sorry, but Malleus sounds kind of scary.” I often get told “can you control the darkness a bit.” But through all that how do I still portray Malleus-ness…

🦇 The more you read for a character the more you come to understand them, but Malleus was last.

🐉 There was a lot of uncertainty in the beginning. I have concluded that he is cute. He’s a child. He’s been alive longer than the others, but his emotional state hasn’t caught up to that. He has so much power, but he lacks the normal concept of common sense. Things that are common sense to him are not so to others. I am always trying to portray that unusual dichotomy.

⚔️ talks about being able to see Malleus grow up in Book 7 through the different milestones were see in the flashbacks. There are places where he has always been the same but parts about him that have evolved. ⚔️ tells 🐉 that it seems like that must have been hard.

🐉 It was so hard.  I think there’s probably a way of interacting with Malleus that's in line with how he understands things, even though I don't fully understand it. When encountering him for the first time, people around him might think, 'Wow, he doesn’t react at all!' But Malleus does react in his own way. I would receive many detailed directions like 'Please be surprised!' or 'Please react!' I didn’t create this performance all by myself, it has come together from the efforts of the staff, and I’m really grateful for that. I tend to lose track of what was the right way to approach things as Malleus. You can get confused between doing events and the main story, so getting back into the right mindset every time is pretty tough.

About Silver

🐉 I thought he was really cool when I saw him the first time.

⚡️ I think it’s cute how he falls asleep—he’ll wake up, apologize, and then immediately sleep again.

🦇 He’s really pretty.

🐉 I thought he had a beautiful face the first time I saw him.

⚔️ My portrayal of him hasn’t really changed since the beginning. We’ve gotten more information and there is more of a backbone now, and of course things change when new things are revealed. Even from the beginning he wasn’t just a cool character, he had a naturalness to him, and not just that he spaces out, but he tries to solve his problems with physical strength. Like in Book 7 with “if I hit it that will fix it.” I think his humanity is being expressed more these days.

🦇 It took a while, yeah?

⚔️ It took so long.

🦇 It took us a while to get to Malleus, too, but he had the impact of his first appearance. Silver didn’t have anything.

Now they’re talking about Lilia’s farewell party and Malleus and Silver crying together and not knowing how to express their emotions. Trying to be mature. 

⚔️ He’s being a big brother to Silver!!

🦇 I figured something was coming soon, after that. And it went in an intense direction.

⚔️ There is so much about them that is a family. Father is Lilia, and Malleus-sama has a big-brother nature to him.

🐉 You really feel their familial relationship.

⚔️ He felt some responsibility. If the little brother starts to cry, the older brother—

🐉 He can’t cry.

⚔️ He’ll get desperate to try and be strong and try to solve the problem.

🐉 Like he has to step up.

🦇 So it was Silver’s fault.

⚡️⚔️🐉wwwwww

⚔️Not all of it. Silver would never say this, but the reason things became so difficult for the two of them is…their love for their father.

🦇 Sebek and Silver are a good combination, too.

⚔️ Such a good combination~~~

🦇 They’re complete opposites but they’re also surprisingly similar.

⚡️They’re both so honest.

🐉 They’re honest and serious and good kids, both of them.

⚡️ They never had the opportunity to show emotion like that until 7. They are both very quick to cry.

🐉 They’re so much alike.

⚡️I guess this is what happens when you’re raised together with someone. I think Silver is the older brother, looking from Sebek’s perspective. There is a moment where Sebek is scolded for the first time. In the moment, when I was reading, ⚔️’s portrayal really is angry. I even said it, “He finally scolded him for the first time.”

About Sebek

⚡️I think he empowers himself by speaking so loudly. Once he decides on doing something, he goes straight for it, true to his unique magic. With how strongly he sticks to his principles it’s like he could overcome any obstacle, like in that scene he had with Silver, but it was very cute that he actually loses there.

⚔️THAT WAS SO CUTE. That was a great part. 

(⚔️ is literally yelling into his mic about how cute Sebek is)

⚡️The fact that he was able to get out the words he really wanted to say after he lost the fight shows that he does want to say what is on his mind but there is a wall that he has to break down, and then he can move forward. That is a moment where you can really understand Sebek-kun’s feelings. And once he lets his emotions out, they’re out w

🐉 He can’t put the lid back on. Everything spills out.

⚔️ (dying in the background)

⚡️talks about how much effort Sebek puts into everything and he reads so much and there is so much he wants people to know, which is why he is so loud.

🦇Sebek and Silver have both had a lot more lines recently. Doesn’t your voice get worn out during recordings?

⚡️It doesn’t! I do stretches and things before recordings. I figured out that I need that kind of physical exercise to prepare.

About Lilia

⚡️ Mom.

🐉 A cute mom.

⚡️There was a lot of gaps* in 7.

*I can’t figure out a good way to say this in English. It is the difference between what you expect and what something really is.

🐉 Too many gaps, it was so surprising.

🦇 I had heard nothing about any of that.

⚡️ I had an image of him as someone who is gentle and cute and a senpai who enjoys pranks and looks out for others…

🦇 He used to be completely different.

⚡️And there was egg-sama.

🐉 Egg-sama w

⚡️⚔️It’s not inaccurate.

🦇 I have done a lot of crying scenes before. When you first look at the script it hits you, and when you think about how you have to portray what you just read so that the people listening to your performance feel the same emotion—there is a pressure to that. I can’t be the only one crying. I have to make others cry.

⚔️ Something that 🦇-san said (during the special talk show that 🦇 and 🐉 did together last year talking about Book 7 just the two of them) that I really liked and wanted to ask about: You and Baul’s VA Koyasu-san (🐊) have been performing together a lot over the years. And you came back together for the first time in a while for this. You said that you didn’t want to give him the impression of “So this is what 🦇 is like these days.” So there was that pressure, you didn’t want to give an embarrassing performance in front of him, and I realized that you have a passionate spirit that you don’t really show, in my opinion—but it’s there! I got really excited about that.

🐉 I was surprised, too, that even 🦇-san has those same thoughts.

⚡️Same!

🦇 Of course I do. The pressure was intense. I am glad that we were able to record together, but…

And with the Chapter 13 release announcement they say they have permission to share this information:

🦇 and 🐉 were able to record together!

🐉 It was amazing. It was truly an amazing time for me.

🦇 It was our first time performing together.

Upcoming calendar review~ and done!

[endiness]

@sugarrushsock Wow I’m so happy someone actually has all the receipts cuz every other post just seems like vague call out post with no substance. Also wildly the Henry cavill just seems to say whatever makes him look best at that moment. You’d think he’d have a better pr team

@cilianda1 His interviews are scripted all the time

@sugarrushsock They’re terrible at their job if that’s the case. The lack of consistency is alarming to say the least. Like stick to a story cuz they made this guy look stupid

Okay, just to address this, but Henry Cavill's PR was actually a lot more insidious than this post might make things seem. Because he really only fucked up and showed his hand a few times.

Like, out of +50 interviews for S2, it's only in (iirc) 3 interviews that he ever acknowledges anything about how he was the one cutting Geralt's lines — and even then, all of those interviews either happened at con panels, in interviews over ~10 mins long, and/or in foreign/non-english press — all of which are significantly less likely to be seen and reported on by the fandom and larger news outlets. But in all the rest of those +50 interviews? He was talking about how much he pushed for a more verbose Geralt whilst never acknowledging how HE'S the one responsible for that mess in the first place.

Same thing with him going on about how much he cares about adhering to the source material as if Lauren's vision of the show is somehow in opposition to that. He went on and on and on about that all throughout the press for S2, but it's only in a few interviews where he fucks up and actually gives the context for what he meant by "Lauren's vision" ie Yennefer and Ciri being just as important as Geralt is and the show heavily centering around women.

Or, like, in S1 interviews, he was perfectly fine with bringing up how he had no idea about the books until Lauren told him about them and he had no problem talking about how much he was inspired by the video games for his performance as Geralt. Then come S2 (after he'd gotten dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1) and he suddenly changed his tune, hardly mentioned the games as inspiring his performance again (or, really, at all), and started going on and on about the books.

Or even with him admitting to, basically, having only played the third game despite saying he's played all the games and everything — he only ever admitted that in maybe, like, 2 interviews all of which were in foreign/non-english press. Same thing with him admitting he only ever read through the series once — he only ever said that in one interview and it was at a +40 minute long con panel.

Or even this quote from S1 press where he admits to how he didn't actually prepare for the role or do any research:

"I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!"

Like, where is that quote from? It's from an interview he did with a french magazine. So obviously not a lot of people saw it. Plus, the quote might sound… fine without context. But what is the context? He hadn't read any of the books and he had only ever really played the third game.

Like, adding it all up, it does look bad. Because it is lol. But the thing is, the vast, vast, vast majority of the fanbase never did this. It read or watched maybe one or two interviews he did here and there and only ever saw Henry Cavill talking about how much of a fan he is, how much he knows, how hard he pushed for a more book accurate Geralt, how important adhering to the source material is to him. But when you actually look into everything he's said, that's when his whole story really falls apart because none of it adds up or makes any sense.

Debunking misinformation about Netflix's The Witcher (Part 1)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

"Henry Cavill is a massive fan of the books and the games and he quit the show because the writers wouldn't stick to the books and he just cares about the source material so much."

Henry Cavill not only did not know that the books existed when he started pursuing the role of Geralt, but he actually thought that the books were based off of the video games (and he still didn't bother to read them) and he didn't learn that the games were actually based off the books until Lauren told him (even though the first thing in the game credits is that they're based off the books); as of 2021, he as only read the full series once — right before he was cast in 2018; while he has played TW3, he has only played a little of TW2 (and I've never found any evidence that he's played the first game); and he also has not played the DLC for TW3.

Henry Cavill also started heavily pushing the narrative that he's just such a massive fan of the books and how important adhering to the source material is to him during the press for S2 to deflect from how it was due to his acting choices of cutting Geralt's lines and either saying nothing or just grunting instead that Geralt's characterization — who is much more verbose in the books — was book inaccurate in S1:

He also lied about the situation and tried to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose and blamed the lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, which cannot be true as confirmed by Lauren:

And tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't that important anyway so it wasn't really a big deal, which also cannot be true as confirmed by Joey:

He also started pushing the narrative that adhering to the source material is so important to him and it's 'tricky' to do that with Lauren's vision, but his definition of "Lauren's vision" is the show being an ensemble piece with Yennefer and Ciri at the forefront (like the books) and the show in general heavily centering around women (like the books):

So the idea of him caring so much about "book accuracy" is, in fact, not accurate to the books at all as his problems were the prominence of women in the show when Ciri is the main character of the main book series, which the show started adapting from S2 onwards (which is when Henry Cavill started to complain about wanting "book accuracy" in the first place), and when women are very prominent, central, key figures in the books and they often drive the plot forwards.

Lastly, S3 was the closest adaption of the books out of all the seasons so far, so the idea that he quit after S3 because the writers just weren't respecting the source material and the show wasn't following the books doesn't make any sense anyway.

"Henry Cavill is the only reason why the show was even close to the source material at all."

I've not only never seen any evidence of this, but if anything, I've seen the exact opposite: Henry Cavill was either directly responsible for or at least contributed in some way to a lot of things that went against the books or didn't happen in them.

As I already pointed out, he cut Geralt's lines in S1 and either said nothing or just grunted instead which is inaccurate to Geralt's characterization in the books. Here's another quote from Joey affirming that:

(Just to note: During the press for S1, he frequently talked about how the games inspired his performance as Geralt — sometimes talking about them even more than the books despite how the show is based off of the books, not the games — and it wasn't until S2 press that he suddenly changed his tune and started talking about how important adhering to the source material ie the books is to him. He also only started advocating for a more book accurate Geralt because he got dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1.)

He didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier's friendship as directly as in the books and buddy-buddy with each other:

He didn't want to have any kind of conflict in Geralt and Ciri's relationship in S2 — at least on Geralt's side of things:

Nor play Geralt struggling with fatherhood at all — all of which led to the domino effect of Yennefer's betrayal:

Eskel's death (which in itself also led to things like Vesemir trying to create new witchers and Lambert's attitude toward Ciri):

And Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season:

He didn't want Geralt and Triss to even just platonically find comfort in each other in S2 — which is what happens in the books:

He nixed a sex scene between Geralt and Yennefer in S2 because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting which, uh, is absolutely in character of them:

While this is an incredibly inconsequential change, given the prevalence of this idea that Henry Cavill is such an ardent defender of the source material ie the books and how much he wanted the show to adhere to them, I do think it's important to note that he pushed for — and got — more signs into the show even though by his own admission that is more of a game thing than a book thing and he got it into the show for the explicit purpose of catering to game stans:

This is also another incredibly inconsequential change, but again, given how prevalent the idea of Henry Cavill pushing for perfect source accuracy is, I do just want to point out that he would wear his armor 24/7 to make it look worn down:

Even though it is canon in the books that Geralt will buy himself brand new clothes, so the idea that Geralt's clothing has to look worn down and can't be brand new is not actually book accurate.

"Lauren wanted to make Roach's death a joke."

Just to address this point specifically, Lauren wanted to make a meta reference about how all of Geralt's horses are named Roach. That in no way, shape, or form means that she wanted to make Roach's death into a joke or even that the scene had to be played comedically. This is what Lauren had to say about the subject and the 'joke' in question (which, js, actually fits the tone of the books more):

And as far as the "Henry Cavill is the only one who cared about the source material and he's the only reason why the show even stuck to the books at all" front goes... Henry Cavill did change the dialogue in this scene to a book quote/reference; however, the quote in question ("Enjoy your last walk across the meadow and through the mist. Be not afraid of her for she is your friend.") is not something that Geralt himself says and the line/scene from the books foreshadows Geralt's ending in them.

So, at least imo — especially taking into account the incredibly high standard the fandom has set for Henry Cavill as the #1 defender of the books — I don't think this change was actually book accurate especially given the narrative significance of that exchange in the books.

[s-4pphics]

cw; fratadjacent!ellie, mentions of prescription drugs and dealing, literally just for ‘23 tlou tumblr nostalgia 

attempt 747388282 of getting outta my block. barely edited bc i havent slept

How the hell do you introduce yourself to a dealer?

Initiating convos with a stranger with a hey, do you sell addies, seems a little rude for regular common folk, but do dealers actually care about introduction etiquette? Highly doubtful, but you despise assuming shit about people, much due to the fact that your brain has a deadly latching tendency, remembering everything it shouldn’t and forgetting everything you should remember. 

Dealers are driven by the dollar, aren’t they? Just like everyone else. Show the money, get the candy… or something? You doubt Mel would put you in harm's way. 

You came to your roommate in the middle of a breakdown: self-soothed through a panic attack with snot dripping down your nose and thoughts scattered like they always are. Always. Your brain never listens to reason and it’s torture. She held you while you cried and cursed the medical industry, all while your brain shattered to pieces, attempting to find solace in Mel’s softened whisper. 

I have this friend…

And of course, your brain never forgets. Your prescription is forever to blame for your shortcomings. Every unfinished essay, failed test, failed class — mindless scrolling — it’s all due to your lack of… candy. Brain candy. It’s fucked up how terribly you need it to get through school. If you don’t pop one at six in the morning everyday, every plan you make goes down the drain and into the sewers. 

Pharmacies are supposed to always have their shit together. Customers come in, grab their beans, and they dip for a month before doing it all over again. Visits are dandy until they aren’t, apparently. Out of all people, why did they have to fuck up yours? A year of going to the same location with the same pharmacist and they suddenly misplace the only jewels that keep your head on your neck. 

Sure, you could sue or commit arson to that entire building, but you decided spending the last bit of your free time bribing the go-to drug lord of campus would be much more beneficial. And less… endangering. 

Mel is close with drug dealers — a surprising fact to discover about your soft-toned friend. Ellie Williams is one of them, and she’s expecting your arrival, according to Mel. The texts between you and this faceless stranger were brief, aloof — quite business-like despite the topic of conversation. You only hear about her from the sidelines or your roommate, and everyone seems to have a consensus opinion. 

Evidently, she fucking sucks. And fucks. Literally and figuratively. Good for her? You don’t give a shit. She agreed to give you a month's supply of Dextro for fifteen bucks. Fuck the gossip and the pharmacy. 

That gets you knocking. It takes fourteen seconds for the door to open, and you're instantly hit with the wall of Mary. Jane, in particular, and she’s covered in red lights. 

The testy drug head doesn’t fit everybody’s description; her face is almost too sweet for her body. She’s literally wearing Spiderman PJs. What kinda dealer has freckles and rosy cheeks? Her eyes remind you of a deer’s despite the pink tint. Can deers even get high? 

One of the first things Ellie does is take in your Patrick Star slippers. Her grin is slight as she eyes them. 

“Huh.”

“… Hey.” 

“Hello.” 

You hate silence more than anything in the world. It’s so fucking awkward in this hallway. 

“Name?” 

… Maybe intros are necessary? “Oh. Uh. I’m Mel’s friend. I’m guessing y’all know each other? I’m—“

The a-ha she makes is very innocuous. This is the beast everyone always talks about? “My dex pickup, right?” 

You jokingly shrug, “in the flesh.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You… you, too.” 

It’s silent again. Being shot in the face would be less painful than standing here. 

Soon, but not nearly enough, Ellie digs into her pocket to retrieve a very familiar looking orange bottle. It almost looks like yours minus the white sticker with your name and dosage. Just plain orange. And filled a hefty amount. A little over halfway. 

“Uh,” you stumble around in your jean pocket like an idiot. When you come up empty handed, you dig around in your back pocket. Then your other front, then your other back. 

Where the fuck is your twenty? 

“Uh… um…”

You check your bra and your shoulder bag and your sock, all while Ellie stares at you like you’re a walrus on stilts. 

“I’m… I dunno where my…” 

“Short?”

Flames burst beneath your cheeks. Too fucking short. If you were in a mafia film, you’d be strung up in front of Ellie’s door as a warning for loose pocketers. 

But Ellie’s not in the fucking mafia. She looks like she’s about to laugh. Before you can drown her in apologies, she hands you the clattering jar. 

“… Wh—“

“No offense, but… I think you needa fill.” 

This has to be a test. Ellie’s going to slice your hand clean off your wrist when you reach for your vice… Your prescription, you mean. Not vice—

“You want ‘em or not?” 

Impatient as fuck — very on brand. Just as your palm eagerly closes around the bottle, a shock of electricity pops from Ellie’s hand to yours. She flinches but you don’t. The horrifying screams from the little fuckers in your hand are too distracting. 

“Do I owe you?” 

She ponders for a second. Eyes you with curiosity. Snickers down at your slippers. 

“It’s cool. Just tell me if they work.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Do I really have to explain the hierarchy to you?” 

“What do you think?” 

Ellie pins you with a playful glare, “I bought from someone new.” 

That doesn’t mean shit to you, so why are you attempting to make conversation? “Is that why you stocked me up?” 

“Sure.” 

“Are they laced?” 

She shrugs, “maybe.” 

That should induce fear… It never comes. You anticipate focusing too much to care. If you die, you die. 

This convo fucking sucks. And now it’s quiet because how the fuck are you supposed to respond to you potentially OD-ing? Your brain’s cranking but, just like every other time, you come up empty handed. 

“You can go now.” 

You try not to be bothered by her dismissing you. You shouldn’t be bothered by anything — she did you a favor. Ellie must really like your fucking slippers. She’s spoken to Patrick more than you this entire time. 

“… Thanks.” 

“No sweat. Get home safe.” 

Her door closes. Your chest opens. You convince yourself it’s with gratitude, and not at all due to the weird attraction you felt for that drugged-out freakazoid. 

[cjlouwho]

Everything that could go wrong, leading up to their wedding day, did. The caterer canceled, the venue flooded, they lost two deposits, the tailor made Tommy’s pants two inches too short, they had a bakery refuse to make their wedding cake, and Buck sprained his ankle at work just four days before he was going to say, “I do.”

Tommy was a nervous wreck, but Buck smiled through every mishap. “It only means our actual wedding day will be perfect,” he explained, giving Tommy a peck on the lips. That helped to ease the wave of nausea Tommy was feeling in his gut.

They spent the night before their wedding apart. Tommy made it to the venue first. Buck would be arriving with Eddie any minute. As he waited, Tommy got a string of texts from Buck that had him grinning like an idiot:

On our way

I’m so excited I never fell asleep

I love you so much

We’re getting MARRIED!!!!!!!

I want cake

Yours lol

Be there in ten. I gotta give Eddie directions. Love you forever

Tommy sighed happily, ignoring the teasing coming from Howie as he texted back:

I love you, Evan. So much. See you soon.

Then he waited. Impatiently.

Ten minutes passed. Then five more. And another five.

He sent Buck another text, asking for a new ETA.

Nothing.

He waited five more minutes before he let himself panic.

“Don’t worry, Tommy,” Howie said. “They’ve gotta take the freeway from Eddie’s place. It’s always a mess and cell service sucks when there’s traffic. They’ll be here soon.”

A deep breath, Tommy nodded, “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

His stomach had barely settled when he heard the sound of the sirens. They were close. Maybe a street or two away.

And then his phone rang.

Evan’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey, baby, where are you?”

“Tommy.”

It wasn’t Evan on the other end of the line. Tommy’s heart sank.

“Eddie, what happened? Where’s Evan?”

“The- The other car came out of nowhere, Man,” he explained in a panic. “I- we got t-boned a-”

“Eddie, where’s Evan?” Tommy demanded.

“They just took him in the ambulance. Th- they wouldn’t let me go with him. You gotta get to Presbyterian, Tommy.”

Tommy hung up as he grabbed his keys and hurried out of the building. He didn’t even think to ask Eddie if he was okay. Howie had been beside him, had heard the whole thing, had called Buck’s number and started talking to Eddie before Tommy had left.

The only thing Tommy could think about was the last thing Evan had written him.

Love you forever

He hoped forever didn’t end today.

[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 1/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile. Teaser

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8819

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The sounds of pots and pans clanking echoed through the kitchen of the bunker as Sam wiped down the countertops, his broad frame moving smoothly through the space. He hadn’t even noticed his older brother lurking nearby—Dean was always the one who loved to poke fun, and today, he was feeling particularly mischievous.

"You sure you want to bring her here, Sammy?", Dean’s voice rang out, teasing but with an edge of curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his younger brother intently. "I mean, the bunker’s great and all, but it’s not exactly a romantic getaway".

Sam didn’t miss a beat. He was used to his brother’s banter, though that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy him. "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s not like—".

"Not like who, Sam?", Dean interrupted, smirking. "She’s not a hunter like us, right? Just a normal girl, who doesn’t actually know what she’s getting herself into?".

Sam shot Dean a glare, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "She knows. I’ve told her everything. She’s not freaked out".

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure she’ll be able to handle—", he motioned vaguely with his hand, clearly meaning the life they led—"all this? The monsters, the blood, the nightmares?".

Sam was about to respond when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone from the counter. He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

It was you.

"Hey, I’m on my way. Should be there in 20. See you soon :)".

Sam smiled softly at the message, his heart warming, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who suddenly took a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"See, now that’s what I’m talking about", Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The great Sammy Winchester, the smooth talker. Getting some girl to text you emojis and all. You sure you're ready for her to meet this version of the family?".

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He wasn’t embarrassed by his brother’s antics—well, not totally—but he was more concerned about how you’d react to it all. You’d been really understanding about the supernatural stuff, but Sam knew meeting Dean was a different matter.

"I’m serious, Dean. She’s not like other people. She’s not going to freak out". Sam looked at Dean with a raised brow, as if daring him to argue.

Dean chuckled, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah, we’ll see. It’s just… funny to me. You spent four weeks talking about her and now—", he grinned, "now I get to meet her. What’s she like? You know, aside from being really into you?".

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’ll find out in twenty minutes, won’t you?".

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Guess I will".

Sam turned his attention back to the counter, his heart still thumping with the excitement of seeing you. He really did want you to meet his brother. He had been so careful about introducing you to this world, and now, with you so close, he hoped you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

But deep down, Sam knew the biggest challenge wasn’t the monsters or the blood—no, it was whether or not Dean would scare you off. That was always a risk when it came to Dean.

Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze shifted to Sam, that playful glint never leaving his eyes.

“But give me something Sammy”, Dean began. “She probably a little nerdy, huh? You know, like you”. He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. “I’m picturing a cute, bookish type, glasses the size of saucers, maybe even a ponytail, and some kind of vintage sweater”.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying his best to stay patient with his older brother’s antics. “Dean, you’re not even close”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between fond and embarrassed. “Oh, I know I’m close. You’re basically saying you’re dating a female version of yourself, right? So… same height, same awkwardness, same love for dusty old books, and all the same nerdy stuff that makes you… well, you”. Dean made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “You’re probably gonna end up sitting in a corner, playing board games, or—God forbid—watching documentaries together, right?”.

Sam sighed, fighting a smile. “She’s not like that, Dean. She’s…”. He paused, trying to find the words. You were a bit of a nerd—he loved that about you—but there was a lot more to you than that.

Dean was still going strong. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she doesn’t even know what a real hunter is. Probably thinks all this is just some Halloween stuff, huh? Well, good luck with that”. He laughed at his own words, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his brother’s skin. “Can you imagine it, Sammy? You, with your little nerdy girlfriend, sitting there, all cute, surrounded by textbooks and… and cats. So many cats”.

Sam shot him a glare, but it was impossible to hide his amusement completely. “You’re ridiculous”.

“Just tell me one thing. She tall? You know, like… as tall as you?”. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying getting under Sam’s skin, the older brother’s usual role. “Or is she one of those tiny, cute types you can just—”.

Before Sam could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting him off. His thumb quickly tapped on the message, and he read your text aloud, clearly amused.

“I’ve knocked like five times, Sam. Are you ever going to open the door?”.

Dean’s grin only widened as Sam read your message aloud, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. Dean, of course, wasn’t about to let up. “Guess she’s not the patient type, huh?”, he teased, leaning a little further into his brother’s space. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a little firecracker, Sammy. Or a tall one”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes”.

Dean leaned in, his voice taking on a more exaggerated tone. “A handful, huh? What, like a tiny, cute handful with her oversized glasses and a love for knitting?”. He chuckled, clearly relishing the thought of you fitting the quirky, innocent image he had concocted.

Sam was about to retort when his phone buzzed again. He quickly glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat as he saw your name flashing on the screen once more.

“Sam, are you seriously just gonna leave me out here? Open the door!”.

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter now. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to himself as he pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door, shooting Dean a look over his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Just wait and see”.

Dean was unbothered by the warning, following his brother with his eyes.

Sam ignored him and reached for the door, his excitement growing. He finally swung it open to reveal you standing outside, your hand raised in the air as if ready to knock once more.

You looked up at him, the tiniest hint of impatience in your eyes. “You know, I was starting to think you were ghosting me, Sam”, you teased, a playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

Sam stepped aside quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Dean was…”. He glanced back toward the kitchen, choosing his words carefully. “…distracting me”.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “It’s fine. But seriously, don’t keep me waiting next time. I was starting to feel like a door-to-door salesperson”.

Sam chuckled, gesturing for you to step inside. As you walked past him and into the bunker, you couldn’t help but glance at cavernous walls. The space felt huge, even more so because of your height. Not even reaching Sam’s chest, the bunker seemed almost overwhelming. Still, you moved forward with confidence, curiosity lighting up your features as you carefully stepped down the metal stairs.

“Whoa”, you said, pausing for a moment to glance back at Sam. “This place is… something else”.

Sam smiled, pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, it’s a bit much at first, but you get used to it”.

As your feet touched the ground, you ran your fingers along the edge of the war room table, taking in the ancient, heavy atmosphere of the place. Just as you were about to comment on it, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Dean appeared, beer in hand, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. “Well, well”, he said, his voice light and teasing as he approached. “What do we have here?”.

But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, Dean simply stared. He hadn’t been expecting someone like you—not even close. You were small, barely coming up to his chest, and the contrast between your petite frame and your confident presence was magnetic. The high-waisted jean shorts you wore showed off your curves in a way that made his throat go dry, and the fitted top you paired them with hinted just enough at your gorgeous figure.

Dean’s brain went blank for a split second.

“Uh…”, he started, his usual charm stuttering as he tried to find words. “You’re… uh… not what I expected”.

Sam cleared his throat, stepping forward and giving Dean a pointed look. “Dean”.

“What?”, Dean shot back, still unable to tear his gaze away from you. He gestured vaguely with his beer. “She’s definitely not nerdy”.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused as you crossed your arms and looked up at him. The size difference was almost comical, but you didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “And what exactly did you expect?”. There was a playful edge to your tone, but something in the way you held his gaze sent a strange jolt through Dean’s chest.

Dean blinked, quickly scrambling to recover. He leaned casually against the wall, lifting his beer to his lips. “I don’t know. Glasses, books, maybe a little cardigan or something”. He smirked, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. “I mean, you’re dating Sam”.

Sam groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Dean—”.

You cut him off, your smirk widening as you tilted your head. “Sorry to disappoint”, you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “No glasses. And I left my cardigan at home”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that”. He took another swig of his beer, though it did little to cool the sudden warmth spreading through him.

Sam stepped in then, clearly eager to move things along before Dean could dig himself deeper into the hole he was making. “Alright, let’s sit down. Y/N’s probably hungry”.

“Hungry? Or thirsty?”, Dean quipped, holding up his beer. “I mean, I could—”.

“Dean”, Sam interrupted sharply, shooting him another warning glare.

Dean held up his free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Food it is”. But as he turned to follow Sam toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back at you one more time.

You caught him looking, your lips curving into a small smile that sent his pulse racing.

What the hell is happening? Dean thought as he dragged his eyes away.

For all the teasing he’d thrown Sam’s way, he wasn’t prepared for this. You weren’t nerdy, awkward, or shy. You were gorgeous, confident, and way more than Dean had been ready for.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

The sound of your light footsteps on the bunker’s floors seemed to echo louder than they should have, or maybe that was just Dean’s heightened awareness of your presence. He tried to shake it off, forcing his thoughts back into his usual easygoing rhythm.

“So”, Dean began, his tone casual as his eyes flicked between you and Sam. “Sammy here been bragging about his cooking skills yet?”.

Sam sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Dean—”.

“Oh, come on”, Dean pressed, walking a little faster so he could fall into step next to you. He gave you one of his signature grins, the one that usually worked wonders on just about anyone. “He didn’t warn you that his idea of fine dining is throwing together a salad and calling it a meal?”.

You glanced up at Dean, amused by the way he towered over you. “Actually”, you said, your voice laced with playful curiosity, “he told me he made something special tonight”.

Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing toward Sam as they all entered the kitchen. “Special, huh?”. His eyes darted to the oven, catching sight of the lasagna baking inside. The smell was already wafting through the room, rich and savory, instantly recognizable.

“Lasagna?”, Dean asked, surprised despite himself. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Sam.

Sam ignored the jab, moving to check on the lasagna. “Figured you’d be less… disruptive if I made something you liked”, he said, adjusting the oven temperature and glancing at his watch to time it perfectly.

Dean smirked, picking up on Sam’s strategy immediately. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re trying to keep me quiet. Feed me comfort food, and I’ll behave, is that it?”.

Sam didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter opposite Dean. “So lasagna’s your weak spot, huh?”, you teased, your tone light but curious.

Dean turned his grin back to you, his green eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion. “Depends”, he said, dragging out the word. “You any good in the kitchen? Or are you more the ‘microwave and hope for the best’ type?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with an amused smirk. “I can hold my own”, you replied, not missing a beat. “But if I’d known I’d be competing with this”, —you gestured toward the oven— “I’d have brought something to prove it”.

Dean chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Well, that just means you’ll have to stick around long enough to show us, huh?”.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look as he turned from the oven to grab plates and utensils. “Dean, maybe try not to scare her off within the first ten minutes”.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just being friendly, Sammy”. He turned his attention back to you, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “I’m not that scary, am I?”.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Not yet”, you replied, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll let you know if that changes”.

Sam rolled his eyes, setting the plates down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, dinner’s almost ready. Can we all just… focus on eating like normal people?”,

Dean gave you a conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Sam. “You’re the one making the rules, chef”.

You caught the dynamic between them easily—Dean’s teasing, Sam’s patient exasperation. It was clear they had their differences, but there was no denying the bond between the two brothers. And as Dean reached for another nearby bottle of beer, cracking it open with ease, you found yourself wondering just how much of Dean’s charm was a front, and how much of it was the real him.

The next few minutes passed smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with Dean in the mix. As Sam checked on the lasagna one last time, you busied yourself helping him set the table. You grabbed utensils and napkins from the counter, moving around the space with ease as though you’d been in the bunker a dozen times before.

Dean, leaning against the counter with his beer, watched you with casual interest. “So, Y/N”, he started, his tone light, “if you’re not a hunter, how’d you end up with my nerdy little brother here?”.

You glanced up at him, amused by his bluntness. “We met at a bookstore, actually”, you replied, placing the last fork down. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and Sam swooped in to save me from picking the world’s most boring biography”.

Dean snorted. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he probably gave you some twenty-minute lecture on obscure historical facts before you even realized he was flirting”.

You smirked, shooting Sam a playful look as he turned back from the oven. “It was more like fifteen minutes”, you said with a shrug. “But to be fair, he was right. The book I was about to buy sounded awful”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “I wasn’t trying to lecture. I was just being helpful”.

“Sure you were”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Bet you even pulled the puppy-dog eyes, didn’t you?”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you seemed so at ease around them, or the way your laugh lit up the room, but something about you had him hooked.

“Sam’s told you about… you know, all the crazy crap we deal with, right?”, Dean said, changing the subject as he leaned in slightly,

You nodded, your expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah. He’s been easing me into it. It’s… a lot, but I’m getting there”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And you’re not freaking out? Most people would’ve run for the hills the second they heard the words ‘demonic possession’”.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s a lot to take in, sure, but Sam’s been really patient about explaining things. And honestly? I think what you guys do is incredible. It’s scary, yeah, but also… kind of amazing”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by your sincerity. He wasn’t used to hearing people talk about their work like that, especially not people who weren’t hunters themselves. “Huh”, he said after a moment, a crooked grin forming on his face. “You might be tougher than you look, short stuff”.

The nickname made you laugh again, and you couldn’t help but shoot back, “Careful, Dean. I may be small, but I can hold my own”.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that”, Dean said smoothly, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Bet you’ve got a hell of a right hook for someone your size”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it”.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was headed. “Dean, maybe stop interrogating her and let her breathe for a second”.

Dean waved him off, his attention still fixed on you. “Relax, Sammy. We’re just getting to know each other”, He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more casual. “You got a day job, or are you just spending all your free time keeping this guy out of trouble?”.

You smiled at Dean, enjoying the banter. “Actually, I’m a fitness coach”, you said, leaning casually against the counter.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “A fitness coach?”, he repeated, his tone equal parts impressed and intrigued. “Didn’t see that one coming”.

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you looked up at him. “Why’s that? You don’t think I could handle it?”.

Dean tilted his head, giving you a quick once-over, and while his expression remained playful, there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I think you could handle it just fine”, he said. “But man, Sammy must have his hands full. What, you got him running laps between cases now?”.

Sam sighed, clearly trying to stay out of the conversation, but you were quick to play along. “Not yet”, you said, shooting Sam a teasing look. “But I’m thinking about it. He could probably use the cardio”.

Dean barked out a laugh, his head tilting back slightly. “Oh, I like you”, he said, pointing at you with his beer. “You’re a smartass. Sam needs more of that in his life”.

You grinned at Dean’s comment, enjoying the playful energy in the room. “Oh, trust me, he gets plenty of sass from me”, you said with a smirk. Turning to Sam, who had been quietly tolerating Dean’s antics, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his bicep—the highest point you could easily reach without him bending down.

“Just kidding”, you mumbled teasingly as Sam gave you a soft, amused smile. He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss against your forehead in return, his hand grazing the small of your back as he murmured, “Thanks for putting up with him”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you grabbed the last glass and placed it on the table. “I think I’m handling it just fine”.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two of you, the ease of your affection and the way Sam looked at you. There was something about the way you and Sam moved together—comfortably, naturally, like you’d been part of this world for longer than the few weeks you’d actually been dating—that made something twist uncomfortably in Dean’s chest.

Dean took another sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to chase away the nagging feeling in his chest. He leaned back against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his jaw tightened subtly as he watched you and Sam. There was something about the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Hell, he barely even admitted it to himself.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Dean Winchester didn’t do jealousy. No, this was just… him being protective. Yeah, that was it. He was just making sure you were really who Sam thought you were. Making sure Sam wasn’t setting himself up for another heartbreak. It had nothing to do with the way you smiled when you looked up at Sam, or the way your laugh seemed to linger in the air, soft and warm.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from you. He focused instead on the beer bottle in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. “How long until dinner’s ready, Sammy? I’m starving over here”.

Sam shot him a glance, clearly catching the faint edge in Dean’s tone. “It’s almost done”, he said, moving to check on the lasagna. “You can survive a few more minutes”.

Dean smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, good thing you went all out. I wouldn’t survive another night of your rabbit food experiments”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean glance up despite himself. “Rabbit food?”, you teased, looking between the brothers. “That´s about your love for salad?”.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. “He’s talking about the one time I made a salad with kale”.

“It wasn’t a salad”, Dean shot back, pointing at Sam with his beer. “It was punishment. Nobody eats kale by choice”.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring a kale smoothie, huh?”.

Dean couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “You’d better not. I’d kick you out on principle”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, busying himself with pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

Dean’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. He wasn’t jealous. He was just… protective. Yeah, that was the story he was sticking to.

Dean watched you as you moved around the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the bunker like you’d always been there. It was unsettling how natural it all seemed. His eyes followed you, and he took another sip of his beer, determined to shake whatever it was that had him so off balance.

But then you leaned over toward him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Your thigh brushed against his, the contact sending a jolt of heat up his leg. Before he could react, you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I fucking hate kale”, you whispered, your voice low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in your tone.

Dean froze for a second, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process the sudden proximity, the soft warmth of your leg against his, and the quiet intimacy of your words. Then, almost involuntarily, a grin broke across his face, quick and genuine.

“Good”, he murmured back, his voice equally low. “Means I don’t have to kick you out after all”.

You laughed quietly, the sound sending a ripple of something warm and unfamiliar through him. Dean blinked, his grin fading slightly as he tried to steady himself. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he sat down at the table. He told himself it was nothing—just the heat of the moment, the way your laugh had hit him, or the accidental brush of your thigh. It didn’t mean anything. He could shake this off, no problem.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not with the faint trace of your perfume still lingering in the air or the way your mischievous smirk had seemed to sear itself into his brain. Dean shifted again, leaning forward slightly in his chair to subtly adjust himself under the table, hoping like hell neither you nor Sam noticed.

Sam, thankfully oblivious, placed a plate in front of Dean and another in front of himself before sitting down next to you. “Alright, dig in”, he said, shooting you a small smile. “Let me know what you think”.

You grabbed your fork, glancing at Sam with a grin. “No pressure, right?”.

Dean snorted, hoping to distract himself from his predicament. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry. This is probably the best thing Sammy’s ever made. Not that the competition’s stiff or anything”.

Sam shot Dean a dry look, but you laughed, your shoulders shaking slightly. The sound sent another ripple of heat through Dean’s chest, and he focused hard on cutting into his lasagna, the knife scraping against the plate.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Sam said sarcastically, turning his attention back to you. “I’m glad someone appreciates the effort”.

“I think it’s great”, you said after taking a bite. “Seriously, Sam. This is amazing”.

Dean grunted in agreement, though his focus was less on the food and more on keeping his gaze off you. The way you leaned forward slightly when you laughed, the way your lips curved around your fork—it was too much, and he knew if he let himself keep staring, he was going to lose whatever shred of composure he had left.

“So, Y/N”, Dean said, forcing himself to speak, his tone casual as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “You like it?”. He gestured vaguely around the bunker, doing his best to sound normal despite the tension knotting his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not exactly… cozy”.

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. “It’s definitely different”, you admitted. “But honestly? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like something out of a movie”.

Dean smirked, though he avoided looking directly at you for too long. “Yeah, well, wait until the pipes start rattling in the middle of the night. Real cinematic experience”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He just hates doing maintenance”.

You laughed again, and Dean felt his resolve waver. He grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one go just to have something to do with his hands.

The meal continued, with Sam and you trading stories while Dean chimed in occasionally, mostly to toss in a sarcastic comment or crack a joke. But the whole time, that nagging feeling sat heavy in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the heat pooling low in his stomach.

It was going to be a long night.

The meal wrapped up smoothly, though Dean spent most of it trying to keep his focus on his lasagna. By the time the dishes were done, Sam had his sleeves rolled up, his hands wet from drying the last plate, and you were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with him about your plans for the next day.

Dean lingered nearby, his fifth beer in hand, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on you.

Finally, as Sam dried his hands and set the dish towel aside, he stepped close to you, his palm brushing down the small of your back in a way that seemed almost instinctive. “Ready to call it a night?”, he asked gently, his voice low, the kind of tone that was meant just for you.

You glanced up at him, reading the softness in his eyes. Sam wasn’t one for late nights, not unless a hunt demanded it. His mornings usually started early with a run or a workout, and you knew he valued his sleep schedule more than most.

But you? You weren’t tired at all. You were used to staying up late, whether it was working on plans for your clients or just relaxing with a spicy book or a show.

Still, you smiled at Sam, your hand brushing his briefly. “Sure”, you said lightly. “If you’re ready, we can head to bed”.

Dean, who had been pretending to check the contents of the fridge for the last few minutes, glanced over at the exchange. Something about the way Sam’s hand stayed at the small of your back made his jaw tighten again, though he quickly covered it with a casual tone. “Wow, Sammy, calling it a night already? It’s barely nine. You getting old or what?”.

Sam shot Dean a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Some of us actually like starting the day early”, he said, his hand still resting gently on you. “Not all of us are night owls”.

Dean smirked, leaning back against the counter with his beer. “Night owl? Please. I’m just making sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you’re catching your beauty sleep”.

You laughed softly at that, glancing between the brothers. “So what, Dean? You stay up all night patrolling the bunker or something?”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark of mischief. “Something like that”, he said, his tone easy. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He just watches bad movies and eats junk food when he should be sleeping”.

“Hey, classics aren’t bad movies”, Dean shot back, pointing his beer bottle at Sam. “And nachos at midnight? That’s living, Sammy”.

You grinned, folding your arms. “I think I’m with Dean on this one. Nachos at midnight sounds way more fun than an early morning run”.

Dean’s smirk turned into a full grin at your response, his eyes glinting as he looked over at you. “Finally, someone around here with taste”.

Sam rolled his eyes at your comment, though there was no mistaking the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you two can bond over junk food another time”, he said, his hand brushing gently against your back again. “I’ll leave you to it, Dean”.

You glanced back at Dean, your smile softening as your eyes met his. “It was nice meeting you, Dean”, you said warmly, your voice genuine. “I can see where Sam gets his sense of humor now”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the way your words—and that smile—made his heart skip a beat. He forced a grin, though it felt a little stiff. “Yeah, you too”, he said, his voice a bit quieter than usual. He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than he intended. “Goodnight, short stuff”.

You chuckled softly at the nickname, turning back to Sam as he led you toward the hallway. Dean stayed rooted in place, leaning back against the counter with his beer as he watched the two of you disappear from sight. The sound of your voices—low and comfortable—faded as you headed down the hall.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before muttering under his breath, “What the hell, Winchester?”.

He downed the rest of his beer in one swig, the bottle clinking softly against the counter as he set it down. Shaking his head, Dean turned back toward the fridge, already looking for something to distract himself from the way his heart had stubbornly refused to settle all evening.

But the image of your smile—soft, genuine, and directed at him—lingered, refusing to fade. And no amount of nachos or bad movies was going to fix that.

Inside Sam’s room, you looked around, taking in the neat, utilitarian setup. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a certain comfort to it that matched Sam’s personality. The shelves lined with books, the neatly folded bedding, and even the scent of him lingering in the air—it all felt cozy and inviting.

Sam moved across the room, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a simple white shirt. He handed it to you with a soft smile. “Here”, he said, his voice low and gentle. “This should be comfortable for the night”.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing his briefly as you gave him a small smile. “Thanks”, you said, though there was a slight edge to your voice that you hoped he didn’t pick up on. You’d been dating for weeks now, and while things between you and Sam were great, there was a tension simmering under the surface that you couldn’t ignore.

Sam hadn’t made a move to take things further, not once. No matter how many nights you spent together, how much time you spent in his arms, he never seemed to push for more than kissing and light touches. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect his pace; you did. But you were only human, and lately, the frustration had started to build.

And tonight? Tonight was unbearable. You couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the lingering energy from dinner, the way Dean had looked at you with that mischievous grin, or the way Sam’s hand kept brushing against the small of your back. Whatever it was, it had you wound tighter than a spring, and your body was practically humming with need.

You turned away from Sam as you began to undress, your fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, aware of Sam sitting quietly behind you, his presence filling the room. The air felt heavier than usual, like a current of unspoken tension buzzed between you.

You slipped off your top next, leaving your bare skin exposed for a moment. You weren’t wearing a bra—something you’d normally think nothing of, but tonight, it felt impossible to ignore. The cool air brushed over your skin as you reached for the oversized white shirt Sam had given you, the fabric soft in your hands.

Pulling it over your head, you let the material fall into place. It was so big on you that it nearly reached your knees, the hem swaying slightly as you moved. The sleeves hung past your wrists, making it look more like a dress than a shirt, and you couldn’t help but glance down at yourself, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally turned back around, Sam was already in bed, propped up against the pillows with a book in his hands. His eyes flicked up as you moved, and for a brief moment, you caught something in his expression—a flicker of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You good?”, he asked, his voice soft as he closed the book and set it on the nightstand.

You nodded, climbing into bed beside him and pulling the covers up to your lap. “Yeah”, you said quietly, though your voice felt strained. You couldn’t shake the awareness of him next to you, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, or the warmth of his body so close to yours.

He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into. As he settled back into the pillows, you found yourself lying rigidly on your side, staring into the darkness and trying to will away the storm of frustration building inside you.

The shirt you wore smelled like Sam, wrapping you in his familiar, comforting scent, but it only made things worse. Your body was on fire, and every little movement—his hand brushing the covers, the sound of his breathing, the shift of the mattress as he adjusted his position—felt like a spark igniting something deeper within you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the ache that had settled low in your stomach. Sam’s steady, calming presence had always been enough to soothe you, but tonight, it wasn’t working.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do about it.

Meanwhile, in the war room, Dean sat slouched at the map table, his boots propped up on the edge as he cradled a large glass of whiskey in one hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting faint shadows that danced on the tabletop. He swirled the drink absentmindedly, staring into the space ahead of him but seeing nothing—nothing except you.

He let out a heavy sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you leaning toward him in the kitchen, your thigh brushing his, the warmth of your breath on his skin as you whispered, I fucking hate kale.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything—the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the way you fit so effortlessly into the space that had always felt so cold and utilitarian. And, of course, the way you looked at Sam, the softness in your eyes that made it so damn clear how much you cared about his brother.

Dean scowled at the thought, tipping back his glass and draining the rest of the whiskey in one go. He set the glass down with a muted thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened as he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a little admiration. She’s cool, that’s all.

But the ache in his chest said otherwise.

The thought of you in Sam’s room, wrapped in his arms, made Dean’s stomach twist in a way that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as though he could physically dislodge the thought from his brain.

“This is ridiculous”, he muttered under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment before taking another sip, the burn doing little to drown out the frustration bubbling inside him.

He didn’t get it. You were with Sam—his brother. You were off-limits, plain and simple. And yet, there was something about you that felt like a punch to the gut every time you smiled.

Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The faint creak of the bunker’s pipes echoed in the distance, a reminder of how quiet and empty the place felt most of the time.

But you’d brought a kind of energy into the bunker that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been missing. And it was driving him insane.

Dean drained the second glass of whiskey, letting the burn spread through his chest as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze drifted to the door that led to the hallway.

“Get a grip, Winchester”, he muttered to himself, shaking his head again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps entering the war room. His first instinct was to expect Sam, coming to lecture him about something—or maybe just checking on him—but when he turned, he froze.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, looking a little out of place, your bare feet pressing softly against the cold floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as you tugged your hair behind your ear, mumbling, “Sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom. Didn’t mean to interrupt”.

Dean’s gaze lingered, the whiskey in his hand forgotten as his eyes took you in. You were wearing Sam’s oversized white shirt, and on your smaller frame, it hung loosely, nearly brushing your knees. But the cool air of the bunker seemed to cling to you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the faint chill had tightened your nipples against the fabric of the shirt.

He forced his gaze back to your face, his throat tightening. “Uh… yeah”, he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the left”.

You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks”, you murmured, your voice soft. But instead of immediately leaving, your eyes flicked to the map table, then to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean followed your gaze to the glass of whiskey in front of him, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking back to yours as he lifted the glass in a mock toast.

“Don’t tell me you’re a whiskey girl”, he said, his voice light but carrying that unmistakable edge of mischief.

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile as you stepped further into the room, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the cold tiles. “Maybe I am”, you replied, your voice soft but with just enough challenge to make his smirk widen. “What’s wrong with whiskey?”.

Dean chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Nothing”, he said, his tone teasing. “Just didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re walking around in Sam’s shirt, looking all cute and innocent, and here you are, eyeing my drink like you’re ready to steal it”.

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you refused to let him fluster you. Crossing your arms, you leaned slightly against the edge of the map table, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I was just wondering why you’re sitting here all alone in the middle of the night”, you shot back. “Doesn’t seem like your usual scene”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick comeback. “Huh”, he muttered, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “What about you? Thought you’d be in bed, snug as a bug with Sammy by now”.

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him. “I couldn’t sleep”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine curiosity. “And you ended up here, instead of the bathroom”, he said, gesturing around the room. “Lucky me”.

You laughed lightly, tucking your hair behind your ear again as you glanced at the map table. “I guess so”, you said, your smile lingering as your eyes returned to his. “But seriously… is whiskey your midnight snack now, or what?”.

Dean chuckled, reaching for the bottle and pouring a small amount into the empty glass beside him. He slid it toward you, his smirk returning. “Why don’t you find out?”.

You glanced at the glass, then back at him, your brow lifting slightly. “Is this how you get all your guests to stay up late with you?”, you teased, taking the glass in your hand.

Dean leaned back in his chair, watching as you reached for the glass. His lips parted slightly, and without even thinking, his tongue darted out to wet them, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake whenever his nerves got the better of him—or when his thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.

His gaze flicked downward, almost involuntarily, landing on the curve of your chest beneath Sam’s oversized shirt. The fabric shifted slightly as you raised the glass to your lips, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet.

Dean’s eyes lingered for a second too long, his grip tightening around his own glass as he caught himself staring. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face. You didn’t seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you were just too good at hiding it. Either way, it only made the tension in the room thicker, more suffocating.

You set the glass down. “What?”, you asked, your voice casual but with a glint of curiosity. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden. Did I say something wrong?”.

Dean smirked, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “Nah”, he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of whiskey. “Just thinking”.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “About?”.

He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say something cocky, to deflect like he always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he shrugged, his voice dropping slightly. “About how you’re a hell of a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for”.

Your eyes widened slightly, the soft flush in your cheeks deepening as you let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”, you said, your tone light but tinged with something warmer.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening. “You should”.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, heavy with unspoken things that neither of you seemed ready to address. Dean’s chest tightened as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear again, the movement so simple yet somehow mesmerizing.

You bit your lip lightly, your arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver ran through you. The cool air of the bunker combined with the cold tiles underfoot wasn’t doing you any favors, and the oversized shirt you wore didn’t provide much warmth. You glanced away from Dean, suddenly feeling more vulnerable under his gaze.

Dean sighed softly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. The sound drew your attention back to him just in time to see him stand up, his broad frame now looming over you. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he felt larger somehow—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken energy as he closed the space between you in just a few steps.

“Here”, he muttered, his voice low and rough as he reached for the flannel he’d been wearing. The movement made his biceps flex beneath his gray T-shirt, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care—as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and held it out to you.

Before you could say anything, Dean gently draped it over your frame, the fabric settling around you like a warm cocoon. It smelled like him—faintly of whiskey, leather, and something distinctly Dean. You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how close he was.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch”, he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something warmer, almost protective.

Dean tugged the flannel tighter around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it to make sure you were warm. The gesture was meant to be casual, maybe even brotherly, but as he shifted closer, his hips inadvertently brushed against your belly.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t mean to react, but the unmistakable press of him against you—even through his thick jeans—sent a jolt of heat rushing through your body. Your gaze flicked up to his face, and you saw his jaw tighten, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came.

Dean froze, his hands still resting lightly on the flannel draped around you. He’d felt it too, the way his body betrayed him at the worst possible moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to push down the flood of sensations threatening to overwhelm him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension that had been simmering between you all night boiled over, the air crackling with an intensity that made your pulse race. You weren’t sure what to do—what to say—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning ever so slightly closer to him as if drawn by some invisible force.

Dean’s hands dropped from the flannel, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a half step back, his expression unreadable as he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should, uh…”, he started, his voice rough and uneven, “you should probably get back to Sam”.

His words felt like a bucket of cold water, and you blinked, stepping back yourself as you clutched the flannel tighter around you. “Right”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should”.

Dean nodded, still avoiding your gaze as he grabbed his glass from the table and drained what was left in one swift motion. His other hand raked through his hair, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Goodnight, Y/N”, he said, his voice softer this time but still laced with tension.

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you turned and walked toward the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the tiles. As you disappeared around the corner, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching a glimpse of Dean standing there, his shoulders tense, his head bowed.

Dean didn’t move until he was sure you were gone. When he finally sat back down, his elbows resting on the table as he buried his face in his hands, he muttered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the ghost of your touch and the warmth of your body against his lingered, driving him closer to the edge than he cared to admit.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick

[rauspberries]

purple lace bra. [ hear what you like and none of the rest! ] ׂ╰┈➤ a lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader fic. ׂ╰┈➤ so close to what series masterlist. paralegal!reader masterlist. ׂ╰┈➤ next chapter.

summary: tired of being underestimated and pushed aside because of your gender, you rant to your boss about it. needless to say, he won't let it happen again. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n and no physical description of reader, protective aaron hotchner, mentions of gross men and misogyny in the workplace word count: 2k notes: first fic of the 'so close to what' series!!! i'm so excited to write all of this. its going to get sooooo mouth-watering. hey @reidswrld

“Hey, sweetheart, did you get those files on the Watson case? I’m trying to get the case done before lunch so I can head out.” As the prosecutor talks, he hangs the entire upper half of his body into your office, a shit-eating grin on his face as he lets his eyes study you in a way that has you squirming in your seat.

You were used to the pet names. It had been a common habit among the majority of the prosecutors in the district attorney’s office to refer to you as anything but your actual name, laying it on thick with nicknames such as sweetheart, honey, and doll, no matter how much you gently reminded them that they could just call you by your name. Unfortunately for you, their words could be brushed off as simple kindness, making it not officially an HR problem.

Also, as a woman in a male-dominated workplace, it was to be expected. Every other female student in your law classes had to work twice as hard as their male counterparts to get noticed by male professors or to prove that their opinions are worth hearing. And god forbid they wore a skirt that was just a little bit shorter than right above the knee. You couldn’t count on your two hands the amount of times you had seen one of your peers staring at the singular undone button at the top of your blouse while you were attempting to argue your side of a mock trial.

Pasting on a smile, you raise your head to glance at the prosecutor, grabbing a file off of the corner of your desk and holding it out. “Right here. Although, I did have a note, if you’d like to hear it.” You bite the inside of your cheek after speaking, already knowing the reaction you’d get. Men didn’t like to be proven wrong.

A scoff comes from the man as he steps a bit more into your office, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sure, why not? Always willing to try new things.” No, he’s not. He’s had the same thing for lunch the past week. Your smile wavers for just a moment, however you manage to keep going strong. “I dug a little deeper into the finances of the defendant’s family. He was taking out the same large sum of money from his bank account every month, usually around the same day. It might be worth following.”

He pretends to contemplate it before laughing, arms unfolding to grab the file out of your hand. “Well, sweetheart, I’m a lawyer, not an accountant. If I wanted to dig into money, I would’ve become a banker. But thanks for the file.” He raises the folder in his hand as a goodbye, still chuckling beneath his breath as he turns and walks out of your office.

As soon as he’s gone, your friendly smile drops, replaced with a scowl. Irritation prickled at your skin like fire ants, causing you to take a deep inhale through your nose and a slow exhale through your lips. Yeah. You were over it.

In a flash, you’re out of your seat, grabbing a stack of papers off of your desk and exiting your office. It takes you not even two minutes to get down the hall, turning into Aaron’s office with a knock on the doorframe.

“All of the evidence, witness statements and backgrounds you’ve asked from me. Also, Hallbrook stared my boobs for a record of forty-seven seconds this morning and Lawson thinks I am an idiot that grew on the dumbest tree in the forest.” The words are spilling out of your mouth so fast that you have to take a breath afterwards, flopping down in the chair across from his desk ungracefully right after you’ve laid everything right in front of him.

Aaron doesn’t respond for a moment, glancing up at you through his eyelashes as the crease in his brow slowly grows deeper. Slowly, he rises to sit up straight, grabbing the stack you had left and setting it to the side. “Good morning. Can you say that again, but slower this time, so I can understand you?” The corner of his lip twitches in amusement, hands folding together in front of him.

His amusement just causes you to roll your eyes, crossing your leg over your knee to show some decorum as you huff like a petulant child. “Do you think I’m good at my job, sir?” You question, realizing that spilling out every act of sexual harrassment towards you probably wasn’t the best approach.

“You know I do.” The mirth fades from his face, replaced with genuine concern. “Did someone make you feel like you aren’t good at your job?” There’s a tenseness to his voice, a tautness to his shoulders, that immediately makes you want to crawl into your skin and hide there. You feel like you’ve tattled to the principal.

Aware of your rigid posture, you let your shoulders relax. “It’s not that big of a deal, I’m used to it by now,” you mumble, feeling oddly sheepish underneath his stern gaze.

Aaron stands up from his chair, dropping the pen in his hand onto the desk as he makes his way around it. Once he’s standing next to you, he leans his back against it, looking down at you. “Used to what? Explain.” It’s an instruction, not an ask. You’ve opened this can of worms and now it’s time to lie in it.

“The comments that brush me off. The staring at any piece of skin I leave uncovered. The using me as a personal assistant rather than a paralegal.” Despite the uncomfortableness of being so close to him, his gaze picking apart everything about you, you find yourself explaining everything to him. You blamed it on the effect his dark eyes have on you. The way he looked at you had always been different than how everyone else looked at you. It dug into your skin, peeled you apart layer by layer, revealed your deepest secrets before they even came out of your mouth.

After recounting what had happened that morning with Lawson, he is silent for a moment. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you look at him, wondering if he’d tell you to just suck it up and move on or storm out of his office to start a riot. Then, he speaks, his tone still calm. “Let me know the next time any of it happens. I want to know about any inappropriate glances, any brush-off comments. I’ll handle it.” Then, he’s sitting up, moving back around to his chair. “Go have yourself some lunch and then come see me. I have a few things for you to handle.”

His dismissive tone has you standing up, nodding. “Yes, sir.” Without another word, you scurry out of his office, ready to cool your head over some trashy food from a fast-food joint.

By the time your stomach is full and you’ve inhaled some only-metaphorically-fresh Virginia air, you’re feeling a ton better. You chalk up your former irritation to just being hangry, your posture straightened and your clothes not as ruffled as before. Nothing could get in your way, could stop you from kicking ass at any task thrown at you for the rest of your too-long shift. 

Until one of the interns stops you with a hand on your bicep, immediately flashing you a bright smile. From what you remember, his name is Theo. That’s the only thing you know about him, other than the fact that he was an intern from one of the law schools nearby. You only knew that because you were extremely well-versed in everything happening in the office, in each level of the hierarchy. Aaron was constantly amazed at all of the gossip you provided him without him asking. 

“Hey! You’re a paralegal, right?” He asks, the smile on his face blinding. He looks nice enough, mussy curled hair falling onto his forehead, soft and gentle eyes. If you hadn’t realized your affinity for older men, you’d think of him as handsome.

You nod, tucking the files in your hand to your chest as you subtly push off the hand on your bicep with a shrug of your shoulders. “Yeah. Can I help you with something?” You keep your tone light and polite, even when Theo ruins his good vibes by his gaze averting temporarily to your chest. The pretty ones are always the grossest.

His charming smile doesn’t falter as his eyes move back to glance at yours. “You can, actually, if it’s not too much of a bother.” You don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re too busy, enough things stacked on your plate, so you urge him to continue with a raise of your brow. “Wooledge, you know him?” Of course you do. You know everything. “He asked me to dredge up some old case files for precedent of a case of ours. I heard you’re good at finding everything quicker than anyone and he also asked me for what feels like eight million things.” 

Theo finishes his statement with laying his hand on your shoulder again, thumb brushing against your collarbone. If his hand were someone else’s, it’d be a reassuring touch. But right now, it’s just uncomfortable, extremely infuriating.

Your own smile twitches, threatening to fall. You don’t have time to do someone else’s work, much less something they applied to do. A district attorney intern’s job was solely this. Look into law stuff, gather law stuff, assist prosecutors. It was to prepare them to become a lawyer. You’d kill to be here as an intern, not a paralegal, one step closer to being an actual lawyer.

Luckily, you don’t have to answer him, because a deep voice behind you does it for you. “She will not be doing your work. If your workload is too much, you aren’t fit to become a lawyer and you should quit your internship now.” You can feel him over your shoulder, leering at Theo from behind you, even without glancing up at him. Instead, you let your gaze avert to the ground, cheeks rushing with heat at both embarrassment and the closeness of him.

“And if I catch your eyes looking down one more time, I will personally walk you to HR and ensure you aren’t allowed to any law firm or district attorney’s office in this country.” Aaron’s voice turns more hostile the more he speaks, his nice shoes scuffing the ground as his shoulder presses up against yours. “Now, get your hand off of her and go find those cases. I’ll let Wooledge know he can expect them within the hour.”

Bless his heart, Theo looks frightened, staring up at Aaron with wide eyes. He then glances down at his hand, like he had forgotten it was on your shoulder, pulling it back like it had been set on fire and shoving it in his pocket. Clearing his throat, he dips his head. “Sir.” Then, he turns around, walking away as quick as he can while trying his hardest not to look like he had just been told off.

After he’s gone and around the corner, a hand gently encloses over your hip, a ghost of a touch but very much there, very much turning your brain to static. “You okay?” He keeps his volume low, a murmur in your ear as his focus burns into the side of your head.

Slowly, you turn to face him, his fingers falling off of you at the movement. “Yeah, fine. Could’ve handled that myself.”

Smug bastard he is, his lips quirk up in a smirk, dark eyes glimmering in amusement. “No, you couldn’t. You were gonna tell him yes.” Then, he reaches up, his finger twirling to trap a strand of hair around it before giving it a soft tug. “Plus, you shouldn’t have to. You don’t have to prove your strength. I already know how strong you are.” 

Letting go of your hair, he doesn’t give you time to recover from your slight shock, his hand patting at your hip for a brief second. The touch is so quick that you barely have time to realize it happened before he’s walking away, calling over his shoulder. “Come on. Your lunch break’s over. Cases won’t close themselves.”

[justmeinadaze]

Curiosity: Part 2 (Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

Warnings: Younger (Early 20s) Daddy (kinda camboy) Eddie & Older (early 30s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, SO MUCH dirty talk <3, daddy kink (cause I'm me), praise, SPANKING <3, light slapping, male masturbation, of course aftercare

FLUFF, Eddie always talking about how beautiful she is <3

ANGST, Eddie still doesn't know Y/N is the girl he's talking to online, mentions of a bad past relationship (she talks about how an ex made her feel like there was something wrong with her size; brief, "sweetie you're too big..."), Y/N gets a bit sassy and Eddie doesn't know how to handle it cause they haven't had the talk about their relationship (yells at her). I think that's it. I know those are the biggies.

More than anything this is him showing her more about the Daddy life and helping her realize she's beautiful inside and out.

Word Count: 7007

Chapter 1/ Donate to Me <3

“Hey, Y/N. I need my laptop back to finish this—Oh shit! I’m so sorry.”, your roommate shouted as she immediately backed out of your bedroom and shut the door. “In my defense, it’s not normal for you to have a boy over!”

“Well, that’s good to know.”, Eddie murmurs making you laugh as cover your face in embarrassment. 

“Give me a minute, Kelsey!”, you shout as you start to get out of bed. “I’ll be right back. Um, feel free to use my bathroom if you need to.”

“Is it ok if I smoke?”, he asks as he gestures towards the double doors in your bedroom that lead to the balcony. 

“Oh, absolutely. Just, um, make yourself at home.”

Raising his eyebrows in amusement, he grabs your wrist and playfully tugs you down so his lips can kiss yours. 

“You’re really adorable.”

Smirking, you caress his cheek as he bites his bottom lip and pokes your nose.

As soon as you exit your room and hand her her laptop, your roommate begins her interrogation. 

“Who the fuck is that? He’s so cute! Tell me everything!”

“Can we do this later? I’m so exhausted.”

“I’ll bet you are.”, Kelsey laughs as you narrow your eyes towards her playfully. “Ok, fine, but YOU are washing those sheets, ma’am.”

“Noted.”

After pouring a cup of coffee for each of you, you reenter your bedroom to find Eddie still outside almost finished with his cigarette. 

“Hey, I brought you some caffeine if you want some.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Did you get the third degree?”

“Kind of but I was able to get a reprieve if I promised to tell her more later.”

The metalhead smirks as he nods, tossing his smoke over the banister before following you back inside and wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“I had a good time with you last night.”, he murmurs as you lean back into his chest and crane your neck to kiss his lips. “Um, before we continue…this…there’s something I have to tell you.”

Eddie places you on the edge of the bed and grabs one of your chairs in your room to place it in front of you. 

“Ok, so, uh, remember when I told you I had a second job?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “It’s not actually a job-job but more a website…I, um, I have an OnlyFans…where I take off my clothes and…jerk off…for money. Sometimes, very rarely, I’m intimate with one of my friends who’s been doing this kind of thing for years but…”

His expressive, chocolate eyes search your face, trying to get a read on any emotion you might be feeling to his news. 

“Alright, not going to lie, I half expected you to call me a whore and be disgusted so the fact that you’re incredibly quiet makes me nervous.”, he shakily laughs as he waits for you to speak. 

“Do you like it?”

Eddie blinks in surprise as he leans back in his seat. 

“Um, I mean, I don’t hate it but I can understand why you might.”

“Me personally or other women?” The metalhead breathily exhales as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t think you’re a whore and it…doesn’t bother me. I…Eddie, I have to tell you—”

His lips cut you off as he tenderly kisses them, pushing your body back against the bed and placing himself on top of you. 

“You’re so cool.”, he murmurs making you giggle as his smile grows. “Did, uh, did you have any questions or…?”

“Can I see it? Your set up?”

***

“Normally, a lot of people just like use their phones or something but I guess my gamer roots needed a bit more.”, Eddie jokes as you watch him log into his computer from the chair he placed beside him. 

“I didn’t know you game.”

“Oh, um, I’m not very good at it but my friends play so we’ll have like guy nights and just run around shooting each other in the virtual world.”

While he continued to talk your eyes couldn’t help but wonder down his very kissable throat to his broad shoulders and along his forearm to his hand that quickly clicked the mouse it was holding. 

“Alright, so this is my camera obviously. On this screen here I put my equipment controls including the reflection of me on the camera so I can make sure I’m in frame. On the other, I have the site up where I can see their messages to me.”

“Their?”

“My…fans…”

“Are they rude to you or anything?”

“Not all of them.”, he smirks as he glances your way. “I actually made a friend the other day but I don’t know her name. We’re just friends though I swear.”, Eddie quickly confirms. 

“What do you say to people when they watch you?”

“I have an initial stream where I just let people get to know me but after an hour I go into a private stream they paid for. I…fuck this is so weird explaining.”, he laughs nervously. “I say stuff like about my cock while I touch myself. Sometimes they ask about my friend I told you about…the one I film with.”

“What’s her name?”

“Steve.”

As he says his friend’s name, his worried eyes lock with your own thinking that this may finally be the one step that’s a step too far. 

“Can you give me a demonstration?”

“How so?”

“Like…if you were on camera and I had paid to see you…what would you do?”

An anxious laugh leaves his lips as he turns his chair to face you. 

“I’m not exactly prepared.”, he teases as he gestures towards his crotch area. 

“So, you’re telling me you’re always hard when you start to stream?”, you sass making him smile as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. 

“No, I guess not.” 

His eyes remain on you as he stands up and shuffles out of his jeans, tossing them haphazardly to the floor before reaching into his boxers to pull his dick out. 

“Do you do the Daddy thing with them?” Languidly, he strokes himself as he leans back and answers you with a soft but firm mhmm. “When did you realize that’s something you enjoyed?”

“I always knew. What about you?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never done that…this…before.”, you shyly respond, smiling a bit when you notice his wrist flick and his cock twitch slightly at your confession. 

“I never would have guessed that with h-how easily you call me that.”

“Things seem to be easy with you.”

At your words, you nervously giggle as you hide behind your hands.

His chair creaks slightly as he leans over and a long line of spit leaves his mouth to land on the mushroom head of his length before he strokes it along his shaft a bit faster than he had been.

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea how much shit like that turns me on. The shy little laugh with the innocent eyes. I like kn-knowing I’m the first man to make you feel that way. I wish I was your first everything but…”, Eddie chuckles. 

“It felt like it with that monster between your legs.”, you laugh, interrupted when his free hand grabs the arm of your chair and yanks you closer to him. 

“Did you like the way it felt…Daddy’s cock stretching you open?”

Eddie whispering dirty words was one thing but having them strain from his beautiful lips as he stared into your irises was another. Biting your lip, you tried to duck away again but his palm hastily cupped your cheek forcing you to remain still. 

“Answer me, pretty girl.”

“Yes, I liked it.”

“Liked what…say it.”

The metalhead smirked as you tried to duck away nervously again but his hand kept you in place. 

“I l-like the way your cock felt stretching m-me open…”

“Good girl, always such a good girl for Daddy. Can you pull down those sweats and open your legs for me so I can have another look at those cute panties you put on?”

You do as he asks and the man heavily sighs as his eyes trace along your legs to the cotton blocking your core. 

“They’re a little wet. Do you like watching Daddy touch himself?”

“Y-Yes, I like watching you… I think you’re incredibly handsome…especially like this…”

“You keep calling me handsome, babe, and I might grow an ego.”, Eddie chuckles feeling your energy lighten. “I think you’re incredibly beautiful. I l-like looking at your legs especially your thighs.”

“My fat thighs.”, you tease but your eyes momentarily shift to the void before finding his once more to notice they’ve darkened slightly. 

“Did you mean that negatively…like your ‘fat’ thighs are a problem?”

“I-I-I mean…”

When you absently shrug as if it’s common knowledge, the boy growls under his breath as you watch his jaw tighten and his nose scrunch in what seems like anger.

“What?”, you murmur, repeating yourself when his only response is to pump his fist a bit faster and harder. 

“Your weight doesn’t affect how fucking gorgeous you are.”

“I’m sorry.”, you whine. “I d-didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Mmph—you didn’t upset me, Y/N. The idea of you or anyone else thinking about you that way…upsets me.”

Surging forward, you kiss his lips, reveling in the taste of nicotine that lingers, thankful that he allows it even though you feel him not fully reciprocating. 

“Jesus Christ.”, Eddie grumbles and you open your eyes just in time to see his spend hit thigh.

Silently, he reaches for his tissues to clean himself while his face remains furrowed.

“I’ve never liked the way you talk about yourself.”, he mumbles, taking the Kleenex and throwing them away. 

“I’m just…I was just joking…”

“At your own expense?”

“Is this really what you want to talk about after what we just did?”

Eddie huffs as he grabs his pack of cigarettes and puts one between his teeth before lighting the end. 

“YOU’RE the one who brought it up in the middle of what we just did. I’m just tired of it. If it’s not your weight, it’s your age and you make it sound like you’re undesirable or something. Did someone make you feel that way?”

Your head swiftly turns to glare into the void. Eddie’s seen that look before on many people he’s annoyed with his loudmouth in the past. 

He hit a nerve. 

“Look, I’ve been single for a while so I’ve mastered the art of self-deprecating jokes. I’m sorry I fucking hurt your feelings or whatever with a comment about ME.”

Angerly, you get to your feet and reach for your pants but he beats you to it, effortlessly tugging them from your grasp. 

“I think it’s time we talk about some things.”

“I don’t want to. Now give me my pants, little boy, and take me home!”

At your words a fire let within him that reflected through his eyes startling you slightly even though you kept your glare firm. 

“Little boy, huh?”, he growls roughly before taking an inhale of his cigarette and blowing smoke to the side. You stumbled backwards slightly as he released his hold on your sweats and sat back down. “You can wait outside and I’ll pay for the fucking uber. Get out of my house.”

“Eddie, I—”

“No. Get your shit and fucking leave. I don’t think you’re ready to see how I handle bratty behavior.”

“Y-You won’t even take me home?”

“I can make sure you get there from the app. Now, this is the last time I’m going to say it…Get…out.” You heard it in his tone; the anger mixed with the pain. You calling him that also struck a nerve but your wall went up and you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing him this way wishing you could take back your words. 

“Eddie, I’m…I’m really sorry—”

“NOW!”

You jumped as his deep shout rung in your ears before quickly scurrying out the door. 

##################

Eddie called in the next day and every time you tried to text or call his phone, he didn’t answer. 

You were worried. 

At least that’s what you told yourself to justify taking your roommates laptop and signing in to the OnlyFans account to schedule a session with him that evening.

When his face illuminated the screen, he seemed to be hidden under a haze of smoke. 

“Millennial, babe, you don’t have to keep paying for sessions. I can give you my phone number so we can talk.”, he chuckles as you watch him bring a bong to his lips and inhale. “I hope it’s alright I’m a little buzzed.”

“Are you ok? You seem sad.”

When his glassy eyes and slurred smile find the camera, you would give anything to hug him and hold him in your arms. 

“I am a little. That girl I told you about came over yesterday after a fucking perfect night together…and I showed her my set up…She was surprising cool with it, by the way.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah…we, um, she called me handsome and I told her she was beautiful; told her how much I love her gorgeous legs and thighs. I swear, Mill, I could fucking live between those thighs… I’ve been watching them move when she walks since we started working together and…fuck me… Now that I’ve experienced them wrapped around me…I’m obsessed.”

“But…”

Eddie’s chocolate irises shifted to the floor as his smirk faltered for a few seconds. 

“She always makes little jabs at her weight or her age and it fucking kills me. Like how can she not see how goddamn beautiful she is and those things aren’t mutually exclusive. Her having some extra meat on her bones or being older has nothing to do with her physical traits. And that’s not even what matters to me…it’s just an added bonus that she’s hot.”

“Did you tell her all this?”

Eddie shakes his head as he reclines in his seat. 

“Daddy got in the way.”

“Ok, you’re going to need to explain that. Lol.”

 “Look, I assumed by the way she called me Daddy she had been in a dynamic like that before but she told me last night it was new for her.”

“Ok, I’m lost.”

The metalhead rolls his eyes playfully as he sticks his tongue out at you making you smile. 

“She got sassy and called me ‘little boy’. As soon as I heard it, I wanted to punish her right then and there.”

“Punish?”

“Yeah, I have my own methods that usually has my partner turning into liquid goo but…”, he laughs. “We haven’t had that talk yet. We haven’t had any conversation about our relationship. I don’t know what’s too far or no goes. I apparently said SOMETHING to upset her but I don’t know what because her wall went up. The whole thing just ignited that side of me and since I don’t know how comfortable she is with all that…I had to ask her to leave. I knew…if she kept pushing… I might not be able to stop myself from throwing her over my knee and spanking that perfect ass.”

“Eddie lol”

“I’m serious, honey. Fuck, just the thought is making me hard.”

“Why don’t you show her?”

“My hard dick? I think that ship has sailed.”

“No! Lol. Show her what a punishment would look like. Give her a demonstration. If she’s open to calling you Daddy and trying all this, then show her everything THIS is.”

“Be Daddy and guide her.”

He reads your words over and over, his eyes flicking towards the camera as his eyebrows dip in what looks like confusion. 

“Give her a demonstration, huh?”

“Shit.”

You forgot that was the wording you used with him when he told you about his OnlyFans. 

“You know, Millennial. You’re so smart. See…this is why we’re friends.”, he laughs, seeming not to notice the identical wording. “Give me your number! I feel bad that you pay just to talk when we can do that for free.”

“I don’t mind, sweetheart. You deserve all the good things.”

***

“No, sir, I’m not…I’m just trying to explain our policy. If I could change it…Please, sir, please…please don’t scream at me.”, you sigh as you listen to the customer on the other end of the call. “Sir, I understand your frustration but…”

While you sat there strongly considering ‘accidently’ hanging up on this man yelling at you, your headset was abruptly lifted from your head and you swiveled your chair to see Eddie throw himself down in his, scooting closer to your side. 

“Hello, sir, this is Edward, the manager at this facility. How can I help you out today?”, he lied.

Your slightly surprised expression watched him earnestly as he listened to the man speak. 

“I see…Well as the representative explained, that’s not something we can compensate for…because of our policy…Sir, listen to me carefully…I said listen…You were already disrespectful to the kind person who tried to help you so you’re already on thin ice with me. If you raise your voice to me one more time, I’m going to disconnect the call.”

The echo in the speakers reverberated loudly as the customer started to scream again and the boy didn’t even hesitate as he leaned over your body to disconnect. 

“You could get in trouble for that.”

“Hm, I could but knowing this shit company I probably won’t.”, he grins as he slides back to his side of the cubicle. “Plus, no one talks like that to my work wife.”

“Eddie? I’m sorry.”

The metalhead leans back in his seat as he his soft eyes scan you over. 

“After work tonight, I’m making you dinner. Meet me at my place around 8.”

 It wasn’t a request and you had absolutely no qualms with that. When you got off, you hastily went home to change, deciding on a black dress that knotted around your waist at the side of your hips accentuating your curves a bit more and cutting off mid-thigh showing off a feature of yourself you now knew he enjoyed. 

Your black heels clacked against the path up to his front door and when Eddie opened it, you couldn’t help but feel overdressed. He was still wearing his black jeans and boots he wore to work that day but had changed into a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“Wow…you look—”

“Wait, let me guess. Handsome?”, he teases as he invites you in and shuts the door behind you. “Thank you, sweetheart. You look absolutely breath taking. Please…have a seat.” After gesturing towards his table, he pulls out your chair and you grin politely as you sit down.

Your eyes continued to watch him as the metalhead pulled up his hair and moved about the kitchen, serving finished food on a plate and placing it in front of you before filling up a glass with wine to set beside it. 

You waited patiently until he completed his tasks and sat down across from you to share the meal he made. 

“Oh my god, Eddie…This is amazing!”

“Thank you. My mom showed me how to make it when I was kid.”

The two of you casually talked but you could feel the tension in the atmosphere. You weren’t sure what it was about this man but you desperately wanted to fall to your knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness for hurting him. You wanted to curl up in his lap and kiss his face till that gorgeous smile and dorky sense of humor returned. 

You just wanted Eddie. 

“What’s going on over there?”, he asked as his studious eyes watched you slightly fold into yourself. 

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“No one’s ever made me dinner before.”, you answer, your voice slightly cracking as you lightly giggled. 

Rising to his feet, Eddie came to your side of the table and turned your body to face his as he kneeled in front of you, taking your palms in his rather large hand. 

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean to hurt you or insult you. I just…you were right. I’ve had people…relationships in my past talk about me negatively and I just—” His thumb gliding along your lips silenced you as your cheek turned into the palm he had rested against your face. “I’ve been single for a long time by choice. I’ve been so scared of getting hurt again… This whole thing with you is COMPLETELY new for me. I like you so much but there’s so many factors…my age, my weight, our work relationship… I’m scared.”

Slowly, the man pushes up to softly kiss your forehead, lingering there for a few moments and you take the opportunity to inhale his cologne while feeling the warmth that radiated from his chest.

“Come on, pretty girl.”, he whispers as he stands to his full height and takes your hand, leading down the hallway to his bedroom where he places you on the edge of his bed. 

Grabbing his desk chair, Eddie sets it directly across from you and moves till his knees lightly graze yours. 

“From this point forward tonight, you will refer to me as Daddy and you will only speak when you are spoken to. Do you understand me?”

His voice was still low but filled with a sexy husk that had your thighs rubbing together. 

“Yes, Daddy.”, you reply breathily. 

“Yes Daddy what?”

“Yes, Daddy, I understand.”

“Good.”, he nods, flashing you a gentle smile as he tilts towards you to lean on his elbows. “Now, occasionally throughout our time, I may ask you what color you are feeling. Green means good, yellow means slow down, and Red is stop.”

“Like a stop light.”

Eddie smirks as he nods. 

“Yes, honey, just like a stop light. Now…did I ask you something for you to respond?” 

Blinking, your head promptly hangs as you fiddle with your fingers. 

“No, Daddy.”

“Alright, thank you for being honest and not giving me an excuse. I’ll let that slide for right now. It won’t happen again.” Craning his neck, his lips find yours and when he pulls away you bite your bottom lip to contain your giddy smile. “Red is our safe word. If at any point, you or even Daddy says that word that means we immediately stop playing right there. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable or I’m hurting you, just say that word and we stop. No questions asked. Well…besides me making sure you’re alright and taking care of you.

What do you say if Daddy is making you uncomfortable?”

“Red.”

“Atta girl.”, he praises. “When it comes to me, there isn’t much that makes me uncomfortable but since this is all new for you, sweetheart, what are some hard no goes for you?”

“I…I’m not sure. There are things I haven’t tried in a while because of the men in my past…Daddy.” You hurry your last word when you realize you almost forgot it and thankfully he seemed to let it go. 

You were trying. 

“Can you elaborate on that for me a bit, baby?”

Your eyes squeezed shut as your ex’s voice echoed through your mind.

“God, Y/N, what are you doing?! You can’t be on top. Jesus, what were you thinking?”

“Um, no, sweetie, trust me. You can barely sit on my lap without crushing me. You think I can handle you on my face?”

“Pfft, toys and handcuffs? Baby…come on now. Bracelets I buy rarely fit around your wrists.”

A palm lightly tapping your cheek brought you back to reality as your eyes snapped open to meet Eddie’s.

“What color, Y/N?”

“Green.”, you whisper. “Green, Daddy.”

“I’m going to ask you something a bit personal and I’ll allow for this to go unanswered. Y/N, did your ex make you feel insecure about your body?”

It takes you a couple of minutes before you finally nod. 

“Yes, Daddy, and some friends I used to have.”

“Are they here in Hawkins?” You shake your head. “Good because I would fucking tear them apart.”, he growled until his eyes met yours again and softened. “How about when we play we take it one thing at a time, ok?”

“O-Ok, Daddy.”

“Good, good girl. Now, I’m into things like spanking, slapping, stuff like that. How does that make you feel?”

“I’m willing to try, Daddy. I, um, I feel like I wouldn’t like…like being hit with things like a belt or…”

“Ok, none of that. That’s more harder dominate and I’m a soft dominate. I don’t get pleasure from doing that kind of stuff. No disrespect to people that do, consensually of course.”, Eddie chuckles making you smile. 

“What do you get pleasure from?”

The man smirks as his chocolate irises scan along your frame. 

“You…and submission…”, he purrs. “Speaking of, did you just speak without being spoken to? Mhmm.”, he hums when you start to hang your head again and he catches it between his fingers. “That’s being added to the tally. I am the kind of Daddy that punishes a bad girl and you were a bad girl the last time you were here.”

Your mouth fell open as he slides backward away from you, quirking his eyebrow as if daring you to speak again which you decline. 

“One thing that really bothers Daddy is disrespect. You disrespected me when you called me ‘little boy’. Is that how you perceive me, honey?”

“No, Daddy, I swear!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I…I don’t know. I…”

“Did little girl have a big emotion she didn’t know how to handle so she just said the first mean thing that came to her mind?”

“Y-Y-Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I—”

His palm across your face gave you pause as you grab your cheek and try to catch your breath. It wasn’t a hard slap but it absolutely got your attention. 

“Color, baby?”

“Green, Daddy.”, you practically pant causing him to adjust the bulge in his jeans at the sound. 

“I didn’t ask you if you were sorry. You answer the question Daddy gives you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to spank you, Y/N. 5 for the disrespect, 5 for you speaking when you weren’t supposed to, and 5 for you disrespecting yourself.” 

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at his statement as he nods and lightly tugs on your palms signaling for you to stand. 

“Take off your dress for me, baby.”

Doing as he instructs; you glide your outfit off your shoulders and down your legs allowing it to pool below your feet. On impulse, you start to raise your arms to cover your body but he promptly grabs your wrists and forces them to your sides. 

“Did I tell you to do that?”

“No, Daddy.”

Eddie’s intense, dark eyes drink you in from head to toe and once again, he shifts himself around in his pants. 

“Goddamn, baby. We’ll have to get more matching sets for you because that black lace is fucking driving me crazy. Fuck. Lay down on your stomach with your head towards me on the bed.”

As you do what he says, the metalhead stands, unbuttoning his shirt before casually tossing it to the side and climbing on to his mattress behind you. 

“Since this is the first punishment, I’m going to take it easy and relax some of my normal rules but I do want you to count after each one. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Abruptly, he grabs your arms that had been resting under your head and holds them at the wrist behind your back. 

“Louder, Y/N! I need to be able to hear you.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“Good. Now keep your arms right fucking here.”, Eddie grumbles as you feel the bed jostle slightly. As his palms softly run along your thighs, you can’t help but moan. “I told you, baby, these thighs are fucking perfect.”

When his hand connected with your behind your entire body came to life as a squeak escaped your lips. 

“Color, honey?”

“Green, Daddy.”

“What did I say to do after I spank you?”

“C-Count. One, Daddy.”

“You seemed confused when I mentioned disrespecting yourself. Let me make it clearer.”, he declares as he hits you again and you count it off. “You always make these comments about yourself; that because you have some curves that means you’re not beautiful.”

At the word “curves”, Eddie’s palm roughly grabs the meat of your ass before he spanks you again. 

“That because you’ve lived a bit longer than someone then that means you’re not worthy of having fun or being with someone who would fucking worship you.”

*SPANK*

“That because a group of ignorant fuckers made you feel less than, then it must be true. No, baby. You. Are. Beautiful. Say it.”

“I’m beautiful.”

*SPANK*

“Louder like you fucking mean it!”

“Ahhh I’m beautiful, Daddy! I’m beautiful.”

You feel the atmosphere shift as his chest presses to your back and his lips caress the shell of your ear. 

“Inside and out, Y/N.”, he murmurs, delicately kissing your cheek before tilting back. “Now, on to you disrespecting me.”

*SPANK*

“Six, Daddy.”

“Do you think I deserved that? You speaking to me that way?”

“No, sir.”

Eddie carefully pulls down your underwear and throws them towards his closet. 

“Those are mine now. Fuck, baby girl, you’re so wet. Do you like Daddy spanking you?” You can’t help but pout at his mocking tone and in return he spanks your behind once more. “Don’t pout, little girl. You did this to yourself.”

Taking a hold of your thighs, he spread your legs open a bit more and you mewled when you felt his spit hit your pussy lips. His thumb collected the remnants and your mouth fell open as he pressed it against your clit. 

*SPANK*

“E-Eight, Daddy, fuck.”

“What are you going to do next time you feel something like that?”

“Talk to—mmph—you.”

*SPANK*

“You’ll be open with Daddy instead of calling him names like a little brat?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

*SPANK*

“Because you know Daddy’s here to take care of you and would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel unsafe.”

“Yeeesssss!”

Eddie’s fingers grasp the back of your neck as he holds you down and applies the perfect amount of pressure to your clit with his thumb that has your eyes rolling as you come undone. 

While your body continued to spasm from pleasure, he gently turned you on to your side till your front half was facing him. 

“You’re doing so well, baby, taking your punishment like a good girl. We’re almost done. What color are we at, sweetheart?”, he softly cooed as he pets your hair. 

“Green, Daddy.”

“Good. You wouldn’t lie to Daddy right?”

“No.”, you giggle as you keen into the mattress causing a knowing smile to flicker along his lips. 

You’re exactly where he wants you to be; you’ve dropped into the right headspace and thankfully, you seem comfortable. 

Pushing back onto his knees, Eddie fumbles with his belt buckle and your wide, glassy eyes find his as he frees his cock from its confinement. 

“Open your mouth, pretty girl.” Without question, you do what he asks and your eyes flutter closed as he guides himself inside. “You don’t have to count anymore but I want you to keep still and let Daddy use you, ok?”

When you nod, he utilizes one palm to grip your hair as his other spanks your behind. You moan around him and his chest vibrates at the feeling. 

“Shit…atta girl. That’s my girl.” His hand comes down once more while he steadily thrusts his hips. “Tap my thigh if it’s too much, baby, since your mouth is full. Fuck, I wish you could see how gorgeous you are right now.”

*SPANK*

“That’s it. Tongue flat…breathe through y-your nose…”

When his hand comes down this time, the one he has threaded through your hair clings down tighter as he remains still feeling you gag around him. 

“You can take it, baby, fuck! A couple more seconds!”

When he finally pulls back, Eddie spanks you one final time and fully lets you go to allow his face to be level with your own. 

“You did so good, baby girl. What color are you at?”

You cough as he continues to caress your face but instead of answering, you startle him when you dive into his embrace, pushing him back against his pillows as you cry. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Daddy. I promise…I’ll try to be more open with you…and talk to you when I’m…feeling something. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I really appreciate that. Can you answer my question for me so I know you’re alright?”

“I’m ok. Green, Daddy, Green.” Eddie smiles as he tilts back to kiss your sweaty forehead. “The zipper of your pants is kind of pinching me though.”, you jest, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he laughs and adjusts you both till he’s on top of you after pulling off his jeans the rest of the way. 

“Sorry, pretty girl. Here, let’s take this off.”

As he reaches blindly behind your back to unhook your bra, you tenderly trail soft kisses along his shoulder to the crook of his neck. After the garment falls to the floor beside the bed, the metalhead’s lips latch on to your nipple and on impulse your legs wrap around him as your fingers tangle in his hair trying to pull him closer. 

“Fuck, everything on you tastes so sweet.”, Eddie whispers against your skin as his tongue licks between the valley of your chest to your neck. 

While he sucks that sweet spot along your throat, you feel him reach between your bodies before you both groan as he guides his cock into your entrance. 

“Your okay, baby. Daddy’s got you.” His words cause your pussy to clench tighter around him and he grunts at the feeling as he lifts his head to rest his forehead on yours. “Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart.”

Eddie watches you struggle to do what he asked as your eyelids flutter open and your jaw drops, your breath warming his mouth as he rolls his hips. The contrast between the gruffness earlier to the softness now felt so euphoric and you were enjoying every minute of it. 

Pushing up onto his palms, he picked up his rhythm, firmly pumping his length deeper inside you than anyone else had ever been. 

“Don’t—shit—don’t take those beautiful eyes off me.”

“Y-You feel…feel so good…”

“Yeah? Daddy’s cock feels good? Keep talking to me, baby.”

“Don’t…don’t stop…please. I need to feel you cum.”

A breathy fuck left his lips as his head hung and the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of his hair tie grazed cheek. Your hands found purchase on any part of his body you could touch, his sweaty chest, his muscular back, and his equally damp neck. You leaned up to press your mouth to his and the taste of his tongue mingling with yours was more than enough to drive you over the edge. 

Eddie felt it immediately, falling flat against you to roll his hips as hard as he could till you body shook and came. 

“Good…good girl. Daddy’s gonna give you what you want.”, he whispered with exasperation, desperate for his own release. After a sexy smirk and a soft caress of his nose against yours, his head fell to the side as he chased his high, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room till you heard him loudly grunt in your ear. 

His fingers dug into the pillow beside you as he slammed his spend into your cunt and your limbs clung tightly around him, guiding his movement with your palms on his ass.

You were in such a total state of bliss you didn’t even feel him get out of bed until you were being lifted into the air. 

“Whoa, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m just taking you to the shower. You’re ok.”, he comforted as you quickly clung to his neck. 

You hissed briefly when warm water hit your behind but once it subsided, you melted into the water pressure. Eddie kneeled in front of you and tenderly kissed parts of your skin as he reached for something behind you. It took you a moment to realize what he was doing, surprising you when the feel of a washrag carefully glided along your frame. 

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever taken the time to do any kind of aftercare let alone be this in depth. Your eyes carefully watched as he focused in on his task, being extra gentle when the rag ran along his handprints on your ass. 

Rising to his feet, he cleaned the rest of you and as soon as he was done, you (a bit roughly) wrapped your arms around his waist as you placed your head against his chest. His own arms circled around you, holding you to him as he rested his cheek on top of your hair. You listened to his heartbeat as he silently held you; for how long you weren’t sure nor did you care. 

When you finally pulled back and your eyes met his, you saw nothing but care.

After spinning you around, you giggled as he allowed the water to drench his hair and body while he haphazardly ran his palm with soap along his skin. When Eddie was done, he made you laugh harder as he turned off the faucet and shook his head like a dog in your direction while trying to contain his own smile. 

“Wait right here for one second, ok?”, he asked after guiding you out and handing you a towel. 

The metalhead wasn’t gone for long and when he returned, he hastily dried you making you realize that you hadn’t even begun doing the task yourself waiting for him to come back and take care of you. 

When he brought you back out into his bedroom, you took note that he changed the sheets and laid out some essentials onto his mattress. Once he had a pair of boxers on, Eddie turned you away from him as he took a seat on his bed and after a few moments you felt something cold touch your skin. 

“Op, sorry. I should have given you a little warning. This is lotion to prevent any kind of bruising or anything like that to this sexy ass.”, he conveys, his smile growing when you laugh. “You may be a bit sore for a day or two but… Do you feel like you need anything else, honey? Ice or anything?”

“No, thank you.”, you reply in a small voice that tells him you’re still slightly in that headspace.

“Ok, pretty girl. How are feeling in here?”, Eddie asks as his fingers reach up to playfully tap your forehead. 

“I feel ok…calm…I’ve never…no one has ever taken care of me after.”

The boy notices your expression sadden slightly and as he pulls a big shirt over your head; he kisses your lips and brings you closer to him. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me, sweetheart. No matter what, Daddy will take care of you and do aftercare. That’s another important rule, ok? After we play, I need you to be open and honest with me about how you feel. If you’re in pain or your head feels a bit heavy and low, let me know.”

“I promise.”

Nodding to himself, he reaches for the water bottle he brought, handing it to you so you can chug some of it back before handing it off to him who promptly finishes the rest and tosses it towards the trashcan. 

“What about you?”

“What do you mean, babe?”

Blinking and shifting bashfully, you try to answer his question while in your current headspace. 

“How do I…aftercare you?”

Eddie beams up at you so wide you can’t help but blush before he circles his arms around your waist and pulls you back into his bed. 

“Taking care of you is my aftercare but I love that you asked me that. I promise though, if I need anything I’ll be open and honest with you.” His gaze shifts for a moment as a thought passes. “This is more a less what being in a sexual relationship with me is like, Y/N. Was there anything I did that you would rather we not do?”

“I liked it, Eddie…all of it.”

“Good…good. That’s why I had you leave the other day. We hadn’t had this talk yet and I didn’t know what you were comfortable with. When it comes to being Daddy, I can be stern when I need to be. When I’m with Steve, we usually do the harder stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Restraints, slapping, toys, humiliation…”

“Maybe…maybe I can watch one day…if you’re comfortable with that.”

Eddie’s slightly surprised expression meets your serious one. 

“Are you sure? I sense that you’ve been through some things…I mean you alluded to…I don’t want you to feel like I’m cheating on you… I haven’t even been on my site except to talk to that friend I told you about.”

Fuck…I forgot about that…

“Eddie, I have to tell you something.” 

As his soft, earnest eyes waited for you speak, you couldn’t help the fear that weld up in your throat. Eddie was the nicest, most caring man you had ever been with and you were afraid once you came clean you’d lose him. 

You just got him back after hurting him once already…

“I…just wanted to tell you…it doesn’t bother me. I know you’re only doing it for the money.”

The metalhead breathes a sigh of relief as he leans down to kiss your lips. 

####################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @twirls827 @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @hardladyheart @spiderxbatty @twirls827 @daveythorntonslocker @eddies-dungeon-and-dragon @mrsjellymunson @utterlyinsanity

[junkdrawerthoughts]

You guys, I am down on my hands and knees begging you to please stop putting random things in the {character} x reader tags. 🙏🏻

I’m talking about things like answering asks that don’t have the fic actually written in the ask, random life updates, random story non-updates apologizing to the entire fandom for not updating or saying that you plan to update soon.

And please, can we stop tagging other characters x reader fics in another character’s x reader tag?

I’m really bad at gauging how things could come across over text, so I wanna clarify just incase that I don’t mean this in a hateful way at all. It’s just that it makes it so incredibly hard to find fics when the tags are filled up with a bunch of other stuff, you know what I mean?

Take Azriel for example—Azriel x Reader is incredibly popular, and that’s totally fine, but the Azriel girlies don’t have to spend a whole lot of time looking for Az fics, because he’s a fan fav and lots of writers enjoy writing for him. But then if you go and tag Az fics or other posts in the Rhysand or Cassian x Reader tags, it makes it difficult for Rhysand and Cassian girlies to find the fics they’re looking for. They don’t get as many fics written about them, so it pushes those fics down deep in the tags, and it kind of becomes a hunt to find them sometimes.

And once again using the Az tag as an example for posting random things, because Azriel gets so much attention, having a bunch of extra stuff in the fic tag pushes a lot of stuff down. So, if somebody were to take a little time off tumblr for say something as little as a week or two, it takes infinitely longer to catch up on all the wonderful fics that have been posted because you have to scroll through a ton of other stuff that either aren’t fics or aren’t Az fics.

I say all this because I’m a mood reader. The batboy that I’m fucking with today depends on how I’m feeling, so I bounce around a lot, and it can get frustrating sometimes trying to find fics—especially older fics for say Rhys or Cass once I’ve read everything current.

We all know Tumblr tagging sucks and the search function is kind of ass, but they don’t really seem to care about that lol, so we kind of have to help each other out by making sure we tag things properly and leave out things that don’t belong, you know?

P.S. I’ll probably get rid of this in a couple days so it doesn’t clog up the tags, but I really kind of needed to talk about it a little because it’s been bothering me for months.

[lukolastrong]

this is my two cents on the topic, nobody asked for lol. The question everyone is asking- why now?? Many months later? So either Nic is trying to tell everyone, Luke & I are besties with partners or Nic & Luke are a family ( I say family if you follow Fiat & Fran. It the answer is option 1, cool! We are adults. This shouldn’t change how you see Nic and Luke BUT, why now lol. If Nic and Luke were just besties, why now follow Anotina back in June when luke was being bullied everyday. A simple hit of the button”follow” would have stopped majority of the troll behavior to Luke. But nooooo, she didn’t follow in June, July, august, September, October, November, December, or January but chooses February to now follow 👀. If you follow Fiat & Fran, they have explained in great detail, why February is an important month.

let’s be honest, Luke was unhinged- and we love it- last night. He lights up around her. Nic tries to play it cool with buddy vibes but soon, she can’t keep up the charade either. I mean, she is literally touching Luke at the dinner tag at the event. The seats are designed to be close enough to talk to one another but space to eat and mingle. Nic’s chair is right next to and close to Luke. When they are on the red carpet, he is talking to someone and she just waits on him. She could have said, I’ll be back. Sunday was the perfect night to let the world know they are friends. They had every media outlet there. And they didn’t do that at all. They went back to no space, never being separated, sitting next to each other at the after party, Nic doing a bad job trying to act like she didn’t know Luke went to that Mexican restaurant- her response, oh you did! Ma’am you know this, you just saw him last night lol. Luke staying: Nic this and Nic that. Nic keeps talking about that baby like it’s their baby. She did that at the Irish award show. It confused on interviewer. Then when the ET lady said- we need a happy ending, Luke just looks at her and smile, awkward silence and Nic goes- hey hey. WTF was that!!!! Now they have people who didn’t know them or part of the GA watching them.

lastly, sorry for the book lol. Fiat made this comment months ago. Luke fell on the sword for his family. Luke would give his kidney to Nic. He took a lot of abuse this summer. What if Nic is falling on the sword for Luke to protect their family. Nic is doing all this to protect something or someone. It may look crazy to some people but it’s doing what she feels is best. I hate to say it, but I fear- if together, Nic and Luke are going to get papped soon. Nic is trying to control the narrative and pookie is no help on that lol. They do compliment one another. Luke is unhinged in person but great with his SM presence. Nic is great with her lives, but she is unhinged on SM lol. I think Nic is on tumblr so she is seeing when people said- why not just follow Antonia.

Thanks for reading.

Don’t apologize anon, I love this. I like the thought process you’re putting out. I agree with so many things you said. The timing is of the follow is definitely weird. But idc about it honestly. I actually laughed when I first saw it all over X, the tweets were so funny. She isn’t fooling anyone! She realized what her and Luke did (reveal that they’re still unhinged together and completely in love) and is trying to throw a curve ball. Or, as I’ve seen, is to help A? Idk. I’m still trying to gather information and figure out where I land on this.

That middle paragraph is 💯. Luke and Nic couldn’t get enough of each other and it was so obvious. They light up together but I agree, Lukey pookie was even more obvious about it. He loves that woman so much.

He did get so much hate, unfairly and we know there was a lot going on bts. She can try to control it as much as she wants but the cat is out of the bag 🙂‍↔️ I hope they don’t get papped either. I want them to come out on their time, when they’re ready. Umm if she is, hello Nic 🤭👀

[matchalovertrait]

Aaand that's the end of Operation Fox! 🥳 Well done, team!! Thanks to the The Double Diamond agents of S.I.M.S. for showing us how it's done!

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[It was Antonio knocking on the window! Once he got Dulce’s attention, he pointed at himself as if to say “it’s me!”]

DULCE: Antonio?? How???

[She opened the window to let him inside.]

[Antonio climbed through the window and that’s when Dulce noticed the... ledge? Thingy? Whatever that is. How’d he get up here? They’re on the second floor. Hold on, is he actually Spider-Man...]

ANTONIO: Why are you still here??? I was waiting for you to get out.

DULCE: I was getting the job done. I unlocked a safe and switched out the notebooks. We can go now.

ANTONIO: Oh. [Pause.] Well done.

DULCE: What were YOU doing? And what was all that noise in the hallways?

Story Time...

ANTONIO: Well before I did anything, I glanced at a tablet that one of the “guards” held. The idiots had their entire schedule on display, which confirmed my beliefs: They’re not actual, qualified ones. Meaning, they likely weren’t that threatening.

“DOG-WALKING GIG” “BUILD IKEA FURNITURE GIG” “PRETEND BOYFRIEND GIG” “TUTORING GIG” “FAKE SECURITY GUARD GIG”

ANTONIO: Still, I exercised caution. I stealthily walked to one of the rooms and closed it as loud as possible. Then, those two ran to the locked door and demanded I let them in. “Guests aren’t allowed in the rooms,” they said.

ANTONIO: I took a risk and posed as Caruso through the locked door. I do a surprisingly convincing Italian accent, by the way. I told them I was changing into a spare costume and to leave me alone.

ANTONIO: They wouldn’t budge at first and pounded at the door—I might’ve threatened to have Isabela deduct their pay. Anyway, they backed off but they got too quiet for my liking.

ANTONIO: I exited through the sliding door to access the ladder outside. I remembered the “blueprints” Matth- I mean “Fuego” had access to. I knew it was only a matter of time before “security” brought the real Caruso.. Or possibly Isabela, if she’s here.

ANTONIO: Once on the roof, I paced around and kept an eye out for you.

ANTONIO: I expected you to leave soon, but I didn’t see you. So, I made my way over here to check what was wrong. It was not easy getting down from the roof... there isn’t a ladder on this side.

DULCE: Well, we should go now if the guards have reported this! Come on!

[The two headed out the window, making sure to lock it to cover their tracks.]

DULCE: Wow, we’re so high up.

[Dulce smiled. It would be a dangerous climb, but the adrenaline was exhilarating.]

[They tried to make their way down quickly yet quietly once they saw some people in the backyard. Dulce was ever so grateful for her athleticism.]

DULCE: Careful now.

[Once they made it to the ground unharmed, they ran as fast they could to safety!]

[Antonio’s car was at a park about two miles away. They had to keep running.]

?: What are you doing?

[Who was that?! Dulce and Antonio turned their heads, ready for the next obstacle.]

[It was two girls talking to each other! What a relief.]

GIRL #1: I’m taking a break.

GIRL #2: The power turned back on! C’mon, let’s keep dancing.

DULCE: Oh my gosh! I think we made it out of this alive. Let’s get out of here for real!

ANTONIO: No need to tell me twice.

[st3f13ily]

Jealousy?? Yeah, Right

Summary: Two weeks have gone by since that day, and now Satoru's latest mission is over, he decided to make a new one! Operation: The art of (not) making you jealous!

Timeline: Teenage Arc (2006)

Dual pov

Previous | Gojo Satoru Masterlist | Next (soon!)

Your Perspective

You noticed it immediately.

The Gojo Satoru is weird.

Well, weirder than usual.

He is standing by the vending machine, leaning against it with all the grace of a soap opera playboy, talking to some random girl from who knows where. His arm is propped up against the machine like he’s in some kind of drama scene.

He laughs.

Loudly.

Obnoxiously.

As if the girl just told the funniest joke in the world.

She looks confused. You feel confused. The vending machine probably feels confused.

And then it click.

You know Gojo Satoru . You know how he operates. You know he likes to poke and prod at people until they snap just to amuse himself.

So it's probably one of his harmless pranks again, he is probably thinking something ridiculous right now.

And yet.

And yet.

Why does your stomach feel weird?

His glasses are pushed onto his head, revealing those ridiculously blue eyes, and they’re locked onto the girl with full intensity.

Your fingers twitch.

It's fine.

You don't care.

You don't care.

But he leans closer, 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲. His hand rests against the vending machine, caging her like some shoujo manga protagonist.

What the!!

That's his signature move.

He actually do that to other girls also??

The worst part? that girl giggles, her cheek turning red.

Then your fingers clench into a fist.

This is stupid. You know it's stupid. You know him too well to fall for this nonsense. It's so obviously a trick, one of his dumb pranks, because every few seconds, his eyes dart toward you, checking for a reaction.

He's trying to make me jealous.

And gosh, it's working.

The realization makes your blood boil. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but your pride won’t let you just walk over there and call him out.

No.

You will not give him the satisfaction.

You turn on your heel, heading in the opposite direction.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You don’t.

But the second you hear another giggle from that girl, your feet betray you and start marching straight toward him.

Gojo is mid-sentence, saying something ridiculous.

His attention snaps to you instantly. The girl looks between you both, suddenly nervous.

You don’t even look at her.

"What are you doing?" Your voice is sharp.

Gojo’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You knew that from the very start!! You even planned it, idiot!

You scoffed "Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

He tilts his head. "Ooh~~ someone's a little grumpy"

You scoff, forcing yourself to get away. "Whatever. Do what you want." You turn to leave.

But then, because he’s an idiot, he says something that snaps the last thread of your patience.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn back around. "What?"

Gojo grins. "I mean, you are acting kinda—"

"I am not jealous," you snap, cutting him off immediately.

His grin widens. "Ohhh? Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

Your fingers twitch.

Gosh, you hate him.

You hate him so much.

You glare at him for another long second before huffing, spinning on your heel, and stomping away.

Gojo watches you go, grinning to himself. Then, without a second thought, he jogs after you, leaving the poor, confused girl behind.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

"...I hate you."

"You love me."

You keep walking, gritting your teeth.

His Perspective

Ok, so—it probably wasn't the best idea.

In theory, it should’ve been flawless.

Step one: Flirt with some random girl in an over-the-top, ridiculous way.

Step two: Make sure you were watching.

Step three: Watch as you get adorably jealous and storm over to me, demanding my attention.

Easy, right?

𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴.

Because now you’re standing across the courtyard, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching, and you look pissed.

And for the first time in my life, I’m actually kind of nervous.

I glance at the girl in front of me—uh, what’s-her-name again? Doesn’t matter. I barely hear what she’s saying because I’m too busy sneaking glances at you.

Are you watching closely?

Are you jealous yet?

Come on, react.

I lean against the vending machine, flashing my best smirk. "Wow, your hair is so shiny! Like... premium-grade sweets!"

The girl blinks. I blink. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear Nanami sigh.

....Huh. It sounded way better in my head.

Crap. OK. Damage control.

I push my sunglasses onto my head and try again. "And your eyes! They’re like... uh, a limited-edition soda flavor! Super rare! A once-in-a-lifetime color!"

Silence.

The girl just let out a plain laugh.

I sneak another glance at you.

You’re still watching. But now—oh. Oh.

Your fingers are clenched into fists. Your shoulders are tense.

Your jaw is tight.

And—holy shit—are you actually jealous?

I fight the urge to grin. Oh, this is way better than I planned.

Then, suddenly—movement.

Your marching straight towards me! Oh crap.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, voice sharp. I barely processed two words because—wow you are close.

This is great!!

I smirk, tilting my head. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You glare at me. Glare. At me.

And for some reason, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

"Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

Liar. This girl is completely fine. I think. She seems fine, but it seems like she wants to get out already.

"Ooh~~ someone a little grumpy"

Your fingers twitch, like you’re debating whether to punch me or strangle me. I kind of like both options. But then, you were about to leave. "Whatever, do what you want."

You’re leaving. And I can't help myself but just say it.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You slowly turn back around, eyes sharp enough to kill a man. "What?"

I widen my grin. "I mean, you are acting kinda—

"I am not jealous." Ohhh, you’re so jealous.

I step closer, dropping my voice just a little. "Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you this close to exploding.

And gosh, it’s so cute.

Then suddenly, you huff, spin on your heel, and stomp away.

Wait.

Wait.

You’re leaving?

No, no, absolutely not.

Without a second thought, I ditch the random girl and jog after you.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

You pause. I can feel you resisting. Then, without turning around, you mutter, "...I hate you."

I grin, catching up to bump my shoulder against yours.

"You love me."

You didn't tell me to leave. So, Yeah, I totally won.

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

Read Part 5 on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr on 3/07

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Between the City & the Stars Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 💜

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1)

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @thebiggerbear

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @impala-dreamer

[umlewis]

How Lewis Hamilton Finally Got His Ferrari Red

On Valentine’s Day, Lewis Hamilton enters a sprawling studio space in northwest London and intently stares at the magnificent creature standing off in the distance.

“Sh-t,” says Hamilton to no one in particular. “I’m nervous.”

Soon enough, however, the seven-time Formula One world champion overcomes his anxiety and is standing face-to-face with a shiny black stallion named Aroma. He pets his nose, massages his neck, generally spreads his hands all over Aroma’s thick coat. He is doing his allergies, the source of his initial fear, no favors. But Hamilton, a literal knight, is enamored, peppering the horse master with questions. Where’s Aroma from? (Portugal.) Can he sleep lying down? (Yes.) How much does he weigh? (About 1,300 lb. Only a few hundred less than Hamilton’s race car.)

He’s throwing health caution to the wind in order to commemorate his much ballyhooed move from Mercedes, where he won six of his seven F1 driver titles, to the venerated Scuderia Ferrari HP race team: a photo of himself positioned in front of an actual black horse standing on his hind legs, mimicking the Italian automaker’s famous logo. Like Hamilton, Aroma—who is retired but still does the occasional photo shoot—has an impressive resume, including appearances in Robin Hood and Maleficent, ads for Hermès and Burberry, and a Dua Lipa video; he is joined by Theo, a stunt horse you might recognize from Bridgerton, among other things. “This is going to be such an iconic picture,” says Hamilton while trying on outfits for the shoot. “Super timeless.”

That depends, of course, on what comes after. At 40, Hamilton is aiming to not only win a record eighth F1 driver title—cementing his status as the greatest F1 driver to ever live and ending the longest-ever championship drought for the most storied race team on the planet—but also fulfill a lifelong dream. His move to Ferrari, announced before the 2024 season, was shocking worldwide front-page news: he had suited up for Mercedes for more than a decade, helped build a more diverse workforce there, and hoped to someday acquire an ownership stake in the team. It seemed he would ride into the sunset with the Silver Arrows.

Hamilton had other ideas. “You can’t stand still for too long,” Hamilton tells TIME, in his first in-depth interview about his decision to leave Mercedes for Ferrari. “I needed to throw myself into something uncomfortable again. Honestly, I thought all my firsts were done. Your first car, your first crash, your first date, first day of school. The excitement I got by the idea of, ‘This is my first time in the red suit, the first time in the Ferrari.’ Wow. Honestly, I’ve never been so excited.”

During the 2024 F1 season, Hamilton, out of respect for Mercedes—with whom he was still under contract and racing—didn’t talk much about the switch. The situation was awkward and unprecedented. (Picture LeBron James suiting up for the Los Angeles Lakers knowing he’d be playing the following year for a rival, like the Boston Celtics. Exactly. It would never happen.) All sides appear to have handled it as professionally as possible: Hamilton ended a 945-day losing streak by winning his hometown race, at Silverstone in Britain, in July before winning again in Belgium three weeks later. Meanwhile Carlos Sainz, the Ferrari driver whom Hamilton is replacing this year, helped Scuderia finish second in the constructor, or team, standings, just a few points behind 2024 champion McLaren.

Hamilton’s road to the title record won’t be easy. Some critics have questioned Ferrari’s strategy of signing an aging driver, whose best days could very well be in the rearview. They’ve wondered whether Ferrari’s more interested in marketing than winning—Hamilton is still F1’s most popular driver, by a mile, as well as an internationally known cultural figure with a hand in fashion, film, and business. (He’s co-chairing the Met Gala in May alongside Colman Domingo, Pharrell Williams, A$AP Rocky, and Anna Wintour; LeBron James is honorary chair.) Plus, a slew of younger drivers like reigning four-time champion Red Bull’s Max Verstappen, 27; McLaren’s Lando Norris, 25; and Hamilton’s new Ferrari teammate, Charles LeClerc, 27, could keep him off the top of the podium.

“The old man is a state of mind,” says Hamilton. “Of course your body ages. But I’m never going to be an old man.”

The 2025 F1 campaign, which kicks off in Australia on March 16, comes laced with intrigue. Hamilton sits at the epicenter. Ferrari is religion in Italy; when the team wins an F1 race, the bells of the Church of St. Blaise in Maranello, the small city near Bologna that houses Ferrari headquarters, ring in celebration. So Hamilton’s quest to end Ferrari’s agony, while breaking the individual title record set by Michael Schumacher—who won five straight titles with Ferrari from 2000 to 2004—will be appointment theater. Meanwhile, Hamilton is co-producing, along with Jerry Bruckheimer and others, an F1 movie, aptly called F1, that is almost literally a Brad Pitt vehicle. The film, which comes out in June, plus a competitive race for the championship, could deliver a jolt to the sport’s popularity, especially in the U.S., where F1 has boomed but flattened out a bit, given Verstappen’s predictable dominance.

A Hamilton championship in red, in the twilight of his racing life, would be nothing less than one of the greatest mic-drop moments in sports history. “I don’t know if I can find an adjective to describe that,” says American racing legend Mario Andretti, the 1978 F1 champion who raced for Ferrari in the early ’70s. “Nothing is missing in his career. But oh man, how better can you describe your career after that? Oh my God, he’d be the king of all kings.”

Two weeks before the stallion photo shoot, Hamilton is striking golf balls into a simulator at an indoor club on the banks of the Thames. (He has a pronounced slice.) He doesn’t golf much these days, but Hamilton being Hamilton—a man who has taken full advantage of this sport’s jet-setting ways to become one of the world’s most prominent collectors of influential people—he last played a round with actor Tom Holland, a.k.a. Spider-Man. His other golf partners have included Samuel L. Jackson and Kelly Slater, the surfing GOAT. He was once supposed to play with another GOAT, Michael Jordan, but when Hamilton got to the course, he says, Jordan “didn’t end up being there.”

As we’re taking swings, I ask Hamilton if he’s checked out TGL, the indoor golf competition founded by Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy that just launched its first season in the U.S. He hasn’t. I explain some of the particulars—it’s a team league, ESPN is showing it on weeknights—before it sounds familiar. But Hamilton is involved with so many projects—movies, art, fashion lines, the Denver Broncos, a pet-food company, a plant-based burger chain with Leonardo DiCaprio—that he can’t quite remember whether he poured some money into this new outfit. “I might have,” he says, with a laugh. (He did.)

Hamilton takes a break from golf, reclines on a couch, and orders a latte before sharing the story of how he arrived at this moment. It began a long time ago, when he was a kid growing up in public housing north of London. His first Ferrari memories have stuck with him. He would drive Schumacher’s car in racing video games. The Ferrari replica featured in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—the 1961 250 GT California Spyder—is still, to this day, Hamilton’s favorite. “That’s the ultimate retirement car,” he says. “I can just see myself with Roscoe, him with a scarf and goggles in the seat next to me, driving down the PCH.” (Roscoe, Hamilton’s pet bulldog—who, like his owner, is vegan—has an Instagram account with 1.1 million followers.)

McLaren signed Hamilton to a driver’s deal in 1998, when he was 13. In 2006, Hamilton won the championship in what is now known as Formula Two. “I did have the bit of red on my helmet,” he says. During that F2 season, and the one prior in F3, Hamilton raced for team principal Frédéric Vasseur, whose management style and ability to recruit top engineering talent to his lower-level operation impressed the young driver. Hamilton figured Vasseur would be a F1 leader one day.

Hamilton won his first F1 championship in 2008, his second season with McLaren. He competed there for four more seasons before jumping, in 2013, to Mercedes, a middling team that Hamilton lifted to championship heights. Through it all, Hamilton maintained cordial relations with Ferrari leadership. He’d walk past the Ferrari garage at races, say “ciao” to the mechanics, and hear them say “vieni Ferrari” (come to Ferrari). Around 2018, Hamilton met with Ferrari chairman John Elkann. Both sides expressed a desire to see Hamilton in red. But by the end of the 2020 season, Hamilton had four straight championships with Mercedes. He had no reason to jump ship. “If I’m really honest, I had accepted the fact that I’m probably not going to drive for Ferrari,” says Hamilton. “I was OK with that.”

After the 2021 season, Hamilton nearly walked away from racing. He—and millions of his fans—felt his record eighth driver title was stolen from him, when during the final race of the year, in Abu Dhabi, an official’s controversial decision allowed Verstappen to overtake Hamilton in the last lap and clinch his first title. Hamilton ultimately refused to quit without a fight, but he failed to win a single race as Verstappen cruised to another pair of championships. Hamilton signed a two-year extension with Mercedes in the summer of 2023, but the deal allowed him an option to leave after one year.

Meanwhile, true to Hamilton’s prediction, his de facto coach in the minors, Vasseur, took over an F1 team in 2016. Before the 2023 season, he was hired for a new team-principal gig—at Ferrari. Vasseur got wind of the loophole in Hamilton’s new deal—“He told me at one stage,” says Vasseur. “Good news”—and aimed to sign an agreement with Hamilton before the 2024 season. He wanted his drivers under contract last year, LeClerc and Sainz, to be free of whispers regarding their status. So while Hamilton was at his home in Colorado in December 2023, he got a call from Vasseur asking him to join Ferrari starting in 2025. “I remember getting off the phone and, like, almost shaking,” says Hamilton, who’s now almost shaking while recalling the moment. “I was like, Oh God!”

He told a friend who was with him about the call; they both sat in silence on a bathroom floor in shock. “I was like, Holy sh-t,” says Hamilton. “I literally just signed with Mercedes.” Breaking up with a team that felt like family was far from a no-brainer. And he didn’t have much time to decide. “It was a lot to take in, and my emotions were really high,” says Hamilton. “So I honestly had to go for a walk.” He left the house for an hour to decompress.

Hamilton then spent a few days meditating. He was leaning toward Ferrari. “My eyes felt really calm and present,” he says. “This is the right thing for me.” When he’d switched from McLaren to Mercedes all those years ago, he solicited too much advice. Here, he confided in just a few family members and trusted friends. “One cannot discount the Ferrari influence on the sport, especially through the eyes of a child,” says Mellody Hobson, co-CEO of Ariel Investments and the former chair of the Starbucks board, who’s very close to Hamilton. During negotiations, after every phone call with Ferrari, he’d jump around like a little kid.

“We’re in a time of reimagining the future, reimagining what really dreaming is about,” says Hamilton. “I’m going to Ferrari, man, and that’s the biggest dream.”

Not everyone is so thrilled. The day after he informed Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff of his decision was Hamilton’s annual paintball outing with his race-team mechanics. When he arrived, he was too nervous to get out of his car. “These are guys I’ve been with so many years,” says Hamilton. He eventually stood on top of a table to address his decision. His squad appeared understanding and supportive. But they let him have it in paintball. “They lit me up, hard,” says Hamilton. “It was so painful.” At one point, he was hiding behind a barrel shooting at the other team when he was struck from behind. A member of his own squadron had nailed him. “Freaking guy,” says Hamilton.

They laughed about it afterward and managed to get through the season. “There is no bad blood,” says Hamilton. “Absolutely not. We won so many championships.” (Mercedes declined to comment for this story.) Andrea Kimi Antonelli, an 18-year-old from Bologna, will take Hamilton’s place in the Mercedes lineup. “They have all the ingredients to win world championships, and they will win more world championships,” says Hamilton of Mercedes. “I have no doubt.”

In a book published in November—Inside Mercedes F1: Life in the Fast Lane—Wolff says Hamilton’s move “helps us because it avoids the moment where we need to tell the sport’s most iconic driver that we want to stop … We’re in a sport where cognitive sharpness is extremely important, and I believe everyone has a shelf life.” The comments caused a stir, and Wolff clarified that Hamilton is still “very sharp.”

Hamilton insists Wolff’s remark doesn’t bother him. He points to athletes like Tom Brady and LeBron James who’ve achieved success into their 40s. “Don’t ever compare me to anybody else,” says Hamilton. “I’m the first and only Black driver that’s ever been in this sport. I’m built different. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve had my own journey. You can’t compare me to another 40-year-old, past or present, Formula One driver in history. Because they are nothing like me. I’m hungry, driven, don’t have a wife and kids. I’m focused on one thing, and that’s winning. That’s my No. 1 priority.”

He also dismisses criticism from the broader racing community. Former F1 team owner Eddie Jordan said in a December podcast that it was “absolutely suicidal” for Ferrari to drop Sainz from its roster, given the strong working relationship between him and LeClerc. (Sainz will now race for Williams.) “I’ve always welcomed the negativity,” says Hamilton. “I never, ever reply to any of the older, ultimately, white men who have commented on my career and what they think I should be doing. How you show up, how you present yourself, how you perform slowly dispels that.”

Others, including former Ferrari driver Jacky Ickx, have suggested that Ferrari has signed Hamilton primarily for his commercial value. “I think it’s really unfair to Lewis, some of the comments saying, ‘This is a marketing operation,’” says Elkann, the Ferrari chairman. “Truth said, Lewis doesn’t need that. Ferrari doesn’t need that. What we need to do is win championships and do great things on the track. If that happens, what we can do outside of the track, in some ways, takes care of itself. There’s unlimited possibilities.”

The pressure, internal and external, Hamilton faces is immense. No F1 team owns more constructor titles than Ferrari, but they last won in 2008. Ferrari also owns the driver record, with 15, but the last Ferrari driver to win an individual crown was Kimi Raikkonen, in 2007. Ferrari fans are so passionate that they go by their own name, the tifosi. At the Ferrari museum, not far from the team’s 9.3 million-sq.-ft. campus in Maranello, Italy, pilgrims often start crying, or propose marriage, in the Hall of Victories, which showcases the team’s championship cars and more than 100 trophies.

One night in early February, at the Ristorante Montana, which displays a trove of Ferrari memorabilia in its dining room, Andrea Puttini, a seller of building materials from Naples, is outside enjoying a smoke. “In Italy, we say it’s not important if you speak bad or speak good about something,” says Puttini. “The importance is that you are talking about this. And Hamilton, just for being here, he lets us talk all over the world about Ferrari.”

Hamilton connected with as many of his new co-workers as possible during his first visit to Maranello in January, shaking hands until his arm was pulsating. “The amount of ciaos and grazies and piaceres I was saying, aye aye aye,” he says. After his first test run, he went out to greet the supporters lining a bridge that overlooks Ferrari’s private racetrack. A few weeks later, a fan decked out in a red Ferrari shirt and cowboy hat cut down a tree to allow the tifosi a better look at a Hamilton practice.

Hamilton first spotted himself in a Ferrari suit while in, of all places, the loo; he was washing his hands and looked up into the mirror. “I’m in red, I’m like, Whoa!” he says. He paused for a moment to take in the reflection. He liked what he saw. “The suit looked so good on me,” says Hamilton, laughing. “I’m like, Damn.” When seated in a Ferrari race car for the first time, he closed his eyes when the engine started and smiled. “The vibrations are different,” he says. He let them course through his body. “You just wonder how that feels,” Hamilton says. Now he knows. “It’s a really, really special moment.”

Still, Hamilton is well aware that Italian sports fans have not always been so welcoming of Black athletes like himself. He competed in karting races there in his younger days, starting at around 12, and experienced racist abuse, just as he had in England. He prefers not to go into details. “I don’t want to dwell,” he says. But he’s heard the racist chants directed at Black soccer players in particular. “I’m not going to lie, it definitely crossed my mind when I was thinking about my decision,” he says. “Like in so many things, it’s often such a small group of people that set that trend for many. I don’t think that it’s going to be a problem.”

Ferrari’s diversity—or lack thereof—was Hamilton’s more pressing concern. In the wake of George Floyd’s 2020 murder, as part of the worldwide sports protest movement against racial injustice, Hamilton started the Hamilton Commission to offer recommendations for more Black representation in U.K. motorsports. Mercedes launched its own diversity initiative in the months that followed and began hiring personnel from underrepresented groups, including Black engineers. “I did think, Oh my God, I’ve finally got a more diverse working environment that we’ve built over time,” says Hamilton. “And now I’m going back to the beginning of my time with Mercedes, where it wasn’t diverse.”

Along with every other F1 team, Ferrari signed a Diversity and Inclusion charter in November. While the new Trump Administration has made a point of attacking diversity—the President has signed a series of executive orders targeting diversity, equity, and inclusion programs—Hamilton, for one, remains locked in. “I’m not going to change what he does, or the government does. All I can do is try to make sure that in my space, in my environment, I’m trying to elevate people,” he says. “There’s going to be forces along the way that don’t want that, for whatever reason I can’t fathom. That doesn’t stop me. It is a fight that we’ll just keep fighting.” Hamilton is confident that Ferrari is committed to inclusion.

Vasseur, Hamilton’s new boss, agrees that it’s important, though as he fiddles with a binder clip in an office at Ferrari headquarters, where trade secrets are so closely guarded visitors must place stickers over their mobile-phone cameras (red ones, of course), he suggests that it may not be his top goal. “It’s not politically correct, but first is performance,” he says. “I’m keen to go into the direction of diversity and so on. We are doing our best effort. We are trying to push in this direction, but I want to build up the best team.”

I show Vasseur, who hails from France, a photo I found online: it’s him and Hamilton some 20 years ago, celebrating a win. He shows me some photos on his own phone, of his children, who are now grown, with Hamilton. He’s enjoying the walk down memory lane. But, he says, “We can’t be sentimental.”

Switching teams is difficult for any driver. The steering wheel, the cockpit, the terminology, they’re all different. “I’m literally learning a completely new book,” says Hamilton. F1 regulations allow limited practice time in the new car. He’s made strides in his Italian, thanks to lessons, but he’s by no means fluent. It took Hamilton more than four months to win a race in his first season with Mercedes. What gives Vasseur confidence that Hamilton will accelerate that learning curve?

“I could reply like a book and give you something that you want to write,” Vasseur replies. “But at the end of the day, at this part of the season, the feeling, the first time, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, will be nothing compared to race one in Australia. You will forget about everything that happened before. It’s all about pure performance.”

While Hamilton swears his devotion to Ferrari, his schedule has remained plenty full. A Fashion Week and red-carpet regular, he has his own production company, a Dior line, and other enterprises. He says he’s in the preliminary stages of developing scripts for a comedy—it doesn’t involve racing—and a film pertaining to pets. (That’s all he’ll offer.) But the biggest thing on the horizon, besides of course the 24 Grand Prix races in the season, is the upcoming F1 movie.

Tom Cruise had first connected Hamilton with director Joseph Kosinski because Hamilton was interested in an acting role in Top Gun: Maverick. Kosinski was ready to bring him on board, but Hamilton was still fighting for championships with Mercedes and couldn’t afford the time commitment. Cruise screened the movie, which grossed $1.5 billion worldwide upon its 2022 release, for Hamilton in London. “I was crying a bit inside,” Hamilton says. “Ah, that could have been me!”

So when Kosinski called Hamilton about his F1 project, Hamilton jumped at the chance to be a producer. Early in the process, he took Pitt, who plays a veteran F1 driver in the film, for a drive around a track near Los Angeles. “He gave Brad the scare of a lifetime in a lap,” says Kosinski. “Brad was clawing at the windows, begging to get out.” Hamilton was also part of the casting process and offered instructive feedback. “The notes are so detailed,” says Bruckheimer. “‘When you’re going into that next turn, you have the car in second gear, it should be in third. I can hear it. I can hear the sound of it.’” He pushed for Hans Zimmer, composer of The Lion King, Gladiator, Dune, and other hits, to score it. His close relationship with F1 CEO Stefano Domenicali, a former Ferrari team principal, helped the filmmakers gain access to F1 tracks and races to shoot scenes. “He opened all those doors for us into that world,” says Kosinski. “We would not have been able to do this without him.”

Hamilton is predicting box-office success. “It’s going to blow away anything that’s ever been done in Formula One before,” Hamilton says. The Netflix behind-the-scenes docuseries, Formula 1: Drive to Survive, has been properly credited for expanding F1’s popularity, especially in the U.S. Hamilton believes this movie will compel viewers from all different backgrounds to become fans, or even pursue a career in F1. “Netflix has been huge,” he says. “This is going to be even bigger, on more of a global scale.” While F1 might not count as art-house fare—“I don’t think we set out for it to be, like, an Oscar-winning movie,” says Hamilton—he’s promising a memorable experience. “The goal is to make people feel good, to bring people in, to inspire people,” he says. “We want you to leave the cinema and be like, ‘Wow, that was freaking wicked.’”

But even with his creative juices flowing, he’s as energized as ever to drive. In other words, unlike Aroma, whose presence does not seem to have triggered Hamilton’s allergies at all, he has no plans to slow down. “What I can tell you is, retirement is nowhere on my radar,” says Hamilton. “I could be here until I’m 50, who knows.”

Hamilton believes that he and LeClerc are the strongest team pairing in the sport and that Verstappen is “absolutely” beatable. “I know exactly where the North Star is,” says Hamilton. “I know where I need to go. I know how to get there. It’s far, and it’s going to be tough to get there, but I know I’ve got all the ingredients, all the people, an amazing team around me. So it’s how much you want it. And I can’t express to you how much I want it.”

[cosmos-cloud]

—Tpot 16 Spoilers—

I NEED to talk about this episode, not for very long but just enough to get it out of my system

(actually it’s longer than I anticipated you have been warned)

WE ALL SAW IT COMING, DEPRESSION ARK TWO DID HAPPEN and listen, I was a big fan of Gaty and Two’s relationship mostly because I liked how wise Gaty sounded when discussing Two’s problems, and how even us viewers could learn something about them. But Gaty being eliminated, placed in the kitchen and then disappearing (kidnapping :[ ) giving us a very guilty Two is still something I am very interested about where it could go next, because let’s all be honest, Two won’t be grieving all season. I mostly foresee they’ll try hosting again next episode still in the stages of grief and possibly even break down. Of course, I feel bad for them… but plot wise, I really like where this could go.

And Then What Do We Have- - -

Book; I am LOVING her being able to make friends again, she finally truly healed!! Ice cube getting out was the best outcome between the two (if you ask me), and even tho their official reconciliation is a bit underwhelming, I don’t care, it makes sense, Ice cube isn’t a very talkative person and the fewer words she needs to explain herself, the better for her. Book being able to connect with Winner is also a great thing, and a great way to show how far she has come, plus, Winner really seems to have needed that. Now if she can not be up for elimination too early again that’d be great—

Pencil; Okay I raise my hand to announce that I am neutral when it comes to her voting results. I didn’t vote to save her, but I am not actively looking towards her getting out. She’s getting an ark (a big one too), so it would suck if she does get out, but she also had it coming. Now One thing I do have to say about her is I did NOT expect her being scared of Four to THAT level. Of course, it makes sense in a psychological point of view, she’s been stuck in the EXIT the longest, but the way she acted during the escape didn’t show as much fear towards him so I think it’s a bit more understandable to not have seen it coming. Another thing is how she kinda dragged her team everywhere the whole episode and more importantly, how they just let her do it (except Pillow obviously). This might just be me over analyzing it, but they might all be worried about her yet scared to do anything, and this is mostly backed by the van segments. They care (some of them more than others), but she’s hard to approach… most of the effort they put is or ignored by her, or seen negatively by her making it pretty much useless if not almost dangerous.

Pen and Liy; So first off, I’m sure I’m not the only one that remembers how as soon as Liy joined, it’s Pen and almost exclusively Pen that she seems to care about. Yes it’s because of old Death Pact and all, but she also seemed to take Pen’s whole "friends loosing" situation very seriously, which connects with the event of this episode. We know Liy always had her redemption mentality of feeling a strong urge to help to make up for her mistakes, something she talks about alot, but what I find most interesting is how she acknowledges her anger issues and mostly how she share them quite openly to Pen as soon as he talk about his own difficulties with anger. She found a way to help him with something she had to learn the hard way, on her own, teaching him the benefit while making him skip most of the bad part… and on the other hand, Pen took it to heart. Finally being able to let his rage out while still staying his caring nice self, while still having control is a hard thing to pull off for most people, and just something he needed in general. Not saying he was too nice, but saying he will now be able to act more instead of just sitting there and dealing with it in silence.

That’s it for me, don’t vote for Pillow pls I want her out and Goodbye!!